#i am going to make a short comic for this fic if its the last thing i do. it deserves that much at the very least

[galaghiel]

his smile and optimism. gone.

guys. GUYS. i am so normal about the fic. SO SO NORMAL. HAHA. AHAHAHAHA.

(i've been so obssessed w this fic yall have no idea. this specifically caters to my interests. i feel enriched in my enclosure whenever it updates aksoznsksls)

[hoshinasblade]

For real, the animator had ri have been a Hoshina loyalists. Cause no way he looks that bad. For a Narumi prompt it could be funny that he gets with someone that doesn't know him. Someone who doesn't believe he is the 1st division captain because they only see him as the "wet cat" version of himself. And we have Narumi losing his mind over the fact you don't believe him

(not sure where tumblr took my post again because i cant find it lol) the budget went to hoshina and his tight shirt and there was nothing left to animate narumi properly. anyway, this is such a cute and interesting prompt because because yes, he is losing his mind over you not believing he is the cool first division captain 😆

pairing: gen narumi x f!reader trigger warnings: narumi gen is a trigger warning himself, just super short because im not used to writing anything narumi-related yet. hopefully you don't get mad at me anon for not going exactly per the ask lol my brain is a mush right now, i'll try harder on my next fics

the rich man is here, shouted the kids from the hallway. you can hear their hurrying footsteps - excited little taps that in turn triggered your heartbeat to race as well. you shut your eyes, calming yourself down.

narumi gen is not exactly a rich man; the children in the orphanage just calls him that fondly. apparently he has been dropping by for years, way back when you weren't working as a teacher yet. the older orphans refer to him as nii-san.

narumi would bring toys snd snacks for the kids, and would spend time with them until the early evening before he has to say goodbye. last time, he played video games with everyone; he brought crayons and sketch boobs for his visit today, and within an hour, it was eerily quiet - the little girls and boys holding their pencils, drawing all sorts of things.

the youngest in your herd, a six-year old boy with a missing front tooth ran to you when he saw you by the door, showing you his drawing - a stick-man figure with a knife in its hand, and an animal beside it which you were not sure whether it's an oversized dog or a giraffe.

"it's a kaiju, and narumi nii-san is fighting it", the boy explained, and you patted him in the head. "he's a captain of his team, i'm gonna be like him when i grow up!"

you looked at narumi who is sitting on the floor, but he was already looking at you. you shifted your gaze. "this is so pretty, we should display it in the art wall", you suggested to the boy who grinned at you, clapping.

"you know that it's not a good thing to do, lying to kids, right?" the children had bid narumi goodbye just past 7pm, and although some of them cried, narumi was quick to promise he would be back next weekend. you were surprised, he used to only be here once a month.

"huh?" he responded to you with confusion. you walked him out the orphanage to the parking lot outside. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"look, i know you are trying to be nice. and i thank you for that. what you've done for these kids is more than anyone else have done for them. but telling them you're some guy who kills kaiju is wrong. and telling them they can be like you?" you scoffed.

narumi's mouth was wide open before he realized you have finished your speech. "but i am a guy who kills kaiju", he replied, his hand on his chest as if he is swearing on his life. "really, i'm not lying. i'm the captain of my team -"

"right, and you fight kaiju on the daily," you finished his sentence for him.

"yes, i am a real badass, i promise!" he exclaimed when he sensed you do not believe him in the slightest. it looks comical how he looks close to panicking over the fact that you are not buying whatever he's selling. he frowned at you, and you stared at him, the eye contact lasting for a few seconds.

maybe this guy is a con-artist and he makes his living manipulating people, you said to yourself. this would make a lot of sense considering you think he has the good looks to lure people in. narumi had flirted at you once or twice before - or you wish he was flirting and you were not just reading too much on his actions.

"you know if you meet my friends, they would tell you the truth," he suggested, his voice cheerful.

"why would i meet your friends?" you asked, equally confused.

"so they can tell you that i am the coolest captain of the anti-kaiju defense force. they would also tell you i am a good man and a dependable friend," narumi said, reciting maybe the contents of his curriculum vitae to you. is he in a job interview? you wanted to ask but didn't.

you sighed in defeat. "are your friends as exasperating as you are?" you asked in jest.

"come on, let me impress you", he told you with sincerity that is almost startling. you were not expecting him to sound so genuine, so adamant at proving himself to you.

the kids will have their dinner in a few minutes and you will be needed to help out. you gave narumi one last glance before strolling back to the orphanage. "i'm off on fridays", you said.

narumi's smile could have lighted the entire street.

[loveelle]

Last Night

Jim Halpert x Reader

A/N: Well, took me a bit longer than I thought it would but here it is! The fic yall voted on the last few weeks! Not entirely sure how I feel about it, bit back and forth for me, changed quite a few ideas from when I first decided I was going to write based on this song, but yeah! Let me know what you think!

This fic is based on the song Last Night (Beer Fear) by Lucy Spraggan so I suggest giving it a listen to!

WC: 4.2K

Master

A/N2: When you see “---” that means a time skip forward or backward depending on where you are in the fic, hopefully that makes sense!

---

Your head hurt.

Oh god, did your head hurt.

You hated being hungover. Last time you were hungover this bad, it was the night before your college graduation and you promised yourself the next day that you would never drink that much again. Obviously, last night you decided to break that promise.

Your situation only proved worse when the alarm next to the bed went off, signaling it was 8 am. You slap your hand against the table, looking for your phone, but instead you’re met with a bedside clock, finally stopping its ear torturing sound. You barely have time to sigh in relief before you struggle to take in your surroundings. Your head was still pounding and your eyes refused to open all the way but one thing was certain.

This was not your room.

This was not your house.

You woke up in someone else’s house.

First things first, check for your clothes. With a simple glance down, your heart sinks. Gone was your Halloween costume from the last night and in its place was a T-shirt that wasn’t yours and by the looks of it on you, belong to a man, as well as a pair of shorts also not belonging to you.

“Shiiiiiit.” You whisper to yourself only seconds before a knock comes at the door. You jump in place, clutching the blanket close to your body and ignoring the urge to throw up everything you ate yesterday. The door opens much too slowly for your liking before a very, very familiar head of shaggy brown hair appears and every muscle in your body relaxes.

Jim smiles sheepishly when he sees you in his bed. Your hair was a mess and you were wearing one of his old shirts from college. There was a ghost of your smile when you realize it was just Jim coming in that made him smile wide himself.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” He chuckles, handing you a glass of water and an aspirin. You don’t say anything as you take the pill and glass from him, gulping it down as fast as you can. “How do you feel?”

“I can taste colors.” You grumble, putting the glass next to Jim’s alarm clock. Jim laughs. He was unsure what exactly to say, although you were in the same position. You glance around the room, silently taking it all in and waiting for the pounding right behind your eyes to stop. “It’s Saturday, why is your alarm going off?” You finally say, meeting Jim’s eyes with a squint.

Jim’s brows raise comically as he nods. “I like to wake up at the same time.” He shrugs.

You shake your head. “You’re supposed to sleep in on the weekends.” Jim exhales a quietier laugh and you watch him rock on his heels, unable to look you in the eye anymore. You clear your throat, clutching the blanket a little tighter. “Uh, Jim?” He hums, leaning on the wall behind him. “Last night, did we… um…” you weren’t really sure you wanted to finish that sentence, but luckily you didn’t have to. Jim was quick to shake his head and you let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” He quirks a brow and your eyes widen. “I didn’t mean like… just that, you know, I was drunk and you were drunk… and we’re coworkers… and friends?”

“It’s alright.” Jim’s posture relaxes and you feel your cheeks heat up a little at the prospect.

“Not that it would be a bad thing.” You quickly say before you can stop yourself, hating the fact your hangover hadn’t stopped you or said something less painfully stupid.

“I know.” You nod your head at Jim’s words, leaning back on his pillow and closing your eyes. Then it struck you; it wasn’t the words Jim said, but how he said them. It was almost like he knew what exactly you were talking about. Almost like he could read your mind, Jim chuckles. “You really don’t remember much of the party last night, do you?”

You shake your head, your breath stuck in your throat. “Was it bad?”

Jim tilts his head, thinking about yesterday before a smile crosses his face.

---

Last Night…

Jim walks into the office 15 minutes after the office’s costume party was supposed to start. He will never understand why Michael decided on a costume party at the beginning of April, but here he was. There was bad music playing from the office that Jim could hear the moment he stepped out of the elevator, widening his eyes momentarily before adjusting the taped black circles on his torso and pulling the door open.

“Jimbo!” Michael calls out before the door even closed behind Jim. Jim breathes out a laugh, putting his hands in his pockets. “Welcome to the party!”

“Hey Mike.” Michael throws his arm over Jim’s shoulders, struggling a bit with the height of his employee.

Michael leads Jim throughout the office, where he sees his coworkers in all in different costumes with drinks in their hands. Michael finally lets Jim go with a pat and push on the shoulder as Jim snags a drink on his way out of the conference room. He runs into Kelly and Ryan, Kelly sporting a costume that Jim didn’t realize was supposed to be Taylor Swift, and Ryan as a police officer. He was just about to answer Kelly’s question of how he was doing before he spots you, Phyllis, and Pam talking in the kitchen. He smiles to himself before heading your way, catching your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Pam catches your smile growing at the sight of Jim as she nudges your arm. “Will you just tell him you like him already.” She whispers to you despite the glass door separating the two of you. You smack her arm gently, sipping from the red cup in your hand.

“No.”

“Come on, Y/N! Tonight’s the night!” Pam keeps pushing, raising her brows at you multiple times.

Your mouth drops open from her antics. “Pamela Beasley, how drunk are you?” She rolls her eyes at you. “Phyllis, can you tell Pam to lay off?”

“Oh no, Y/N. I’m on her side. I mean, if I never made the first move on Bob, we wouldn’t be married.” She says before grabbing an extra drink and leaving you and Pam, heading towards the Annex where she knows her husband currently is waiting for her.

You tilt your head in defeat, unsure what you expected from seeking Phyllis’ help.

“Tell him.” Pam says seconds before Jim opens the door. Your eyes widen and you can’t help but take another large sip of your drink, knowing if you were going to have any chance of telling Jim you’re desperately in love with him, alcohol would be your best friend.

Pam not-so-sneakily steps away from you as Jim comes in front of you, matching your smile. You look him up and down before adjusting the black dot on Jim’s chest that had started to fall down. “Three-hole punch Jim? Bringing back a classic?”

“Oh absolutely, I put a lot of work in this costume,” Jim hides his smile behind his cup as he takes a drink. He looks you up and down as well, only he takes a bit longer as his brows draw together. “And you are…?”

You chuckle, looking down at the white shirt and pants and black shawl you were wearing. “I’m a penguin.”

A cute penguin, Jim says to himself and before he has the chance to compliment your costume in a way less exposing of his feelings, Michael comes tripping into the kitchen, holding a drink in his hand.

“Jiiiiim! Y/NNNNN!” He says, pointing at the two of you. You and Jim stare at him, neither of you saying anything as Michael pants heavily, his face red from the no doubt numerous drinks he’s already had. He just smiles, looking between you both before he turns around to leave and you can faintly hear the sound of him calling out Ryan’s name as the door closes.

Jim and you fall into a fit of laughter, unsure what exactly to do about your drunk boss. “Why did he get so much alcohol?” Jim asks, shaking his head.

You shrug and finish off the last bit in your cup. “I have no idea, but I am certainly not complaining.” You step to the right of Jim, filling up your cup with the bottles Michael put in the kitchen earlier. “Can we even have this much in the office?” You ask and take a long sip.

Jim watches you carefully as you toss your head back, effectively finishing off the drink you just poured before he gulped. “I uh… I don’t know.” He quiets for a second as you fill up your cup again. “Sure you don’t want to slow down there?” He chuckles, although he is a bit worried for you.

You shake your head and smile. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’. “It’s a party, Jim. And I’m gonna enjoy it.” You stick your cup in the air and Jim cheers against your cup, both of you taking a sip and your eyes widen after yours, starting to feel a bit of a buzz.

“Alright, but I’m not helping with you if you’re hungover tomorrow.” He says as the two of you walk out of the kitchen, joining the rest of the party in the conference room.

---

“That doesn’t sound too bad, I remember most of that and even what Pam, Phyllis and I were talking about.” You can’t imagine the story of last night will remain as boring as those first 15 minutes Jim had described. As long as you didn’t drink that much more after those three drinks.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Uh.

“Nothing?”

Jim chuckles, moving to finally sit down on the bed next to you, causing you to scootch over as he sits on top of the blankets, giving you all the space that you need in your hungover bliss.

“I take it forgot about your ‘bracelets’, then?” Jim smirks, unable to meet your eyes. Your stomach falls greatly, a small vague memory coming back to you as Jim continues his story.

---

Jim loses sight of you for a bit as he is pulled into a drinking game with Kevin and Meredith, narrowly beating Kevin but loosing to Meredith in a landslide. He glances around the conference room and into the bullpen but he doesn’t see you. Most of his coworkers were drunk, but he sees Angela in the corner, sipping on a lemonade in a black cat costume.

“Angela.” He calls out, making her sigh. “You’re not drinking?”

“I don’t drink at work.” She says, despite the fact she’s not currently working. Jim nods, taking another look around from the new spot in the room. “Besides, someone has to make sure no one does something stupid like drive.” Jim nods again, glad despite Angela’s resistance to the party, she is watching her coworkers. Angela stops watching her coworkers actions with disgust and looks up with Jim before sighing even louder. “She’s in the annex.”

Jim’s head snaps her way so fast that he almost spills his drink. “What?”

“Y/N. She’s in the annex with Ryan.” Jim knows he’s blushing at how obvious he was searching for you, but thanks her nonetheless. “Whatever.” She says and walks away to another corner, continuing to sip on her lemonade.

When Jim realizes Angela said you were alone with Ryan, he was quick to make his way out of the bullpen, hearing your laugh before he was even in the annex. When he does walk in, he’s greeted with you and Ryan a bit too close for his liking. “What’s going on?” He calls out and Ryan jumps back, one of his hands coming up to scratch the back of his neck and the other picking up his cup of beer on the table.

“Hey man,” Ryan says before downing his drink. Jim gives him a look of distrust before focusing on you.

“Jim!” Your eyes light up as you turn around to see who was there and right away Jim knows you’ve had quite a few more drinks or shots in his absence. The second thing he notices is the metal circling around your right wrist. You hold up the wrist to show him with a smile. “Do you like my bracelet?” the loose cuff almost smacks you in the face but you don’t react. Your smile, however, does fall the moment you get a good look at the costume piece. “Oh, wait…” you say to yourself. “They’re handcuffs.” You stare at the piece for a moment before smiling again. “I took them from the police.”

