#my endings suck lmao

[kelpermoosee]

“Man of mystery, they call me Mr. L(uigi)!!” 🎶

[emilyartstudio-s]

Style (Stan x Kyle) please?

Here's a doodle I will finish for patreon :,)

[pachimation]

an 8 page comic about childe visiting scaramouche after the sumeru archon quest

[kenobihater]

of all the star wars movies, which of them do y'all 1) enjoy the most 2) consider the best quality and 3) think you've rewatched the most. add your answers in the reblogs or replies, i'm genuinely curious how much of an overlap there is within everyone's three answers. mine don't overlap at all! they're revenge of the sith, empire strikes back, and the force awakens :^)

[zeb-z]

I just think Tallulah gets to be upset about this. “It’s not Wilbur’s fault” “He’s not a bad dad” “He loves his daughter so much” yes! These are all true! And it’s not his fault! But he’s still not there. And Tallulah has gone through so much and still hasn’t seen him, the one time he was around was the one time she wasn’t, and all she has are letters and “I’m thinking of you always” and things that used to be theirs together, but he’s still not there. She’s waited and she’s been patient and she’s loved him all the same, and he’s still not there. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, from the happy milestones to the traumatic events, he’s still not there.

She knows that it’s not his fault, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s absent. That in and of itself just adds to the sorrow, because she knows why he’s gone, and she’s been told time and time again it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, she knows this - it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, that it doesn’t hurt, that she doesn’t yearn for her father to be there more than anything in the world, and he’s just not there.

So yes, she gets to be upset, and be caustic, and stomp her feet and write bitter messages, and be angry and vitriolic, because she’s a little girl missing her father, who feels things with her whole heart and soul - and that means she gets to feel the ugly parts of it, too.

[spooksier]

getting back into doctor who and seeing how the larger fandom on here talks about the 13th doctor is literally going to send me to an early grave. like guys. guys why does every post about her have to come with a disclaimer that you hate her run. guys youre doing misogyny again guys stop. i won’t share the screenshot bc i don’t want to put op on blast but like yesterday i saw a post about a cool parallel between 13 and 10 and the first comment i saw was literally ‘im sad at how miscast jodie was as the doctor but obviously david tennant speaks for himself 😍’ like GUYS!!!!!! AM I CRAZY!!!

[snipersfucker]

request from @infintyfandoms: Thought! Mirage is always so reckless, well what if one time he went too far and hurt his friend or s/o (either)?? I feel like he’d blame himself so bad - even if he was blind sighted by a distracted driver. Never drive crazy again or not drive around again or what??

angsty mirage x fem!reader times. thought of making it a headcanon thingy but nah. this one might need a warning that there are descriptions of serious injuries. and im also writing this on 0 hours of sleep thank you very much

A silver Porsche parked in front of the vinyl store you just walked out of was catching the attention of every passerby. Both men and women's eyes were stopping on the vehicle for a bit longer than they would on any regular car, their heads turning slightly to allow them to do that.

Mirage loved that. He loved transforming in different models everyday, the next one even more prestigious than the one before. Just to get that attention every single time.

You noticed a couple of teenage girls staring at your boyfriend, and even though you were fully aware they were doing so only because he was a good-looking car, you still rolled your eyes at it.

Your feet led you to the Porsche and you hopped in. Before getting the chance to point out the shameless staring of the group of teens, Mirage spoke up, "Whatcha got there?"

Your gaze had shifted to the vinyl case before you placed it down on the passenger's seat without much thought.

"Music," you responded casually in a light tone, putting your hands on the steering wheel, even though you knew Mirage would be doing the driving. "You got fans," you murmured under your breath but Mirage could obviously hear it. Your eyes landed on the girls again, and although you weren't particularly jealous, you still didn't appreciate it too much.

"Hell yeah, I do, baby," he said proudly, the grin in his voice palpable, even though you couldn't see it at the moment. And then, he added, a little bit more quietly as if he was saying this to the man who literally stopped in front of the car to admire him, "You wish you looked like that, huh?"

You let out an amused snort, and patted the gear stick with your palm to give him a sign to drive out of the parking lot. "C'mon."

"Let me honk at him," he'd asked for your permission seconds before doing it anyway without you allowing him to, causing the man to jump in his spot and then walk away. You just smacked the passenger's seat in disapproval, not even going on