“You took them from the police?” Jim finally manages to say, wanting to make sure he doesn’t have to murder Ryan.

“She did.” Ryan is quick to nod. Jim still isn’t quick sure he believe him but once he’s focused on you again, you’ve got the bracelet off your wrist and chucking it at the temps head. Jim has to hold back a laugh as it knocks the hat off Ryan’s head, and smacks him in the face.

---

You’re quiet, burrowing your face in Jim’s pillow in embarrassment. “Oh my god.” You finally say.

Jim clears his throat. “You don’t uh, happen to remember exactly what was happening there, did you?”

Much to his relief you nod and say, “Yeah, I took his cuffs because I wanted to prove I could do a magic trick.”

“Can you do magic tricks?”

“I’ve never done a magic trick in my life.” You shake your head and pull the pillow away just in time for Jim and you to both start laughing again, although your embarrassment was reaching new levels of insane. “Please tell me that was all I did and I went home right after that.” Jim stays silent, but he looks right into your eyes, causing your heart to skip and your stomach to flip. “Please tell me I didn’t embarrass myself more.”

---

“Okay, I am taking you home.” Jim says and takes you by the hand, gently leading you out of the annex and through the kitchen. By the time you both enter the bullpen, Jim hears you gasp and he stops instinctively, thinking you might be hurt or sick or something.

You were staring at your intertwined hands with your mouth agape. Jim lets go of your hand slowly, but your expression doesn’t change. Instead, you make a sound that Jim can only describe as a squeal. The rest of the party around you falls quiet, all looking towards you and Jim.

Jim looks at them all and by the time he looks back at you, you were several feet shorter as you were on one knee.

---

“There is no way that happened.” You interrupt Jim, shaking your head once again and gripping the pillow tight.

Jim can only laugh hard, clutching his stomach from under the blanket, where he had moved during the course of the story. “You got on one knee.”

“There’s no way.”

“You asked me to marry you.”

“I asked you to marry me?” You are beyond embarrassed at this point. You are flustered and irritated and you want to go back in time to when you thought you could drink whatever you wanted at an office party. You went from simply embarrassing yourself to possibly outing your stupid little crush on your coworker. You want to leave, you want to hope this was all a dream and you were going to wake up in your own bed, but you have to know one thing first. “…Was there more?”

Jim is quiet for only a minute and you know instantly that last night wasn’t over yet.

---

“Marry me.” Your words were a bit slurred and quiet, but Jim definitely heard them and most likely your entire office did as well.

His heart is racing and his head is pounding and he doesn’t know exactly what to do, but before he can think, his drunk brain was already pulling you off the floor. “What’s that, Y/N? You want me to get you home? Now? Well, if you say so!” Before any of his coworkers could say anything, Jim is leading you out the front door of the office and calling for a cab on the way down the elevator.

You are leaning against him the entire way down and he can’t resist enjoying the feeling of you practically hugging him as he wraps his arms around you, keeping you together as you wait patiently for the taxi.

When it’s finally here, you are practically asleep in Jim’s arms, mumbling something about not drinking so much next time and for the first time all night, Jim thinks you might actually be okay. That is until you start crying in the taxi over the ending of some movie you had watched the day prior that Jim really can’t understand the name of. The taxi pulls up to Jim’s apartment and he struggles to get you through the door and up the stairs, cursing the elevator for being broken.

You’re finally in Jim’s bed and Jim lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you were safe and taken care of. He drapes your shawl over his desk chair and takes one last look at you before he starts to turn off the light. Just as the light turns off, a loud thud comes from the other side of the room and he flips the switch back on to see you face down on the floor.

He frowns before gently helping you up and making sure you’re okay once more. He was about to get you back in bed before you were suddenly more alert, scaring him a bit.

“I’m hot!” you yell out and he jumps back, colliding his back against the wall from being startled. He isn’t sure how exactly to help you before you pull your shirt over your head, quickly leaving you in your bra and giving Jim no time to divert his eyes. Just as you did with your shirt, your pants were on the floor and Jim is standing in front of you, looking up at the ceiling and covering his eyes with his hands.

“And now you’re naked.” Jim mutters mostly to himself because he can’t believe that you’re here, in his room, standing in front of him, in only your bra and matching underwear which he only got a glimpse of before coming to his senses and covering his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do next. He knows you’re not going to put your clothes back on and he doesn’t really want to remove his hand and help you and violate your privacy in the process. There’s only one thing he thinks of that might just work.

Blindly, Jim heads over to his dresser, finally removing his hand to search through his clothes. “Here,” he says, turning blindly once more. “You can wear these.” He holds the t-shirt and shorts out to you and his arm remains out stretched for a bit before you slowly take the clothes from him. When the sound of you changing stops, Jim lowers his hand.

The shirt was baggy on you and the shorts were a bit longer than shorts should have been, but Jim thought you looked great in them because they were his. You were wearing his clothes.

He must have been staring for a bit too long because you reach up and gently poke his cheek, breaking the moment between you both. Jim is hopeful in your state that you don’t realize how red his cheeks were when you poked them. “Alright, lets get you to bed.” You nod, finally working with Jim to get you under his covers and snuggled in his pillows. He has to stop himself from reacting the way he did with his clothes once again. When your breathing slowed down, Jim finally steps away, and just like earlier, he turns off the light, thanking everything possible that there was no thud this time.

He was just about to close the door before hearing you say, “I want your babies, Jim” and he freezes in his tracks.

---

For the first time all morning, you don’t say anything when Jim stops talking, you can only sit there with your head buried in the pillow, silently praying that the bed would simply open up and take you whole. Jim has no idea what is running through your head at the moment, he can only assume a whole lot of embarrassment, but if he was truthful, he isn’t sure you really needed to be embarrassed. He actually enjoyed taking care of you last night. And he has definitely been enjoying this morning as well.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Jim tries to reassure you but you can only groan into the pillow, a sound that Jim thinks slowly is turning into a laugh.

“I am never drinking again.” You say to him.

“I promise, it wasn’t that bad.” Jim pulls the pillow from your face, unable to hold back the smile on his lips when he sees you.

You sigh, staring into his comforting eyes before rolling your eyes. “Yeah, says you. You’re not the one who completely embarrassed herself in front of her coworkers and her cru- and her friend.” Just like that, you’ve embarrassed yourself even further. Hopefully, Jim didn’t catch onto the slip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have good enough luck for that. The two of you are quiet for a moment. You’ve refused to look at Jim since your slip up, settling for keeping your eyes closed, which is honestly helping with your hangover headache, and Jim just looking at you. “It least there are no photos on Facebook of me doing the robot this time.” You joke, hoping to help the situation a bit better.

All your comment does is elicit a “What?” from Jim, followed by chuckles as he promises himself to find those photos later.

The two of you were quiet once again, sitting in comfort as you think over the events of last night. You can hear your heartbeat echoing in your ears and your headache is a second thought to the fact that Jim and you were in his bed together and just talking. In all your years of pining after your coworker, you’ve never in this position before, so close together, your bodies were only separated by the fear of wanting more.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper to Jim and his smile softens his face.

“I always will.” He assures you and your lips tug upwards. “Besides, like you said last night, you need me.”

Your lips instantly tug downwards. “No, I didn’t.” You would’ve remembered that part of the story.

Jim can only laugh, scootching closer to you in the bed on accident with the action. “I didn’t tell you about the cab ride?”

“That I was crying over a movie?”

“And?”

“… and that I said that I need you?”

“And?

“And? What else did I say?”

“Besides that you need me?”

“Never said that.”

Jim smirks. He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say that you rambled off almost a hundred reasons why you were in love in him.

He doesn’t say that it took everything in him to just say you were drunk and didn’t mean any of it.

He doesn’t say that despite feeling drunk himself, he sobered up real fast when he heard those three simple words tumble out of your mouth the first time. And the second time. And the third, fourth, fifth, even what seemed like the 99th time. He just wishes he could hear them again, when the words were said by a sober you.

“Come on, tell me!” You interrupt his thoughts, pushing on his shoulder gently. “What did I say? It can’t be worse than anything else I said to you last night, and I still blame it entirely on the alcohol.” Your hand lingers on his arm, slowly falling closer to the bed where his own hand was laying. Jim can’t look anywhere but your face, but your eyes were studying the way his fingers were slowly covering across your own, something Jim wasn’t even aware he was doing. “Jim?”

He clear his throat, breaking out of the moment between the two of you, but he doesn’t release the hold on your hand, instead he shifts his hand so your fingers intertwine together. “Nothing.” Jim lies, hating the whisper in his voice.

You don’t believe him, but the way he’s looking at you makes you not question him further. Maybe you didn’t need to know everything about last night. Maybe it was all worth it to lead you and Jim to this moment, the two of you growing closer and closer in his bed until his arm is wrapping around your waist and Jim and your breathing has slowed to a sleeping rhythm.

Maybe this time it was better that you didn’t wake up in the morning and be in your own house.

.

.

.

.

I am slowly moving out of using taglists because it is very tedious and I don't like them, so if you would like to know when I post new fics (if I post new fics) try to follow the account @updates-from-elle if you can, it might not work because I haven’t tried it or played with the settings and everything, so stay tuned!

[whaliiwatching]

Caught up to the fic!! Absolutely fascinated by all the queer/punk/poc history here, since I don't know much myself. Very sweet chapter as well.

Unrelated question - mostly - but why is it common fanon to depict Noir as the more scarred up of various spiderpeople? Naturally everyone has their fair share of fights, though the only we see sustaining any marks is Peter B and his misaligned nose. Personally, I've taken it as Noir Peter not healing as cleanly due to it being Spider God stuff over Weird Radioactive Healing Factor stuff. Thoughts?

thank you so much!! i’m glad you liked it, & hope the ending was satisfying for ya <3

short answer: hot

long answer, plus a map of my idea of noir’s scars: under readmore :)

i’m not a devout spidey comic/movie fan or a doctor. this is based on conjecture and minimal research!

when i came up with my unmasked noir ideas, i wasn’t influenced by fanon—i hadn’t seen any other fan art, not even when itsv came out. but i can think of a good few reasons that scarred noir is a popular headcanon: evidence of what he’s been through makes him feel more tangible/relatable, the visual difference enhances his thematic individuality as distinct from other spider-people (especially other Peter Parkers), self-consciousness can explain why he doesn’t take off his mask in itsv even around other spiders.

all perfectly valid and interesting reasons! but the first two reasons are doylist and the last one is missing a crucial question: why does he have scars? unless a wound is severe, gets infected, or gets lucky, it won’t usually scar. facial injuries especially need to be really bad to leave a mark. and of course most if not all other spider-people have the healing factor. so what gives??

i like the spider god’s curse influences healing factor idea; it opens up some nice angsty possibilities regarding an inability to Be “Fixed;” no matter how much he tries, he can’t erase/forget what’s happened to him. but i also enjoy the bandaging someone up after a fight genre of fic, and am annoyingly pedantic, so my personal working theory is that the healing factor is not a doctor with ten plus years of experience and an accurate understanding of human anatomy. when a bone really badly breaks, it has to be reset or it’ll heal wrong. to me, the healing factor doesn’t know what ‘right’ is, only ‘fast’ and ‘effective.’ it’s an accelerant, not a substitute for medicine.

so let’s establish the baseline. modern spideys either receive modern medical attention or the injury is superficial enough that they don’t require it. even poverty-stricken peter parkers get rushed to the hospital, because fictional doctors Don’t Care About The Money and/or peter is dolled up in spider gear and who’s going to ignore a visibly beat-up celebrity hero?? plus i honestly believed peter b’s nose was just genetics or smthn. my nose is misaligned and it’s never been broken to my knowledge

to compare, noir lives in 1933 and, far as i can tell, doesn’t rlly garner the same fame and respect from the public as modern spideys do. in the 30s, medicine was meh (they had x-rays but didn’t rlly consider radiation much of a threat, penicillin was still in its infancy, polio was a huge threat, etc) but was also, more importantly, far too expensive for most people suffering during the Great Depression. whatever treatment noir receives after a fight, if any, would look way different from ours. that means his healing factor, which can’t differentiate scars from normal skin or a misaligned bone from a whole one, would be inefficiently assisted or left alone. it would leave its history behind.

on the infectious disease side of things, it’s probably much easier for even noir to recover from less physical ailments like the flu and pneumonia—spider healing factor likely remembers and codes for immunity better than regular immune systems—but without modern drug therapies he’d still be worse for wear, ie internal scarring. mans would have a shorter-than-average parker lifespan if not for the pseudo-immortality of the Spider God

anyway. all this to say, here’s my personal map of parker’s scars. crop tank and daisy dukes to keep tumblr off my ass <3

(tbh this is more for my reference than anyone else’s, i’m sick of looking through my art of Just His Forearms to keep my details consistent, but maybe someone will find it interesting lol)

[braxiatel]

If I were an artist I would call this a doodle, but as I am a writer I will have to call it an unfinished, unedited abandoned wip.

Mumbo and Scar meet in a bar and commiserate about the struggles of being a young adult. Eventually they kiss. Also Scar is trans and Mumbo is autistic because I wrote this fic for me and me alone <3

(Content warning for references to alcohol, sex, and mentions of a character getting disowned)

————

Scar woke slowly to the sound of birdsong.

The pale spring sun was on his face, as warm as the body next to his in a way that made him feel a pang of homesickness.

He stretched, listening to how his joints popped and creaked, before opening his eyes to look around the unfamiliar room.

He had known it was not his city apartment - excuse him, flat - since he registered the birds. The closest he got was the coo of the pigeons that nested above the grand train station. Nothing like the chitter-chatter of songbirds he could hear here. Must be in the suburbs, then.

The room gave little away. Somewhat austere with its dark walls, the closest thing to decorations being a bonsai tree that was somewhat overdue a trim, and of course the rows upon rows of bookshelves with their arranged books standing to attention. Scar blinked, unable to make out the titles between the sleep in his eyes and the darkness of the room.

Instead he turned to look at the person next to him.

The combination of messy black hair and pale skin brought back vague recollections of the prior evening. Flashes of the interior of a very familiar bar, a hand in his, and a row of empty shot glasses in front of him. Well, that explained the pounding headache, at least.

Scar dared to lift the covers a little, getting a better look at his bedmate.

A handsome round face, smeared by last evening’s eyeliner. The moustache had been neatly combed with wax last night, but now it was somewhat comically askew on the man’s face.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo.”

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Scar blinked. Right, he had met Mumbo at the back of the bar.

It was an older place, with good food and decently priced drinks, that meant it had survived since the early ’00s when karaoke rooms had been a must for any self-respecting club.

These days it was mostly used by couples looking for privacy, or by people looking for somewhere to do the sort of substances the owner would kick you out for even bringing into her establishment, the door half obscured by the very curtains that had once framed it as a main selling point.

In short: it was a sound-insulated place in an otherwise noisy environment, with comfortable sofas, that few people other than the poor bugger making the cameras knew about.

It made it the perfect place to catch his breath after a long evening at work. The next guy to man the security cameras had been two hours late - exam season emergency, apparently - and Scar didn’t feel like sitting in the break room where - once again - Angela had just opened a window to smoke rather than going outside, making the whole place an asthma attack waiting to happen.

So Scar had tucked his bag into the basket of his walker and gone into the karaoke room expecting a quiet moment when instead-

“Well, hello there.”

Years later Scar would claim his immediate thought was something in the direction of either “handsome” or “beautiful” depending on what mood he was in, but honestly in that moment he had mostly felt shock followed immediately by concern.

The man in front of him looked as though he had just witnessed something gruesome. Eyes wide, with a faraway gaze and shaking hands.

“Oh, sorry, is this off limits?”

In the present Scar was looking at the man’s sleeping form, marvelling at what a night’s rest had done for him.

Light stubble decorated his soft jawline and Scar’s fingers itched to feel it. Mumbo’s lips were slightly parted in a snore, and he felt their phantom presence on his own. His arm was heavy around Scar’s waist, though it did not feel possessive so much as protective.

Similar to how he had been holding himself when Scar had found him. Huddled in the corner of a couch, as if trying to make himself far smaller than he was.

“No, no. I just came here to sit down,” Scar said. “but I can leave you to it.”

The bus home didn’t arrive for another 20 minutes - if it were on time for once - and his joints would surely protest if he tried to wait it out in the cold winter air.

“There’s room,” the man said, pulling his long legs up to his chest.

Scar paused for a moment. The stranger did not seem dangerous. Upset, perhaps, but there was a million and one reasons one might be upset. He sniffed the air and detected no more alcohol than was usual for the bar.

Well, it was a big couch, there was certainly room for two.

The cracked, white leather sank beneath his weight, creaking as it shifted. The stranger winced but otherwise stayed where he was.

Not a week went by without one of the other employees telling Scar he should try working the bar sometimes. He obviously couldn’t, not with how long it required him to stay on his feet. It didn’t stop him from spending his breaks there though, talking up a storm with the customers and doubling their sales while he was at it.

He was what one might call a people-person, though he very much doubted he would have missed how tense the man in the room with him was even if he hadn’t been.

“My name is Scar, and who might you be?” he asked.

Perhaps he had been wrong in his assessment of how drunk the man was, or perhaps Scar himself was more tired than he had though. Either way, the sentence the stranger spoke was an unidentifiable whirl to Scar.

“What was that?”

The stranger sighed.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo,” the man - Mumbo - explained.

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.” Scar could not keep the smile from creeping into his voice. “Now, Mumbo, I am no expert, but it seems to me that something is bothering you?”

Mumbo shifted, turning his face halfway from Scar’s and resting his face on his knee, resulting in a lock of his hair obscuring the other half. Well, so much for keeping an eye on the stranger with whom he was alone.

“Long night,” Mumbo told him. “I just needed a break. I don’t do well with loud noises or crowds.”

Scar made sure to keep his voice down when he spoke next.

“Interesting place to go on a Friday night, then.”

Mumbo shrugged. “Well, there’s not a whole lot of gay parks or gay cafes about. The man i was meeting up with wanted to meet here.”

Scar offered a look of sympathy.

“Date gone wrong?”

It was at this point he learned that Mumbo was the blushing type, when his cheeks darkened.

“Something like that…”

Scar inched a little closer, feeling the insatiable itch of curiosity.

“You know, people tell me I’m a good listener,” he fished. “I can go first if you’d like. My love life is abysmal. I haven’t had a date in months, and my last steady relationship was with a straight guy.”

Mumbo looked up fully, pausing for a moment, before he said:

“Tonight was a frankly terrible - and misguided - attempt at getting over my flatmate.”

“This sounds like the sort of conversation we could both use a drink for,” Scar said, having long since learned that this was the way of the British. “What’s your poison?”

Mumbo hesitated.

“My treat,” Scar hastened to add. “I get a staff discount.”

“... [Mumbo requests a drink].”

“Coming right up, good sir,” he said.

Another perk to working here was being able to skip the busy friday night line - sorry, queue - at the bar. He was back in the quiet room in no time, balancing the two drinks on a tray.

“Please don’t spill any. You really aren’t allowed to drink in this room, so if we ruin the sofa or the carpet it will get docked from my paycheck.”

Mumbo accepted his drink, clasping it tightly between his two hands.

“Cheers,” he sighed, taking a sip. “How did you end up dating a straight guy?”

Mumbo, it seemed, was the forward type.

“I’m trans,” he said. “We were still together when I realised. He was good about it, you know, just didn’t want to date a guy. We parted as friends.”

“Right,” Mumbo said. “Congrats? On the gender?”

Scar couldn’t help but laugh. “Why thank you, Mr Jumbo, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“My flatmate is straight too… or he was, anyway, until recently. Turns out being in love with him was a lot easier when I thought he wasn’t into men. Back then it was the idea of dating a man he wasn’t into, and not…”

“You?” Scar guessed.

“Yeah, that,” Mumbo sighed, having another sip of his drink.

“Well, he’s a fool to overlook such a handsome man.”

Mumbo snorted.

“You are!” Scar told him. “Look at you. That luscious hair, the stylish suit, those beautiful grey eyes, and those curves? I’d say you’re quite the catch, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Somewhere between the compliments and the way Mumbo bit his lip and blushed Scar had a realisation. Yes, Mumbo was quite handsome, wasn’t he?

“Well, you must be just about the only one in this bar who feels that way. My date walked out after half an hour, and I’ve failed to talk to even a single other man tonight.”

“You’re talking to me,” Scar pointed out.

“I don’t think it counts when one of the staff decides to give you a pity drink,” Mumbo sighed.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening here?” Scar snorted. “I’m off the clock, you know. I’m just making friends. I’m a friendly guy. Look, why don’t I tell you a little more about myself, and you can do the same if you’d like? Great!”

He had continued to tell Mumbo about his life story, how he ended up in the UK, going to university, coming out, getting sick, dropping out, and finally after several years in and out of the hospital, ending up enrolling again while working evenings here in the bar.

Ending up in Mumbo’s bed…

Scar stretched, the delicate silk sheets slipping over his naked skin in a gentle caress. It brought to mind the way soft hands had wandered over his flesh in the dark of the small hours of the night. It had been a while, long enough he was probably going to be sore for at least half of the day. It was a pleasant sort of soreness, though.

He looked up at the face mere inches from his, feeling no shame in taking in the details of Mumbo’s appearance while he slept.

In the low lights of the bar he had not been able to tell, but from the shape of his face he suspected Mumbo would have dimples when he smiled. There was no sign of wrinkles on his skin yet, but by the sharpness of his cheekbones, he had to be in his twenties at least.

The moustache was a nice touch too, even if it had tickled terribly against Scar’s collarbones and abdomen each time Mumbo had kissed him last night.

On the subject of collarbones, Scar could only note his admiration of the rather prominent mark he had left just about Mumbo’s left one. He shivered at the thought of how the other man had whined. Perhaps he would be up for another round this morning..?

Another round… right. He had stayed past the last bus for another round. Mumbo, once he had started talking, had seemed almost compelled to share his life story as well.

“Theodore Bertram Ambrose Osborn Chace the third,” Mumbo pronounced, a seemingly impossible feat giving he was at the end of his second pint. “Former heir to the right honourable Lord Theodore Chace the second.”

Scar whistled and leaned back in the booth he had found them towards the back of the bar, though it might have gotten lost in the noise. The music was as loud as anywhere else, but they had the table to themselves and the ability to wave one of Scar’s colleagues over when they would momentarily need another refill. Mumbo seemed content enough, anyway.

“That’s quite the name. Can’t imagine any loving parent wishing learning how to spell all that on any child of theirs.”

Mumbo picked up his drink, downing the rest of the dark red liquid.

“They weren’t,” he confirmed. “Hence, Mumbo Jumbo. Easier to pronounce.”

And a name that came with less baggage, he read between the lines.

“I have this friend from Sweden - shared a flat with her when I did my bachelor’s degree. He accused me of having a Mumbo Jumbo name, and when my father disinherited me for dropping out of business school and going into engineering… well, it just fit me better. Silly, I know, but what can you do.”

“Mumbo,” he started. “My name is Scar.”

Another thing Scar was learning about Mumbo was the fact that he was a giggler, or at least the drink brought it out in him. His whole face lit up with it, even when he tried to hide it.

“So, your Swedish friend, is he the one you’re pining after?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Iskall moved back years ago. No, he’s from here. We were paired up for a pub quiz during fresher’s week and we hit it off. I think I fell a little bit in love with him the first time he spoke to me. He just… has this energy. He can be such a pest sometimes, but his happiness is always infectious. Even when he’s laughing at your face because he pranked you by glueing the cereal box to the kitchen counter again, you can’t help but join in. You ever met anyone like that?”

“Sounds a bit like my ex,” Scar said. It must be the alcohol warming his insides, he decided. Surely the ‘Yes, I think I would give up most of my earthly possessions to stretch this evening forever if it means hearing you laughter again’ was down to the alcohol.

Mumbo huffed, picking up the drinks card.

“I’m never going to get over him this way.”

Scar rested his chin in his hand, leaning against the sticky table.

“Nonsense. Look around you, Mumbo, this room is full of wonderful men all looking for a good time.”

“Hard to get to know them when the music is so loud.”

Scar laughed. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting you go looking for ‘the one’ right away. But a night with a handsome man might be a good first step.”

Scar hoped he never got tired of watching Mumbo blush. It was just so… cute.

“What, like a one-night stand?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never done that any sooner than the third date,” Mumbo confessed.

“Never too late to try something new,” Scar suggested. “If you want to, that is.”

Mumbo made a noncommittal sound, wringing his hands.

“Just a suggestion. I’m sure there are many other things you could do to create some distance. A holiday, maybe? I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Or maybe a new hobby? Something to get you out of the house”

Mumbo bit his lip.

“Maybe… There’s one thing I’m wondering, though. Why are you doing this, Scar?”

Why was he doing this?

Mumbo was good company, and Scar liked people. In the backroom, the closest he got to social interaction was Samuel showing up to replace him for the late shift, and while the people on his course were nice enough, most of them were a decade younger than him and straight out of sixth form. And Cub, of course, but when Cub would be home in their little two-bedroom flat above the Chinese restaurant was anyone’s guess.

And shoot him, Scar liked to see people happy, and he liked to believe there was people out there for everyone, helping Mumbo find his (or at least the courage to find them) wasn’t such a bad use of his time.

“This is the first new thing that has happened to me in weeks,” he admitted. “I don’t get out a lot - just work and school. I’ve already missed my bus, and the taxi market will be a nightmare at this hour, so I’m stuck here for at least another hour until the Friday evening rush passes. And you’re interesting, I suppose.”

“That was… very honest,” Mumbo said after a pause.

“I tend to be. That a problem?

“No, not at all. Makes it a lot easier when I don’t have to second guess. Dating, making friends - I’m a bit of a spoon with these things.”

Scar laughed. The alcohol was getting to him, he could tell, because the idea of being Mumbo’s friend made something in his chest feel all warm and fussy.

“Do you want to know one thing I don’t think I will ever get tired of? You British people and your funny little sayings. ‘A bit of a spoon’, that’s adorable.” He grinned, doing an excellent job of imitating Mumbo’s accent in his own humble opinion. “Well then, Mumbo, as someone who has been very much enjoying making friends with you - how would you like a sample of my famous, internationally renowned Scar Bontemps wingman service?”

“If you promise me not to try to do an English accent again, I think I’d agree to just about anything.”

Scar gasped. “I am great at accents, Mumbo! I bet you the next round I can convince someone I am British.”

“Well, if you’re handing out free drinks, I won’t say no.”

Scar stood up, taking the first few steps towards the door before he realised what Mumbo had just implied.

“Now, hold on just a moment, mister,” he protested. “That’s it! I’m going to prove you wrong, right away.”

Scar’s head ached, a reminder of just how that bet had turned out for him. The first round of shots had been his treat, the second bought by Mumbo. Dutch courage, he had called it.

Mumbo would surely have an advil somewhere… or whatever they were called this side of the pond. However, trapped between a wall and a man sleeping like a rock, Scar stood little chance of finding them.

It was very gentlemanly of Mumbo to begin stirring just when his need for pain relief was getting urgent, Scar thought.

He moaned, perhaps a sign he too was suffering for last night’s escapades, and tightened his hold on Scar’s waist.

Scar relaxed, letting himself be pulled against Mumbo’s chest, only squirming a little when his hip started protesting at the odd angle.

“Good morning,” he said.

Mumbo sighed, hiding his face in the crook of Scar’s neck. “Hey.”

The way he was petting Scar’s back was sweet, the gravelly tone his voice had taken on from sleep sending a shiver down his spine.

“Something wrong?” Mumbo asked, prodding himself up on one of his elbows.

Scar’s back lamented the new angle he was lying at and he adjusted himself, then adjusted Mumbo with hesitant hands, until he was comfortable again.

“I think an elephant walked through and stepped on my head while I slept - or perhaps a marching band took up residence on the inside of my skull.” At Mumbo’s puzzled, half-asleep expression, he added: “My head hurts.”

Mumbo hummed, the scruff on his cheeks tickling the sensitive skin of Scar’s neck when he leaned in to kiss his shoulder in sympathy.

“Wait here,” Mumbo told him, wriggling out from under Scar and standing up.

Despite his pounding head Scar could not help but lament the dim light of the bedroom. The end of the night was clear to him, but only in flashes. Ones that, sadly, did not include as much detail of what Mumbo looked like naked as Scar would have liked.

However, being a man of the arts, Scar had to admit there was something truly aesthetic about the way the sunlight that slipped in through the curtains lit up Mumbo’s side. One stripe of light painted on his pale skin, filtering through the speckles of body hair and nestling into the curve where his leg joined his torso. As Mumbo retreated into the en suite bathroom, it paned over his backside, upwards, playing with his silky black hair.

How would it feel on a sunny day, warmed by the sun, Scar wondered? He wiggled his fingers against the sheets in a vain effort to satiate the itch to find out.

Mumbo returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water.

Scar eyed them sceptically.

“You keep your glassware in your bathroom?” he asked, feeling entitled to judge the man at least a little after sleeping with him.

“Only one glass,” Mumbo excused, not close enough that Scar could make out his blush in the dark. “Sometimes when I’m working on a project, I get a little… focused. seeing it next to the basin reminds me to eat and drink. It’s clean.”

“You’re a funny one, Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar told him, accepting the water and the painkillers, downing both.

“In the best ways only, I hope,” Mumbo said, flopping back on the bed with a soft grunt.

Scar leaned over him to put the glass on the nightstand, using his position to lay down half on top of Mumbo.

“Just need a moment to wake up properly.”

The last part of the sentence trailed off into a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head, bending his wrist just in time to avoid hitting the wooden windowsill.

As he settled back down, arms wrapping around Scar, it struck Scar how comfortable Mumbo was in his own space. It suited him.

The Scar Bontemps Wingman service was renowned in his circle of friends. Ren liked to say that in another lifetime Scar may have been a travelling salesman, a conman, or possibly both.

Scar wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he was good at this.

Matchmaking was easy. It was all about understanding two fundamental things: 1) everyone wanted something 2) everyone had something to give.

On dark days and long evenings watching the security feed, he often found himself circling the thought that the only reason he found it so easy to talk about others and so hard to talk about himself was that he doubted whether there was truly anyone out there who would be interested in what he had to offer.

With Mumbo it was easy. The man was obviously attractive, passionate, and charming. He had all but convinced himself setting Mumbo up with someone would be as simple as to introduce him to whatever man he had his eyes set on. Mumbo was attractive, passionate, and polite. His laughter was infectious, one evening in his company enough to put Scar in a good mood.

“So,” Scar asked, hand on the bar counter to steady himself after the second shot. “Anyone catching your eye?”

For the first time since leaving the room, Mumbo surveyed the busy room. From the small dance floor - currently dominated by five women who had arrived together and seemed to have some intricate constellation of relationships between them, judging by how a different pairing in the group were kissing every time Scar looked over. To the door, opening and closing and letting what little fresh air was able to slip in into the bar as guests went out into the cold winter air for a smoke. Finally, at the end of the bar where a group of men a year or two their junior were surveying the crowd with feigned disinterest. Bingo.

“How about those three?” he asked, nodding towards the three, well, twinks was the word that came to mind.

“Erh,” Mumbo said eloquently. “Sure?”

“Which of the three do you like?”

Mumbo looked at Scar for another long moment before surveying the group.

“The one to the right,” he revealed. “He looks stronger.”

Muscular men were Mumbo’s type, then. Scar made a mental note of it in case this first attempt didn’t work out.

“Ready?” Scar asked, draping an arm over Mumbo’s shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be,” Mumbo replied, shoulders tense enough that Scar’s own trapezius twinged in sympathy.

Mumbo, Scar quickly learned, was not an easy commodity to sell.

He obviously had plenty of qualities, which Scar dropped artfully into conversation. Why, my good friend Mumbo is an engineer, did you know? Very smart. He volunteers at a repair workshop, on top of working at a garage. Mechanics are so strong, don’t you agree? Who doesn’t love a man covered in oil and sweat? And look at him. How many men do you know that are willing to make the effort of wearing a suit every day?

That part was easy.

The hard part was when the commodity you were trying to sell seemed adamant to fight back against you.

Mumbo, while technically an engineer, needed to become a fully-fledged civil engineer before he could use his degree for anything, so really he was just like any other master’s student. The repair workshop was only to buff his resume, and the mechanic mostly had him doing consulting work - flying machines and cars weren’t so different after all.

The suit though, oh he could talk about the suit! Scar thought he had finally succeeded - on the fourth try - until Mumbo started talking about the seventh tie knot, illustrating how to tie it and detailing when to wear it. Scar made a mental note to go to his new friend next time he had a formal event, and to not bring up his manner of dress with the next man they approached unless he seemed particularly interested in the history of cufflinks.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Mumbo hiccupped over another shot of whisky, provided by Scar. “I’m just not good at this.”

“Nonsense,” Scar told him, downing his own drink and rubbing Mumbo’s shoulder comfortingly.

(Despite his protests that he did very little practical work at the garage, Mumbo was rather strong, wasn’t he? How had Scar not noticed sooner…)

“You just need to get out of your head. Maybe we’re just going about this wrong. What if instead of approaching them, we get them to approach you?”

“And how would we do that, mate?” Mumbo asked, his arm slipping under Scar’s and providing much needed support.

“Dance with me?” he suggested. “We’ll get everyone wondering who those handsome men on the dance floor are, and when they come to ask, all you need to do is seal the deal.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Mumbo confessed. “Can’t dance a single step.”

“It is past midnight, everyone will have had enough to drink that it won’t matter.”

Mumbo sighed. “If you think it’ll work…”

He took a step back, offering a light bow before offering Scar his hand. Scar bit his lip not to laugh. It made sense, it did. Old money and formalities often went hand in hand. Mumbo had probably been taught how to waltz, or something equally formal.

Scar took the offered hand, placing it at his waist.

“You stand there,” he instructed, positioning himself closer to the centre of the floor, and Mumbo outwards so he could be seen from the bar and the booths. That suit really did wonders for his backside…

Now, Scar was not much of a dancer either. He liked it, but there were the obvious challenges.

“You okay?” Mumbo asked.

“My balance isn’t great without my walker.”

Mumbo’s hold on him tightened, and Scar had to wonder why he was suppressing the urge to shiver in such a hot room.

“We can leave if you’d like?” Mumbo offered.

“I was promised a dance, Mr Jumbo, and I’m holding you to that.”

Scar placed a hand over Mumbo’s chest, feeling the other’s racing heart even through the layers of fabric.

“Just hold on to me?” he requested.

“Of course,” Mumbo agreed.

They started out slow. Scar moved, Mumbo followed, the two of them simply swaying to the music.

Whatever song must be popular, because soon a handful of other bar patrons joined the previously sparsely populated dance floor. For a moment Scar thought he might have succeeded in getting someone to see Mumbo for the get he was, but instead the additional people just pushed him further into Mumbo’s arms.

Mumbo’s hand crept around his body, settling on Scar’s lower back instead of his hip, holding him in place.

“You okay?” he asked Mumbo.

“I was just about to ask you that.”

Scar smiled at him. They were chest to chest now, and he had to wrap his hands around Mumbo’s neck to even have room for his arms.

“You’re so warm,” Mumbo told him, swaying to the tune of the music again. Being as close as he was, Scar was moved by him.

“Is that bad?” he asked, both feeling and seeing how Mumbo shivered when Scar’s breath ghosted over his neck.

“No,” Mumbo said.

The music picked up speed, and so did their dance. For the first time since they had left the safety of the karaoke room, Mumbo looked relaxed.

His eyes were on Scar, his attention solely on moving to the music.

How had Scar not noticed Mumbo’s eyes sooner? Dark grey framing light, reflecting the flashing lights on the dance floor back to Scar.

The song changed, but Scar was no longer listening.

Mumbo’s hips were against his, the two of them sharing heated breaths as they continued dancing past the fifth song. Aches and pains forgotten, there was only the beat of the music and the beating of their hearts.

For every rejection Mumbo had run his hands through his short hair, leaving it a mess at this point. Perhaps Scar should smooth it out?

He wanted to do so, anyway.

He got as far as the short hair at the nape of Mumbo’s neck. Mumbo bit his lip, sighing, and Scar could not help but watch those pink lips move.

Oh.

Mumbo was tall, and had to bend his head down experimentally. Scar approached, both of them inching closer, and-

His lips were soft, his tongue inquisitive where it met Scar’s own. He tasted of fruity ciders and burning alcohol, the scent of his subtle cologne somewhat mixing into the taste in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Whether Mumbo was consciously tightening his hold to support Scar when his knees began to go shaky, Scar wasn’t sure.

Scar heard himself moan, and Mumbo responded by biting at his lip.

He gasped, breaking away for breath.

“Cheeky,” he accused, leaning against Scar. “Do that again?”

Mumbo continued as he had all evening, following most of Scar’s whims. This time, however, he cut the kiss short, trailing down Scar’s jaw and neck instead. Oh, how pleased he was he had worn something low-cut tonight.

One of his hands remained on Mumbo’s shoulder - a necessity, his legs were still as soft as jelly beneath him - while the other trailed down Mumbo’s back, and settling on his ass- arse- whatever.

“Scar,” Mumbo sighed. “You sure about this?”

“Wouldn’t be kissing you otherwise,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here?”

“My flatmate won’t be home,” Mumbo agreed.

“Mine will be.”

“My place it is.”

And from there… well, somewhere between heady kisses, needy touches, and affirmations that neither of them expected the other to be at their best after how many drinks they had had, they ended up at the back of a cab, and then in Mumbo’s little terrace house.

“Upstairs,” Mumbo said somewhere south of Scar’s collarbone and north of his left pec, nimble fingers flying over the buttons of Scar’s shirt. It did make sense, with how much Mumbo knew about suits, that he would know how to most effectively remove a button-up. How very talented he was.

“Not great at those,” Scar told him, his walker left at the front door alongside their shoes.“Sofa?”

“Flatmate will be home by morning.”

Scar sighed, tilting his head back to allow Mumbo better access. He had never been with a man with facial hair before, and was delighted to learn Mumbo’s moustache tickled against his skin.

“I’ll help you?” Mumbo offered.

“Sure,” Scar said. By morning he would be decidedly more sober, so getting back down shouldn’t be such a challenge.

He smiled, the events of last night playing out before his mind’s eye.

Kisses that started out hesitant, while hands explored unknown paths, soon turning heated, clothes coming off in the process.

Where last night Mumbo’s body had been marked by teeth, it was now decorated in pretty little bruises. Scar knew he was much the same.

The alcohol had still been clouding their heads, burning past inhibitions, but remdering them slow. To compensate they had moved at a leisurely pace. Warm, soft, and caring, ending with both of them on their sides, inquisitively familiarising themselves with where to touch to make each other sigh in satisfaction.

Mumbo, he learned, had never been with anyone trans before. He was a quick study, though, diligently prepping Scar, carefully listening to Scar’s instructions when he told Mumbo how to hold up his legs so it wouldn’t hurt his joints now or tomorrow.

It hadn’t exactly been the best sex in the world, both of them were drunk after all, but Scar was certain he had never felt so comfortable after a one night stand before.

He was still catching his breath, lying comfortably on this side, when Mumbo slipped into the bathroom. Scar could hear the water running, and after a few minutes, he returned, looking less flushed and much cleaner.

“Sorry,” he had said, lying back down with all the grace of a falling tree, offering his open arms to Scar. “Just needed to clean up.”

Scar could recall waving it off, already cuddled against Mumbo and drifting off to sleep.

In the light of the morning, he kissed Mumbo’s shoulder and was rewarded by him snuggling closer.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, adding a snore that told another story entirely.

It was sweet, and Scar did nothing to resist the urge to kiss him again, planting one on Mumbo’s jaw.

Mumbo shifted to look down at Scar.

“Goodness, you’re handsome.”

He said this with a surprising amount of clarity.

Scar knew this already, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Mumbo’s hand settled on Scar’s waist, his fingers spreading and tracing patterns on the sensitive skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

[Still lying in bed, Mumbo and Scar agree that they both want to get to know each other better. They both find each other interesting and attractive, and even if it doesn’t turn into romance they think they could become good friends.

Mumbo goes to have a shower. Scar thinks of joining, but is hungry. Mumbo tells him where the kitchen is and to help himself to whatever he’d like.

Scar goes into the kitchen and is greeted by Grian, Mumbo’s flatmate - and his ex!

Scar is thrilled to see him. Grian tells him he regrets breaking up without giving it a try, he’s been thinking a lot about Scar, and wishes they at least hadn’t lost contact. Scar doesn’t blame him, and just looks forward to reconnecting.

Grian suggests a time and Scar has to decline because he has just planned a date with Mumbo that day.

Grian reacts weirdly to this, but before Scar can ask, Mumbo joins the in the kitchen. Scar happily tells Mumbo that he and Grian know each other, and how]

[alexanderwales]

The Current WIP List

Inspired by this post by @a-memory-a-distant-echo, this is a list of ongoing works-in-progress, where "in progress" I will define as "I have added at least one sentence in the last year as an indicator of actual mental load being used". This does not include worldbuilding or planning documents, which spring up like weeds. I am also including the ones that I get paid for via Patreon or publication deals or whatever.

Thresholder is my currently ongoing web serial, publishing two chapters a week (in theory ...). It's about a guy who travels between worlds and fights other people who travel between worlds, with each world being a relatively contained book. Currently about 750K words.

Doomsday Pivot! is, in theory, the follow-up to Thresholder, about a start-up that has to make a sudden change in plans when the end of the world gives everyone a character class. First book is rough draft complete but needs some responses to developmental editing, sitting at 104K words. (You can read a noncanonical first chapter here, which I had previously made public on my discord.)

Millennial Scarlet is a webcomic I write about a gig-economy demon hunter. Writing comics is awesome, mostly because I get to see my words come to life. In word count ... I'm not sure right now, but probably not all that much. In the middle of writing the fourth issue right now.

Glimwarden was a web serial that I abandoned, a black mark on my record. I intend to go back to it at some point, because it was my wife's favorite. You can read it up to the point where it was abandoned here. There are currently ~3 unreleased chapters, but most of the effort put into it has been rewriting it and bringing it up to snuff, as well as fixing some problems with it. Will get a relaunch at some point, probably, when I'm ready to commit to that. No idea on the word count.

Untitled Dance Magic story is probably a short story, currently ~5K words. It's based around a magic system where people do ballroom dance to create architecture, and is a somewhat traditional romance and/or coming of age story. I started writing it on a whim after a conversation with @etirabys at LessOnline, and hopefully they haven't started their own story, and hopefully if they have, hopefully their story doesn't overlap mine. I'll check before posting, hoping to get this one finished and out there.

Kensuke Fucks the World is an existentialist horror erotic novel, which I describe as being "like the Erogamer, but sad". Currently 75K words, and might never see the light of day. I think I can wrap it up in another 25K words, but I think it needs a lot of work.

Long Stairs will probably be novella length in its finished form, and will probably not be finished. It's an old story, which predates Worth the Candle by a few months, and is about a military fireteam making a routine delve into an endless shifting dungeon that the US military has already pulled a lot of magic out of. Medics with clerical healing, wands and firearms, high fantasy and military. There's unfortunately some stuff in there that I cannibalized for WtC that needs to be changed so it's not a repeat, but nothing structural, and there are a lot of plot beats that I enjoy in both the 15K words that are already written and what's in the notes. I did not put a bunch of work into this one, but it was one of those cases where I was reading through old stuff and got enough of a head of steam that it latched onto me again. (I also don't know enough about the military or how to write that kind of stuff, which is one of the reasons that this fic never got my full attention.)

The Lot is a story that's basically just "the backrooms, but with cars". It think it was inspired by a tumblr post, but probably won't be finished, since it's probably novella length. Currently 9K words, more a character study than it is about people stuck in an infinite parking lot and scrounging off what they can find in glove compartments.

Kitchen Sink is a bureauporn/bureaupunk novel about the agency created to deal with the rise of mutants circa 1977. Currently a mere 9K words, but the plan was for each successive part of the book to focus on another genre being discovered by the department, so you'd get a book with wizards, with vampires, with aliens, etc., mostly with a focus on how these are handled on an administrative level. No way I would ever be able to sell it, unfortunately.

Robot Team Isekai (not its real title) is about a van full of kids on their way to a robotics team meet that get transported to another world where their individual specialties grant them awesome abilities in a "your hyperfixation makes you perfectly adapted to the fantasy world" kind of way, but for five people with different hyperfixations. 2K words, probably will never see the light of day.

Full Meta vol. 2 is a novel about a group of high school students who get metafiction powers, so like ... one girl gets the ability to read the text of the novel they're in whenever someone is engaging in exposition, one guy can read the flashbacks, someone can read all the romance scenes or whatever, and they have a dysfunctional time dealing with each other through college and into adulthood. I fully recognize that calling it "Full Meta vol. 2" when no first volume exists is a gimmick title and would be confusing enough to immediately turn people away.

Dark Wizard of Donkerk was an old NaNo novel, but got halfway dev edited before my dev editor on that one flaked. I think it's a good story, just a matter of getting into the guts of it and making it great, but that takes time. 173K words, but this is old old. If you like rough, unpolished creative output, you can read it on my website.

Untitled Hermione/Draco fanfic is, uh ... I guess according to the logs was something that I put effort into in late 2023. I have read vanishingly little HP fanfic, and I'm sure there's a ton of this stuff, and that some of it is even good. This one doesn't adhere too much to canon or fanon, and is mostly about trying to write a realistic racist who falls in love with someone he's racist against. 14K words, I cannot believe I added anything to this recently, but apparently I have.

Technically by the criteria set out, I should count all seven of the NaNo test chapters I wrote. Of those, the only ones that have retained any brain space are "The Inevitable Return of Nathaniel Greene" and "Dungeon Core".

There are a few more that are technically outside the arbitrary time limit of one year, but I'm going to include them because I have thought about them in the last year (and will not include the ones that I have not thought about).

Of Witches and Wizards is what I thought was a romance but was told does not fit the apparently pretty exacting mold of a "romance novel". It's about a widowed witch whose two sons have left for college and a wizard who travels the world writing about places for a travel guide. They fall in love. Tons of worldbuilding stuff as they visit different cities and see the breadth and beauty of magic in the world. 15K words right now, was going to be a nice and slender novel.

Eager Readers in Your Area was a short story I wrote a year and a half ago. The WIP is a novel-length version of that about ... art, artists, AI art, dealing with people online, and a bunch of other stuff. I wrote an outline I thought was quite good, but if the short story is the first chapter, then I want an equally good and tight second chapter, and that's hard to do.

Slaver Slayer (not final title) was about a slave who assassinates a high-ranking member of the kingdom and through an oversight gets a magical artifact that might possibly let her kill her way through the monarchy in an attempt to end the institution of slavery. The other protagonist is a detective who's grappling with his complicity in the system and is trying to stop her. Made it to 13K words. Another one of those that was outlined to be a nice tight novel.

[blueberrykenn]

What Happens After Dark

Chapter 1: Yoongi’s Unwanted Attention

When enemies, Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung run into a stranger who not ready to die yet and ask Yoongi to go to some college party Taehyung doesn’t like that

Grim Reaper BTS AU

Pairing: a mix of all ot7 ships

Words: 1K(short so sorry)

Fic Warnings: Dead dove, death,blood, Maknae line being the crackheads they are

Chapter Warning: arguing, Suicide and a curious Jimin

Inspired by @ashanpan AU comic

Yoongi Point of View

"Yoongi, Taehyung you two are working together today for these corrupts"

Seokjin; the first one of the soul collective society had announced while reading what his floating clipboard was saying.

I groaned as we don't get along quite well "Why the loud snake; I would rather the giant nerd kid than him"

I hear Namjoon gasp as Taehyung himself popped his head from the floor and say "Hey! I'm delightful!"

"You literally made everyone think that you were a historical figure the last time you were in the world like that Taehyung!" Seokjin had said while laughing while he rolled his eyes at Seokjin "I am a historian figure I'm Kim Taehyung" as I'm walking to the mortal portal I grumble

"Lets go already and get this over with before I have an aneurysm and die"

I see Jungkook nodding and then his eyes widening "HYUNG YOURE DEAD!"

I laughed as I'm teleporting with an annoyed Taehyung as we set foot into some building for a business while in a building we hide right outside of one of the windows as we see where the souls came from we see a guy and a girl doing what it seems like a suicide pact and they have hung themselves, Taehyung opens the window and I follow as he grabs searches the female's body and I search the male body, then we see it its a two headed snake, not a very powerful corrupt soul but its still corrupt

"Aww look at this cute thing!" Taehyung shrieks and I knock off his hat "dumbass its the two souls they are trying to fuse together" I take my staff and slice one of the head's off while I I collect one of the soul I hear Taehyung scream "Yoongi! WHAT THE FUCK?!" I roll my eyes as I see Taehyung looking away while slicing the other head off the corrupt's head off while he jars up the other soul as we make our way to our next location

While we're walking down the sidewalk nearby a college we see some girl walks up to me in a flirtatious way and say "Hey there! You're hot why don't you come to this party, I can send you the address" The unknown female says as she takes her phone out to type out the address, before she even can type anything Taehyung steps in front of me and in a pissed off tone he tells the female

"He didn't bring his phone sweetie" she then tells Taehyung "I can send it to you, you're also hot" he then shakes his head.

"No thanks."

"There no harm with two extremely hot guys at some college party"

"It Might."

Taehyung then knocks the girl out before alternating her memory and I semi yell.

"Taehyung! You can't be doing that to people" he then shrugged

"She was clearly flirting with you and I got annoyed so it had to be done, besides she wont remember a damn thing about the interaction between us"

Taehyung Point of  View

I don't know why but that girl was getting on my last fucking nerve by being so damn annoying so i had to knock the shit out of her; as we continue the corrupt missions today

once we are done and walk back into the portal Yoongi being the lame buzzkill he is; is already fucking telling what I did to Namjoon hyung

"Yeah he knocked her out and altered her memory like he supposed to be doing that every fucking time he in the mortal world control him Namjoon before I fucking do and you know I'll do some shit."

I see Namjoon holding Yoongi's shoulders before Jungkook comes around and lead Yoongi to a different area then where I am. I I roll my eyes and sit next to Namjoon as I see him giving me a glare and lecture me

"Tae, we don't alter people's memories, Imagine if you didn't know how to properly alter memories, Jin hyung would have an aneurysm and then the demons would capture the poor innocent soul and corrupt it before she even died and then imagine the amount of power that soul would have"

I stood up as I defend myself in a loud tone

"She was so fucking annoying and was flirting with fucking reapers what do you expect me to do go to some college party; if I remember correctly the last time that happened Jungkook and I were in heaps of trouble just for coming back drunk" Namjoon gave me that look like he's going to be continuing his lecture, which he does by saying

"Regardless; Tae you know you can't be messing with the mortals like that, it alters their lifespan, for all we know she'll be on tomorrow's list of corrupts you don't want that do you Tae?" as he explains it i shook my head at his question, understanding the circumstance I put Myself and Yoongi in as we're not exactly mortals and say in a low tone "Sorry Namjoon hyung, sorry Yoongi hyung" as Namjoon nodded i flopped back and dozed off as I was thinking back at today's events

Meanwhile at the exact same time

Jimin's Point of View

"Hey Hobi hyung, isnt that the reapers that Jin has control in?" I look over at my boss/only friend before I see him nodding before I hear him mumble "Where has the cat and snake wander off to, Jimin follow them, but dont intervene" I nod and follow them around from a distance that's where i see the cat and snake arguing while I see a passed out girl in between the two as they walk up I go up to the girl and place a kiss and whisper a chain of words to get her soul to strong for her innocent body before I continue my venture of following the cat and the snake.

They seem intriguing. Almost intoxicating.

[zahri-melitor]

Crossposting but I just finished my 2023 Fic Roundup and Analysis.

I often end up doing these late, so look at me getting this out in January for once! (Didn’t want to put it out in December while I was still publishing)

Previous years: 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022

I like to ask myself some questions about what I've written in the past year. Here's my thoughts.

Stories published: 13

Fandoms published: 3 (technically if you look at my AO3 tagged fandoms for the year it’s 8, but I’m just going to group all the DCU together).

It’s ended up being my biggest year in terms of story output; being back in a fandom which is causing me brainrot as far as prompts go and where I have a bunch of mutuals has definitely been helpful for the writing. My longest finished fic ever is now 24,306 words, and I’ve cleared 40k this year. 

In terms of my all time stats: I’ve got three new stories in my top ten as far as kudos go (at 5,7 and 9 as I write this): all the Vorkosigan has dropped below 10th now.

Most popular story: there’s an endless road to rediscover. Given how I wrote this then fussed worrying for several months over what its reception would be, I’m glad it went well, especially as it was my first time tackling Damian characterisation and I wasn’t confident with him yet. It’s doing better than I expected, ranked next to everything else. 

Favourite story written: Um. Hmmm. Part of me wants to say Orange Juice, because I just really enjoyed how fast that one came together, but really it’s the picture frames have changed and so has your name, no question. My most ambitious project, the source of so much brainrot and theorising. The day I figured out how the solution to ‘what happened to Dick’ (because that was the last big moving piece that came together to make the story work - the solution) was a wonderful one, because I kicked my feet with delight and then had to work really really hard not to reveal the secret to everyone I immediately wanted to tell how clever I was. I was SO SMUG.

Best reception: the picture frames have changed and so has your name definitely gets the award here. Everyone was super nice about it, I got to see so much theorising, it’s currently sitting on 116 comment threads, and honestly all the support to push through and get it written was worth it. Came out so good! You were all really generous!

Favourite underrated story: Tea for Two. I just like the balance of how much stuff I layered into it and that it was detailed enough I sent someone who I KNOW is hugely into No Man’s Land scurrying off to the comics to check I had got certain details correct. It was a fun write with very specific goals to hit, and stylistically exactly what I like doing. I also love the concept of the Mother’s Day series and am thinking through what additions I want to make to it in 2024. 

Favourite title: I actually really enjoyed some of my title choices this year, but I absolutely cannot go past I’ll hold your memory in my hands tonight in terms of title. I came up with it, then I giggled, then I thought about how dark the joke was, then I giggled again. Helena held the thank you letter from Tim! Barbara held the plushie of Tim! Dick held Tim’s brain! I’m so awful.

Hardest story to name: bones of a dinosaur, bones of a city I honestly did not know what to call this story, so I ended up essentially opting out of naming it. I think it works, and has joined the storied realms of ‘story titles I’ve invented quotes for’.

Themes I noted in my stories this year: ‘Let’s write about mothers and sisters’ popped out a lot. There’s a lot of death (and discussions of deaths), which unfortunately ties back into the mothers and sisters thing. And a lot of Tim and his relationships with his older siblings: Dick, Barbara, Helena and Cass.

Commentary: well look who fell back into DC fandom and wrote fic. The bunnies attacked and the fandom itself enjoys short stories. On top of that I had, hmm, two ‘sort out the draft I have sitting here and publish it’ stories that went out this year. Becoming Miss Burgeson had been hanging around as an idea more than a story since I finished Invisible Sun in 2021, because not only is Rita Douglas a fascinating character, but also there are SO MANY identity shenanigans over the years in the Burgeson family. Erasmus’ comments on being a Burgeson in particular were the heart of the fic (because everyone forgets Erasmus ALSO is an assumed name). Nobody using the name was born into it and everyone chose to adopt it as a cover. Now Rita’s not nearly the most complex figure here (Miriam’s name situation is even wilder), but due to the complexities of Miriam/Helge’s names, Rita acquired three extra surnames by the transitive nature of being Miriam’s natural daughter. Actually I SHOULD sit down and work out what Rita’s braid name should actually be. I also dusted off Just Skate Figures enough to post the main bits of it, because I was tired of not having the Axel and Minami scene, at least, posted where other people could enjoy it. 

[definitelynotshouting]

62, 65, 81, 91

Ask me fanfic writer questions!

Hey Book!! :D wouldve answered these last night but as you know tumblr crashed on me 😭😭😭😭 so im answering it now instead!!

62.) what’s the weirdest reason you’ve ever shipped something?

Idk if this counts as weird per se but i straight up started shipping winteriron (Tony Stark x Bucky Barnes) because of THIS FUCKING FIC. It sold me on them SO HARD. Sometimes all it takes is one godtier fic that does everything right to get you hooked on a rarepair ✌️😔😔😔

65.) what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written? 

If we're talking og titles i came up with myself, the title of my unpublished TES Oblivion fic is The Stars Have No Names, which ive always been fond of, especially combined with its planned sequel, But Those We Give Them-- which makes a full sentence that just sorta encapsulates the vibe of the whole thing in a way that really scratches my brain just right. This is closely followed by the piece i did for the DSMP Comics Zine, A Few E.G.G.s Short of the Full Scramble, which has multiple layers of puns loaded into it and makes me laugh like a lunatic every time i remember them

As for stuff that isnt original (aka song lyrics or poetry verses, which i steal from shamelessly), i'd have to say im most fond of sightless, unless the eyes reappear, which is the tma fic i wrote that accidentally predicted a decent chunk of the podcast's ending 😭 if i had a fucking nickel.... The verse is ripped from T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" and i really loved how it just perfectly hits the vibes i was going for in that fic. Extremely on-the-nose titles are a game and brother i am WINNING

81.) if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

"Hello tiny TJ. First of all, you are a transgender dyke. No this isnt relevant i just thought you ought to know. Anyway cool it with the perfectionism man one day people are gonna read a fic where every individual tag warning you've added is its own separate vine boom and you're gonna get tons of compliments on it despite the fact that it isnt what you consider fully polished. Got that written down? Cool. Now go forth and kiss women, peace<3"

91.) how has your writing style changed over the years?

My writing's always been pretty descriptive, but over the last few years its REALLY shifted into overdrive on the imagery. I think thats always been my biggest strength as a writer, and its something i really, really enjoy doing. As ive said in the past: if im not painting pictures with my words then what, pray tell, is the point!!!

The other thing ive noticed is that ive been dipping my toes into more experimental formatting, whether thats in regards to the story's structure (shout out to that time i planned to write a fic in reverse chronological order), the points of view (second person my beloved), different narration styles, or just the way the words on the page look-- something i know has been directly inspired by my cousin, who has an unpublished 85k Dead Space fanfic which replaces an ENTIRE CHAPTER with a twine game. The man is insane and i love him so much and one day i will bully him into finishing this fic because its not even halfway done what the fuck. Anyway thats my answer THANK YOU BOOK FOR SENDING THESE :DD

[winderlylandchime]

Hi, me again. But this time I come with questions for you from my brother.

He was talking about your fic and then asked me if i could ask you some questions, i said yes and then accidentally forgot about it, sent you that last message, told him about it because i took his phone for his playlist, he found out that I didn’t ask you his questions even tho he never told me what to ask and got annoyed with me.

So here they are:

-Your favorite fic that you have written?

-Favorite part and chapter from the new fic you wrote and -which part of the new fic came to you in the best way? This question is because a friend of his makes comic strips for his niece and one day his group of friends were all drunk and while my brother was on one of those mechanical bulls, his friend came up with an idea after my brother flew off of that bull. And till this day it’s my brothers favorite comic strip. And the last question which he said it was almost the most important one, what music did you listen to while writing? He knows you made a playlist with your last fic which btw he loves, so he’s wondering if you listened to any new music during the writing of the new fic.

And he is making me to tell you that his first date playlist worked on one girl he went on a date with. And they dated for almost a year, so he calls it a success. He is sure that it would’ve worked on another date as well but he played the playlist and immediately she asked him if he could change the song because she actually can’t stand the Shrek movies or the songs in it. And he turned off the playlist, walked to the table, blew out the candles and went ‘i think its best if you leave.’

PS. He has his check up tomorrow to do all his tests again and then on Wednesday he has a check up with his surgeon to go through the tests. So he’s extra nervous which is why he is bothering you with his questions. If it makes you feel better, he bothered our mom so much she blocked his number for an hour :)

Hello dear sweet anon and brother anon!

I totally get feeling anxious about medical tests so I’m happy to provide distraction.

My favorite fic? It’s probably a toss up between You’re Like a Tattoo and Clothes Mean Nothing Until Someone Lives in Them Tattoo because it took a lot of planning and thinking through as my first full AU in this fandom. And Clothes just because I love it - it’s short and sweet and is a bit of speed run through canon.

Favorite part and favorite chapter of the new fic I wrote? Beautiful Like the Darkness Between the Fireflies isn’t done yet (yikes, sorry y’all) but I think my most favorite part is the conversation with Gus in the first chapter. I love aged up non-binary Gus and I adore soft dad Brian. The first chapter is so far my favorite. And that’s the part that came to me in the best way. I had been thinking of present day middle aged (or nearly so for Justin) Britin after reading a bunch of fic in Good Omens (a fandom that does middle aged ships proud) and I’ve also read some really good exes-to-lovers fics as well. I was driving to work and the beginning of the fic - the scene with Brian and Cynthia came to me fully formed so I voice-to-texted that opening scene. (While driving, bad idea, I am a terrible driver to start with… sorry everyone on the road that day!) and sent it to @kiranerysed who always supports my best-worst inclinations and the rest is history. I wanted to get it all completed before I started posting so I’m not in the situation with the last chapter that I’m in now but alas.

I have been listening to the song that the title comes from, which I tend to do. The song that the title of Tattoo comes from was my number one most played song in 2023 according to Spotify. So for Fireflies it’s the song by Mason Jennings Darkness Between the Fireflies and then yesterday I re-listened to his song Butterfly off the same album and it’s so Brian-coded (character, not the cat, but maybe the cat too!) just change the “woman” to “man” in the lyric “you’re the [man] I should run from, where the fuck did you come from” So those two songs predominantly.

I believe that a playlist with the song Accidentally In Love could work for a very specific type of person and clearly the person this would work for is someone who is a good fit for your brother. I admire the balls it takes to blow out the candles and invite someone to leave if they do not share your music taste. Brandi Carlile (my all-time favorite musician in case somehow that was lost in presence of her songs as fic titles or throughout fic playlist) spent time with her now-wife when they first started dating to see if this thing between them had any future. (In Michigan which is only relevant because my spouse is from Michigan.) Anyway Catherine mentioned Joni Mitchell’s Blue and Brandi said she found Joni cheesy and didn’t get the appeal. Catherine (rightly) invited Brandi to leave this fledgling relationship unless and until Brandi could come around and recognize the brilliance of Joni Mitchell. Well, a marriage (with three weddings!) and two adorable kiddos later… Brandi is now in a jam band with Joni and has performed Blue in its entirety and also brought Joni back to the stage at Hollywood Bowl this fall which I got to see. All to say that there is a good history of using music as a line in the sand for a potential romantic relationship.

[wroteclassicaly]

Comfort

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader x Steve Harrington)

Summary: Mother Nature is a bitch, and well, so are you. Until your boyfriends decide to help out a little…

Pairings: Steddie x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,757

Warnings: Language, NSFW, bodily fluids, anxiety, thrupple fighting, blood, period stuff, period sex, vaginal sex, obvious threesome, tooth rotting fluff & comfort, and MORE!

A/N: You know, I can’t ever write a fic with the general idea in mind, and stick to it. I always have to develop additions along the way. Anyways, I’m gonna try and keep this one short, and I hope it makes sense, lol. It started out as comfort and I decided to just go for it, so if period sex/blood in smut is not your thing—AVOID! I also couldn’t decide between the two men, thus I am doing a three way again!

The feedback on She’s Trouble has been immaculate and astounding to me! I thank all of you so much, with all my heart! I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to everyone, it was just a lot! But I saw every comment and tag! 💘🥹

Also, I’m not using tags, because I don’t know who will and will not be comfortable with this kind of content!

I hope y’all enjoy this?! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You tried to be still at the Wheeler’s kitchen table, you really did. Listening to Nancy get lost in a speech about her latest editorial, Robin hyping her up on the sidelines, and the kids throwing popcorn at each other in the living room, with Mike bitching about it getting in the carpet and pissing his mom off. Your heels haven’t touched the floor since you began bouncing your feet about ten minutes ago, fingers fighting twitching urges to staple themselves to your temples. There’s probably a sour look of disgust on your face, but you’re starting to pass that point where do not you care. With the last dousing of humid air over Hawkins, Indiana, you feel as if your entire core temperature is a blazing inferno.

Combine that with the lacking effects your morning shower had to keep you cooled down, and you make for one pissed off person. You roll your eyes at your own dramatic antics, squirming in the seat and causing it to make a shifting squeak. It must be louder than you heard, as Nancy is questioning you. “Hey, you okay, Y/N?”

Dear god in Heaven, why is she drawing attention to me?

You fold your arms across your chest, tucking them neatly, teeth grinding as you force out, “I’m fine, Nance.”

“You don’t look fine. You actually, kinda look like you’re about to puke.” Robin interjects, hand draped across the chair adjacent to yours.

If you could move without that disgusting flood between your legs, then you would probably kill your best-friend for stating the obvious.

“Who’s gonna vomit?” Comes a deep voice that takes his place beside Nancy, who now has her brows knit in concern. Steve.

And wherever he goes, Eddie has followed, as of lately. You’re clenching your lids closed, head bowing, hands resting across your heated cheeks. When you look up, Eddie has that stupid shit eating grin on his face that you can’t decide if you want to punch or kiss. An automatic shared stare is directed your way, making you sink under its observation, nausea growing.

Steve speaks first, noting your disheveled appearance. There’s sweat beading all over your face, tension in your normally relaxed muscles, and you give an air of a trapped animal. He frowns, moving around the table and readying his large hand to place on your forehead. You quickly dart off, waving your hands. “How about no, dude?”

Dude? Since—

“when do you call Harrington a dude, baby?” Eddie cuts Steve’s internal questioning, confusing himself.

“When he starts crowding my personal space, Edward. That’s when.” You snap, Nancy clicking her tongue as the wheels spin in her head and she lands on knowing exactly what is going on with you.

Eddie’s jaw unhinges in a comical pry, hand splaying across his heart. “Okay, now that was just nasty.”

“Um, do I look at all like I care?” Hands on your hips, that crowded anxiety begins tangoing with your hormones, anger seeping from your pores like acid.

You know your mood towards them is irrational, you are too aware. But there’s a devil on your shoulder that goes by Aunt Flo, and she’s getting her kicks by pulling your strings.

“Okay, that’s enough. What is going on with you?” Steve raises his deep voice a few octaves, annoyed and defensive of himself and your shared partner.

Ever-changing moods, guilt swells in your chest, carving out its permanent residence for the next several days. Your vision blurs and you clamber from your seat, apologizing to Robin and Nancy, before walking over to where Eddie and Steve stand side by side, your fingers brushing over their hands, voice barely above a whisper. “M’ sorry. I just wanna go home, please.”

Eddie is perturbed. It was his week to pick out the restaurant for date night, and you’d all planned on driving over there after your excursion at the Wheelers. And now you’re acting like he and Steve are dog shit on your shoes. He’s nauseated.

Nancy is quick to catch you in a hug before you can leave, rubbing up and down your shoulders, her voice by your ear. “They might be guys, but I’m pretty sure they’ll understand if you tell them what’s going on.” She pecks your cheek and gives you another squeeze, sliding back and away, dropping off with an, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

You’ve never been more grateful for her and that mutual understanding.

~*~

The ride back to your house is silent. You’d opted for the backseat of Steve’s BMW, leaving your boyfriends up front with each other, stealing glimpses of your exhausted face in the rear view. When you do arrive at your cul-de-sac, you linger on the door handle, partially expecting them to object to your retreat. Eddie, whom can read you like a fucking textbook he’d studied three times over in school—isn’t having it. You can’t blame him.

“We’re goin’ on the date. You can stay home and mope and bitch at the wall. We’ll bring you somethin’ back later.” He’s got his hands folded across his black t-shirt clad chest, opting to cast his gaze elsewhere as you silently remove yourself from the car, heart being pulverized beneath your breast.

“No, it’s okay. Don’t… just don’t worry about it, yeah?” It comes off jagged and fragmented, versus how you wanted it to sound—reassuring and strong.

You watch them both in the beginning stages of blurred vision. Steve is holding onto the wheel tightly, his expressions fighting for dominance—ones that you can’t decipher in the moment. Anger or defeat, maybe? You nod, at who, you aren’t sure. You wring your fingers together.

“Well, okay. Be safe and have a good time.” As if Aunt Flo didn’t destroy your entire day, she up and leaves you for vacation, obliterating all your previous anger.

Stupid fucking hormonal bitch.

“I love you.” Comes off your lips in a softness that is directed at them both.

Eddie does seek you out then, nostrils flaring, chocolate irises softening. Steve opens and closes his mouth, words caught. You don’t stay behind to embarrass yourself any longer.

~*~

Cramps that are absolutely devouring your insides, you figure that’s a good punishment for your attitude today. Tylenol, nor the heating pad are helping, and your migraine has only worsened since you got off the phone with Nancy and an apologetic Robin, who made enough ‘crimson tide’ jokes to take you into the next century. Smoothing things over with them eased some anxieties, but you can’t stop thinking about how your boys are enjoying the date that Eddie was so excited about. Is it a burger joint that will be followed by chocolate shakes and handcuffs? Or maybe it’s a fancy little pizzeria and some cheap wine, with Eddie’s finest stash and his sinfully gifted mouth?

Whatever it is, it’s your fault that you’re not partaking. Scrubbing a hand across your tear stained eyes, you discard the heating pad and opt for some good ol’ fashioned sulking in your room. However, you don’t make it to the stairs before your front door is being unlocked and opened by the spare key, making you swallow in fear, uncertainty about who is there, until sunsets’ golden hues cast a halo around Steve Harrington’s beautiful face, his form framed in your doorway. His chestnut locks are discombobulated, but those freckles are crystal clear consolations. When he drinks you in, you immediately run into his embrace, his biceps flexing to hold onto the bags in each hand, letting them go, not even seconds later, enfolding you in a cocoon of: aftershave, Eddie’s lingering cigarette smoke, cologne, and freshly washed clothing. Steve.

You bury your face in his baby blue Henley, cheek tickled by wisps of chest hair that peeks out from a few undone buttons. He begins rubbing your back, strong hands kneading that specific tension at your tailbone, a moan dipping off your lips at the muscular relief. You mewl into him, his hands cupping your cheeks as you pull away with closed eyes, head tilted back.

“There we go, honey.” He’s praising, thumbpads scraping your cheekbones, down to your jawline. “What a good-fucking-girl.”

Broken syllables are uttered from you, a diaphragm depth voicing of neglected need, staved off by hormones. Steve knows what words and phrases get your bones dusted to ash, your body a pile of goo. And through a confusing midst, you’re worried about having to turn away his implications. These kinds of sensual conversations always lead to you underneath your boyfriend, cunt stuffed full of his fat cock, tears cooling in your lash line, Eddie encouraging Steve to fuck you just a little past your limit, because that limit is heightened each time. But right at this very moment… you can’t.

You feel the shiver overtake you, and Steve holds you closely again, fingertips striking goosebumps alive along the expanse of your arms.

“Leave me with half the load out here, Harrington. And look at this? Hogging our girl, dude?” Eddie interrupts, a little winded and depositing more grocery bags in your doorway beside Steve’s feet. His repeating your earlier phrase—sans malice or biting sarcasm, it has you grinning, making Eddie help himself to wrapping his arms around you from behind.

Eddie’s spicy and earth scent, cluttered with that cigarette smoke off his fresh pack, it collides into Steve’s, rendering you into that overlapping heap of stupid slut. And your little shits, they know. It’s what has you trying to pull away, remembering your situation. Eddie knocks his knuckles beneath your shirt, caressing and massaging that same spot Steve had pinpointed. You’re whimpering, pleading. “Don’t. I can’t right now, Eds.”

And if you thought Eddie Munson couldn’t surprise you anymore in this lifetime, you’d be damned for eternity. His lips find the shell of your ear, that smirk that causes his teeth to graze your lobe. It works itself off his tongue, hot and offered. “A little blood won’t stop the fun, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen so hard that a protesting sting takes place in the muscles. You want to bury yourself in the floor and never come out, sidestepping their holds and becoming guarded. “How do you even know?”

“Nance,” Steve answers nonchalantly, “we called her when we went back to Eds place after dropping you off.”

“Wait, what about the date?” You’re in a stammering disbelief. “You didn’t let me ruin it, please fucking tell me—“

“Babe, and I mean this in the most respectful of ways,” Eddie says as he steps forward, gripping your shoulders, “can you please stop talking for five minutes and let Harrington’s sweet mouth explain? Besides, no way we were actually gonna go on that date without you.”

Steve smirks. Your brows pinch together and you huff, giving Steve the leeway to continue, meanwhile your heart is swollen with affection at Eddie’s admission. “At first she didn’t want to tell us, saying it wasn’t her place, but then Munson over there wouldn’t quit doing that begging thing he does, and then Robin started in by telling Nance that she can’t imagine his cute puppy eyes in agony, so… yeah.”

“Really?” You snort, shaking your head at your rocker boyfriend.

“Hey! It worked though, didn’t it?” Eddie is grinning, a grin that you most definitely want to kiss. “Found out our girl’s got a case of bein’ on the rag.”

“Must you use that phrase, Eddie?” You wince, your hand resting on your lower abdomen.

Steve remembers the bags and nudges Eddie’s shoulder to help him pick them up and take them into your kitchen. You’re stealing peeks when they’re discarded onto the kitchen counter, like a kid at Christmas time. Steve places his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and using his palms to dig into that ache in your stomach, soothing it.

This guy is a fucking Adonis…

“Go ahead, baby. The stuff is for you. Well, some of it is for the big kid over there.” Steve chortles, Eddie flipping him the bird as he snatches his gummy worms from a sack.

“I don’t deserve it. I was a bitch to you guys.” You are mortified and saddened, hand pausing on the crinkling plastic.

Steve pecks your shoulder blade, pressing his cheek into the curvature of your neck. “Yeah, you were, but it’s not like you didn’t have a reason. And this stuff—total magic. An aphrodisiac to Mother Nature.”

“Nance totally told you guys what I’d need, huh?” You laugh, Steve joining in.

“We still remembered your favorites though. Lots of chocolate, Pringles, half of the gummy worms from Eddie’s bag.” At this, Eddie looks up, candy pinched between his milky white teeth. It’s endearing, really.

“Don’t forget about all the movies we hoarded from your work!” Eddie adds in. “Chick flicks galore, and lotsa horror. Maybe even a porno or two.” He sucks his sticky fingers into his mouth, letting them drop out with a pop.

Steve hums, nipping at your neck. “Let him talk me into bondage this time. He promises we’ll like it.” A kiss is seared into your skin.

You aren’t aware that you’ve began grinding back against Steve, tongue licking across your parched lips, hands shredding the bags’ handle, pupils blown as you watch Eddie, until Steve is groaning and pumping his hips into your backside, beckoning you closer. “Aw, fuck. That’s it, babygirl, rub that ass all over my cock.”

“Too m-messy.” You try, but make zero effort to stop.

“Messes are made to be cleaned, Y/N. You think we’re incapable of doing that?” Eddie is stalking closer, wedging himself between you and the counter, leaving you smashed between your guys. Eddie dips in a bend, then drags his already growing bulge over your clothed cunt. Steve is swelling against your ass, making you a simpering mess. They pass you back and forth in bumping thrusts, each matching the other, dominating your own, their mouths attaching fresh marks across each side of your neck.

You toss your hands back, pulling on two textured sets of hair. “Gotta stop. Fuck, s’ not… I can’t.”

And then they do stop. It makes all the blood rush to your head, dizzy. Eddie’s fingertip nicks your chin, tilting. “Ask us to stop then, Y/N.”

“And we will. You know we will.” Steve is speaking behind you. They share a look of love and strength.

You’re brimmed with an engulfing desire that is smothering every cell of common sense you possess. “I want. I just want…”

“You want Stevie’s cock in that messy little pussy, or mine?” Eddie kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Can’t decide. Need someone.” Oh yeah, you’re a goner.

“Think you’re lucid enough to follow us upstairs and help put some towels down, lover?” Eddie is amused, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

~*~

“That good?” Strong and thick thighs are pressed into the globes of your ass, hair tickling your flesh.

You bury your face into Steve’s freckle littered neck, muttering, legs trembling. “Mhm.”

“She’s so warm, Eds. Wait until you feel how different her pussy is like this.” His pupils are blown into a glossy black, flecks of cinnamon being all that remain of his hazel irises.

You can’t help but to tighten around Steve, legs locking around his waist, tugging him in closer as Eddie drapes himself across your chest and sucks a sensitive nipple into his mouth, cushioning his bites with those plush lips. Steve lets out this feral whimper, stifling it in your neck as he falls forward, driving himself into your overly wet pussy, the blood and arousal making it a slippery, but too easy of a glide. You’ve soaked the towel below, a fascination Eddie can’t take his eyes off of, stroking his cock in time with Steve’s rhythmic movements. That spot is hit inside of you and it’s more intense than you ever remember, making your vision black out, thigh trembling beyond your control. Eddie, patient and awaiting his turn with you, brings your mouth to his for a kiss, his tongue caressing your own in a sloppily slick push.

Saliva strings on the break-away, Eddie’s fondness of you growing. “S’ all tender and soaked inside? Gonna make me feel as good as it’s makin’ Stevie feel?”

You’re trying to nod, but it’s weak. “It’s amazing. You’re both, so fucking good. You’re everything.” You babble on.

Steve lifts his face from the cove of your jugular, licking at your sex-drenched skin. “That’s comfort, baby.”

[shera-dnd]

A Dream Come True

It’s finally here! The fic and comic you’ve all been waiting for! And it’s all catradora fluff as far as the eye can see.

I wanna thank my good friend @midnightechoes for her amazing work on the comic and to all the people who donated and helped us reach our 200 dollar goal.

And without any further delay, here’s the AO3 link (comic included) for those who’d rather read over there, and let’s get this nonsense going

Today was a big day for Etheria. It was the first Princess Prom since the fall of Prime, the first Princess Prom in many years to be celebrated in a time of peace and prosperity. So of course, Etheria’s great savior and protector was expected to make an appearance, and she was expected to look good.

Though if Adora asked just about anyone, they would claim that she always looked good. But she did want to put in the extra effort today. It took her some convincing from all of her friends to keep her from over planning and over preparing like last time.

There was no threat of war, no great enemy, no lies or intrigue, it would just be a ball with all the people she loved. She could just rest and relax tonight. So she put on a beautiful white dress, let her hair loose from its near permanent ponytail, donned a pretty little tiara, and just let herself not be combat ready for once.

Looking now at her own reflection in the room’s waterfall - the closest to a practical use she found to those wasteful things - she had to admit that she did look pretty, though for some reason she was struck by a strange sense of familiarity.

“Just let me brush it!” She heard Glimmer call from outside the room.

“No!” Catra yelled back as she ran into the room with the queen chasing after her, brush in hand.

Though Catra acted like she was running for life, they both still giggled. Catra tried to use her wife as cover from the queen’s attack, but Glimmer followed her anyway, and both just started running circles around Adora.

“Don’t let her touch me!” Catra yelled, hiding behind Adora, “she’s gonna torture me!”

“Do you always have to be this dramatic?” Glimmer asked, knowing full well that the answer was yes.

“Come on, guys,” Bow called, calmly walking in, “if we’re late to Scorpia’s first ball she’s gonna kill us.”

He pulled Glimmer closer and she leaned against him, hooking an arm around his back. For a moment there the queen seemed to forget about her plans to torture Catra, and just enjoyed that little display of affection from her husband.

“Fine, you’re off the hook,” she surrendered, but added just a little threat at the end, “this time.”

Catra stuck her tongue out at them, still using Adora for cover, as they left the room, leaving the two of them alone together. Once she was sure she was safe from Glimmer’s hairbrush, she stepped out from behind her wife and laughed a little to herself.

“You coming?” She asked, reaching a hand towards Adora.

The whole time Adora had been stunned. In equal parts by this constant feeling of dejavu, and by just how beautiful Catra looked right now. Her wife had always been a master of the casually gorgeous look, but this time she had completely out done herself.

“Etheria to Adora,” Catra called, playfully, “you still there, Adora?”

“Sorry, I just have this weird feeling that I’ve seen this before,” she explained, the feeling completely disappearing a moment later.

“What? Did you sneak a peek while me and Glimmer were putting the look together?” She teased.

“No!” Adora defended herself, “it’s just dejavu or something. I--you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Catra feigned offense, “such accusations from my own wife? I would never do such a thing.”

“Oh you little--!”

“Guys,” Bow interrupted again, calling from the hallway beyond, “Scorpia’s ball, remember?”

“Sorry, your majesty,” Adora shouted back, they both knew he didn’t like the title, but it was fun to mess with him sometimes.

That earned her a little laugh from Catra and a soft nudge to her side, “you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I think I am,” she answered, hooking her arm around Catra’s as they made their way out of the room.

They had barely stepped into the hallways of Bright Moon castle when they were stopped by a voice calling for them.

“Oh my goodness!” Exclaimed a very excited King Micah, “you both look stunning!”

The king had always been such a sweetheart, the man had nearly adopted the two of them after the war was over. After everything that had happened, it was nice seeing him this happy.

“Hey there, your majesty,” Catra greeted, “everything ready for the dance?”

“Indeed it is!” He replied, his bright smile growing wider, “before you go, though, I have a big surprise for you!”

“Oh?” 

With a dramatic flare worthy of Double Trouble, King Micah stepped aside to reveal…

The most adorable thing they’ve ever seen.

Behind the king stood their child. Little Finn looked as adorable as they looked annoyed at their new outfit, a lovely uniform in several shades of purple and beautiful gold accents. The kid was just short of ten years old, but they already looked like a fancy little dignitary of the kingdom. The only thing standing out from the illusion was their messy blonde hair.

“You look precious!” Adora squealed at the sight.

Catra gasped, holding on tighter to her wife’s arm. It was the only thing she could do not to run over and hug them right this instant.

“Moms!” Finn groaned, “please!”

Unfortunately their pleas for help were lost on their moms, who were still busy blabbering about how adorable they looked.

“Uncle Micah, do I really have to wear this? It’s itchy,” they complained, hoping their uncle would listen, “and lame.”

The king turned to address his little nibling, but was horrified by what he saw.

“How did you manage to mess up your hair in the five minutes since I finished it?!” He demanded, utterly shocked.

“It’s a skill, uncle,” Finn replied, giving him a smug look that clearly ran in the family.

Looking none too pleased with all that lost work, Micah drew a quick glyph in the air, using just a bit of magic to comb his nibling’s hair in an instant.

“There, fixed.” The king proudly declared, earning a hiss from the angry child.

And also earning him a hug from Adora.

“They look amazing,” she beamed, “thank you!”

“My pleasure, Adora,” he replied, his voice and expression growing softer, “I missed out on too many of these moments with Glimmer. I’m not going to miss any more of them.”

Meanwhile Catra no longer had Adora to hold on to to help contain herself, so she had dashed over to their child, too busy showering them with love and affection to notice the tender moment happening behind her.

“You are the cutest kid in all of Etheria,” she happily praised.

“Mom!” Finn groaned once more.

Adora let out a content sigh as she watched those two. She loved them with all her heart and they had made the past decade of her life better than she could have ever dreamed it would be.

“Thanks again,” she repeated to Micah, finally letting go of the hug.

Walking over to her family - wow, it really warmed her heart every time she thought of them like that - she picked up the little light of her life and carried them on her shoulders. They mumbled a few words in annoyance, but Adora could feel their tail happily swaying against her back.

“You’re going to win Best Kid at the dance for sure!” Catra commented.

“I don’t think that’s a real award, mom.”

“We’ll make it real, kid.” She declared, “don’t worry, I have some pull with Princess Scorpia.”

Adora couldn’t help but smile at that.

“What’s got you all smiley like that?” Catra asked, leaning closer to her wife as they walked together.

“It’s just…this is our first Princess Prom as a family,” she said, a little teary eyed, “I still can’t believe we got this far. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

“Well, you better start believing it,” Catra replied, giving her a little kiss on the cheek.

“Ew!” Finn complained, hiding their face so they wouldn’t be forced to see any more disgusting affection from their moms.

The two of them laughed together and Adora was certain that no dream could ever compare to the life she now lived.

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say no to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

knight!natasha x lady!reader

sort of royalty au (there’s social hierarchy and a king and queen and knights and commoners and all that so- yeah it’s a royalty au nvm lmao)

warnings: this is fluff, angst, uh, basically everything but smut and serious angst.

word count: 2.5k, starting off short before we get into this 

part one!

also, to the very few people who look for fics up here- i promise i’m alive, sorry for being m.i.a! work and school are bodying me right now 

A lot could change within a year.

In a year, one was expected to grow wiser and older, and for you, because you were a woman, prettier. And because you did all three of those things in one year, you were herded off like cattle from your small farm, where the old pig you would soon be forced to call “husband” had seen you in the first place, and carted away to his large estate. You were supposed to be his wife, bear his children, and love him unconditionally even though you knew nothing about him, and he was supposed to do not even half of that for you. He had chosen you purely because your father had an abundance of wheat and animals, and he thought you were nice looking. He would surely never go hungry if he had the owner of a relatively large farm’s daughter with him.

Regardless of his reasoning for wanting to make you his wife, it ended up happening. You cried yourself to sleep the night before, and when you were done consummating the horrid marriage, you cried after he fell asleep, unable to shut your own eyes. That was how you spent your first night at the female counterpart to your lord husband, and as Lady Mirellis.

The marriage was loveless. The only thing you got out of it was a nice roof over your head and some silky clothing that made you feel like you were betraying who you really were. He was a brute and a pig, and he hardly ever spoke to you other than to tell you to get on your back, your knees, or something else as equally vile. You were the lady of his large manor, considered a small castle, but that was all you were. You made friends with the staff around, and that made things just the tiniest bit better. He was still cruel and crude, still insanely aggravating, and getting more and more angry with each month that you weren’t carrying his child.

And then, all of a sudden, he grew ill. And, within a month after he fell ill, he died. And then you were a single woman who had a large estate to her name, and a growing line of suitors who wanted nothing more than to have their last names attached to the great patch of land. You were the lady of the house without a lord, still young and still capable of marriage. After a large fuss over whether or not a young woman from your background was fit to take over, you had inherited everything.

So, yes, a lot could change in a year. And you decided that the changes that took place in that year were ones that you could barely handle.

§§

You knew exactly what the letter with the King’s Seal on it was when it was put into your hand, and you very easily guessed the contents of it.

You supposed that you should have seen it coming. Miraculously, your late husband and lord had gotten out of the Hosting, which could have been seen as treasonous or dishonorable if he had been any less careful. You grew up on a farm, and you had no idea how to go about denying or questioning royal decree, so you weren’t going to. You were going to have to Host, for the first time in your life.

Your family was never important enough to have to do it, so you had no experience with it, other than knowing that a high up lord of a small castle, or big estate, whatever one wanted to call it, was in charge of having a knight in their home while the knight completed his year long training. The training was said to come from within, and the job of the knight was to be a good, honorable guest, and to come back to the castle after their year expired as a new and improved person.

But it was rare that they truly soul searched, you had heard. Mainly because they were ninety nine percent male and thought with their penises more than their brains and hearts. The Hosting was a knight’s last stop before true knighthood, more or less a time that humbled young knights. It was a test of the true intentions of a knight, the true desires of a man who wished for glory and authority.

“For you, Milady.” You grimaced inwardly at the title, the title that you used to have to call the lady that you used to bring barrels of hay to on Sunday mornings. You nodded at the young boy, a smile on your face. He was new, and it was clear that this was his first task that involved him to speak to a “higher up” person.

You patted his head. “Thank you,” you said, and his eyes widened comically before he laughed and ran away, obviously shocked by the way you spoke to him back.

It wasn’t against the law, but it was frowned upon for nobles to speak to servants more than necessary. A noble person was not required to have manners or ask kindly for things, and when they did, it was certainly an out of the ordinary experience. You knew that well enough.

You broke the red seal and took in a deep breath, going to sit at your late husband’s desk (that you of course inherited, as you inherited everything the man had) and finding your name in perfect and Royal handwriting.

Lady Mirellis,

As you know, the time for the selection of The Hosting has come. Your house was not a host during the previous Hosting, therefore, you will be required to sponsor a knight this year. Out of respect for your late husband and all he has done for me, I will choose a knight for you, a knight that I trust. You will be safe with my choice, and the year will flow smoothly. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.

Please expect your knight within the fortnight, Lady Mirellis.

With respect, King Anthony Stark.

§§

Two weeks later, your keep was buzzing. You hated hosting things, even if they were short dinners. And you knew that you were going to hate hosting a person for an entire year. A brand new knight who was full of himself, no less.

King Anthony had given you what he thought was going to be an easy charge for a reason. New knights were known for being rowdy, disgusting, perverted, and authoritative when they shouldn’t have been. No lady should ever have to deal with the crude words or behavior of a man—certainly not. And with you and your poor husband gone, that meant that no one was there to help you.

You appreciated the kindness, but it was obvious that every man thought that women were only an extension of their husbands. If you weren’t able to handle the loud voices and taunting shouts of men and boys, you would have melted or turned to dust by the time you were thirteen years old. If you had survived a man who carted you off and away from your family like you were cattle, you could handle a boy who was staying under your roof.

Nonetheless, your people were busy, and so were you. They were making accommodations to the largest guest room, because it was to be someone’s for an entire year. They were cleaning things that you never thought would be cleaned, washing random sheets and hanging them to dry. And you? You were making the welcoming package.

You had never made one before, but you were trying your hardest. It was more or less a care package to make the knight feel comfortable. It was a starter kit, so that they wouldn’t have to ask for much or seem unfit for knighthood, because it was all about pride. So help anyone above, you wouldn’t be dealing with a knight with a bruised ego.

“Men,” you scoffed out, rolling your eyes as you fluffed the silk pillowcase and folded the top of the woven basket over, closing in everything and tying the top with a bow. 

“Y/N,” a woman’s voice called out, and you turned to it with a gentle smile.

Of course it was Wanda. Her and her brother were always by your side, ever since you had arrived at the keep. Pietro was the messenger boy for Lord Mirellis, because he was so fast on his feet. He delivered a message meant to go hundreds of leagues away and came back within days, when it would take others weeks. You liked Pietro a lot. He was a funny man, cheeky, but he knew his boundaries with people, whether they were lowborn or highborn. He had the same amount of respect for everything, and you admired that about him.

Wanda however, was your favorite person in the castle. She was the first kind face that you saw when you walked into the keep. She was the first person to actually ask you if you wanted help being dressed or brushing your hair. She was able to see that you needed help with your corset before you even asked. There were so many trivial things that Wanda did for you that made you so loyal to the friendship you shared, but there was one thing you were sure to never forget.

She had been the one to help you out of bed after a rough consummation night. She was also the only woman who had offered you even a sliver of sympathy, and for that, she was your greatest ally, and on a deeper level, a true friend. 

You had barely even seen her for more than five minutes before you woke up in bed by yourself the morning after that horrid night, crying silent tears and feeling sore between your legs. A knock sounded on the door, and instead of her turning away and apologizing for coming in on such an improper moment, she shut the door and asked you if you needed help, without any fear of being scolded. Wanda Maximoff was different. That’s why you liked her so much.

She was standing beside you as you waited, even though waiting for a knight was somewhat improper. You were supposed to wait inside and have them knock on your castle door, and you were to welcome them inside and have a warm dinner ready. That was how it was always supposed to go, but you decided not to do that.

You were standing outside, like the lady you had been forced to become. Your chin was slightly lifted and your hands were at your sides, even though you were desperate to fiddle with your thumbs. You took in a deep breath as you heard the sound of a carriage coming, horses and the chatter of men getting louder with each passing moment.

You would be a liar if you said that you weren’t scared to have a man in your house that you didn’t know. Not only would he be a man, but he would be a man that knew how to do things that most didn’t, such as how to properly wield a sword. You were a woman alone, a widow to a lord, and people had tried things with you before, ever since your husband had died. Most of the time, those things ended up with their hands being cut off as the legal and unyielding punishment for their attempted crimes.

“No one here is going to let a stupid knight hurt you, you know.” Pietro had come out of nowhere, chest puffed out as he looked to his sister for a moment, and then back at you. “Wanda is practically with you every second of every day, and I’m never too far.” It was true. There were guards around, as well, but you were still scared.

“If you don’t like it this year, you can always say no next year.” Wanda offered, but you whined under your breath when you remembered that this was no visit. The man would be living with you for an entire year. “And King Anthony said he would be giving you a man he trusted to sleep under your roof. I trust his word.” 

“As do I,” you said quickly, ringing out your hands one last time before the carriage got closer. “I’ll be fine, you two. Thank you.” And they knew just how grateful you were for them.

The carriage was being pulled by two white horses, both looking around carelessly and cluelessly as the coachman pulled them to a stop. “Lady Mirellis,” he said, looking you up and down, clearly judging you for not yielding to tradition. “It is very kind of you to meet us outside.”

“I thought it may be easier to begin the tour early,” you said, remembering at the last moment to school your voice into sounding ladylike. The stark difference between your public voice and the one that you spoke to Wanda and Pietro with always made Wanda smile a bit, and you knew that you would have laughed if you were looking at her. “I don’t want to give my new guest too large of a culture shock. I am not quite sure if he would appreciate being hoarded inside a place he hasn’t seen before.”

The coachman gave you an odd look, almost like he wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Or maybe, why you were saying it. But, he knew that because of your status, your word outweighed his, and he would do as you said. Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest as you watched him climb out of his chair and walk around, and you saw his hand wrap around the handle of the white and gold carriage.

There was a flash of brilliant red. That was all you saw at first, and then you saw shiny armor, glinting in the sun. Your eyes trailed up from the shoes that you knew were crafted specifically for knights, up to the legs and then to the breastplate, which you noticed was curved outwards. Your brows furrowed as your eyes got stuck in that place, and you willed yourself to believe that it was a trick of the eyes. There was a pinch on your arm, and you realized that you had been staring without speaking for much too long. In your embarrassment, your eyes flickered up to meet the man’s, and then, you nearly choked.

The knight was no man at all.

*****

so this is a series! this idea has been cooking up in my head for a while now, and i figured it was finally time to go through with it! i’m really excited about this one, and i’ve already got most of it planned out. i hope you guys liked this!

also- if you would like to be tagged, you are free to ask! (bold of me to assume that any of y’all want a notif for this bye 😭) please interact with this if you liked it, it makes me so happy and motivated to hear from you guys!

[soysaurus]

wip game 2 electric boogaloo

@srbxzero i am in sm pain this didnt post the first time and the entire post just disappeared and i had it all written out and AAAAAAAAAAAAA i would like to commit a murder ty goodbye goodnight

but anw THANKS ZERO FOR TAGGING ME UR WIPS SOUND V FUN AND CHAOTIC AND INTRIGUING AND ONLY THE LITTLEST BIT TERRIFYING

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)  I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

my god here we go. i hate this website.

its the awkward spice au lol

THEYRE BALD

mandy loves li senpai

sluttyhara chat au

I AM A DISTRACTED LIL GAY MAN

the occult club

fallen angle au

housemaid au

all's fair in love and war pt 2

SHIT SHIT SHIT WHAT DO WE DO atsushi shut the FUCK up

this distance we hold

on the edge of nowhere, i find you

how i met your teacher

Untitled document

i'll travel halfway around the world to spend a second with you

late last night, i met you

once again i am trying again why am i like this

reese write short fics challenge

breaking my brain

something in the shadows

small towns

young

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

dabihawks week day 1

love songs

it's a yt au ig??? but also chaotic siblings and an unfortunate bf. they're all nerds tho.

what we hear

it is a lonely thing to be perfectly normal

Untitled document

snow days

it's not work if we love it

Untitled document

my three weed-loving boyfriends

so hard to be sure (tell me i'm yours)

wedding bells more like wedding balls amirite

i know i know another tachigin doc

ive decided im now a chosoyuki writer

competition

ordinary company

and there are more but i dont want to keep typing and i am sure no one is reading. BUT OH WELL LMAO.

my tags: @butterfly-apocalypse @lionalicelives @bittermoonswrites @tohmatosauce @cryolyst if ur still writing and @jecook i know we never talk but i think i remember seeing u in the fandom so HI!!!

[mrcspectr]

Okay I'm going to sound like a raging lunatic here and you do not have to respond to this in any way, but I just wanna gush at you for a moment.

I've been a Moon Knight fan for years and I always felt like I was alone clutching my Moon Knight comics in the back while everyone else was gushing about the Avengers or Batman or something bigger. It was fine that I had no one to fan out with because it was my little niche. When they announced the show I was terrified. What if it was wrong? What if it was bad? Would people like it? Would I suddenly loose my own personal little niche?

Oh? Oscar Issac is Marc? Okay. I like him. I'm cautiously optimistic.

Not gonna lie, I went into episode one with the most suspicious eyes. Watching Steven bumble his way through his day was cute. Then seeing Steven wake up in the field, wave at people, and just try to figure out wtf was going on...I was sold on that little bucket of sunshine. Then seeing Marc in episode 3 actually fight on the roof and I was sold on that little mess of a dense mac truck trying to plow his way through life at top speed. And every scene with implied Jake had me screaming.

I'm not going to tell you how many times I've re-watched each episode, but it's a lot. And that isn't even mentioning the scenes that get unloaded to youtube... Or that episode 5 had me laid out sobbing for three hours straight at 3am.

THE POINT. The point I'm badly trying to get to is that I've been burned on fandom before. I need more Moon Knight. I have been clutching at straws for years and now it's everywhere and I am jumping into the ocean of content and it still isn't enough. But there are so many bad takes or people with views I don't agree with.

When I found your blog, your ability to dissect down a scene or characteristic or take was so lovely. I sent you an anonymous ask and you actually responded and it felt like at last I could have a conversation about Moon Knight. Cause otherwise I'm just sitting here yelling about it to my small dog.

Long and embarrassing note cut short: Your blog makes me happy and I love all your takes and you are the only one I feel comfortable gushing to about Moon Knight. So thank you for making my day so much better. Also your fic was wonderful. Also fuck that guy who felt the need to come at you. Like, let people enjoy things. If they don't like how you enjoy it then fuck off.

K I'm embarrassed now.

I.. have been reading and rereading this for what feels like hours. Honestly. I wish I had something better to say. I wish I had more to say.

I was pretty hesitant to share what I'd written here for awhile, just because I didn't start out with the source material. I watched the show first, like many people did, and then started digging deep into the comics. I'm still finding issues I haven't read yet, information I wasn't aware of before. Personally, I don't think it should really matter when you found your interest, or even how, just that you have it. Because we're all just out here loving the story for what it is, at its core. But the internet doesn't always work like that, you know?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it makes me happy that people, especially people that have loved Moon Knight for a long time, enjoy what I have to say. I love these boys, and I love this story, and I'll probably keep talking about it for a long time. But genuinely, thank you so, so much for being here and saying this. It means the world.

[the-queen-of-ships]

So, I got back into a Disney classic, specifically Beauty and the Beast. I watched the live action in cinemas, a bit auto tuned and Emma was a bit stiff during her performance and I have a few nitpicks here and there but the clothes, cgi, and choreography was stunning even the yellow dress tho I was not impressed when I saw it and still think its not all that good I love how she twirls in it. And the additional songs are lovely currently Im obsessed with 'Evermore'.

So, beware cause I'm gonna start gushing about how this song is perfect for Whitney and Calpernia whether you think of it as romantic or unrequited. I wouldn't have pieced this together if I wasn't writing an indulgent fic but here we are. I'm only choosing the ones that correlate to the canon story so far and since I now have a one shot idea I ain't throwing all my eggs in one basket and really bc I dont want to make this too long bc I need to sleep.

I was the one who had it all

I was the master of my fate

I never needed everybody in my life

So this one is pretty simple, it's basically about Whitney's poor choices because of his upbringing. Couldn't afford the luxury of trusting anyone even his siblings and the one time he did, he almost died for it.

I learned the truth too late

I'll never shake away the pain

I close my eyes but she's still there

I let her steal into my melancholy heart

It's more than I can bear

So, this would be around the time he finally sought to change. He'll always live to regret his actions and the very last one who he wronged; Calpernia will still haunt him even when he has apologized. Like guy dedicates a journey for apologizing to other people and he decides Calpernia to be the last one.

Now I know she'll never leave me

Even as she runs away

She will still torment me

Calm me, hurt me

Move me, come what may

So, pretty much the same as the last one but I'd like to bring your attention to 'torment me, calm me, hurt me, come what may' Calpernia really does affect him. In the comic, she has 'tormented and hurt him' this could go two ways literally and figuratively.

Literally, when she was still mad and when she puts him on the spot during Gwen's dinner party.

Figuratively, like the thought of her. I'd imagine the thoughts of Calpernia and those he has hurt accompany him during his travels. When he arrived in the CPC, he started being tormented and hurt by his guilt increasing because he was unknowingly developing feelings for her.

She also 'calms him' when he was having self doubt and contemplating leaving.

Now I know she'll never leave me

Even as she fades from view

She will still inspire me

Be a part of everything I do

When Whitney was having self doubt about his and Calpernia's change, she was able to prove to him that she has changed by fighting bootleg Johnny Bravo. That inspires him to help the Princels with their couch.

And also, if we think about it they're in the present today because of their past mistakes. Calpernia who let herself be stomped down and be the bait to lure in Asa. Whitney who plotted to murder Asa but accidentally stabs the wrong person.

That's about it really. Since I'm looking to make a hopefully short one shot bc I mentioned before I was writing an indulgent fic about these two and it somehow turned out longer than I imagined. So am I procrastinating, since technically I'm still doing stuff I'll know I'll post?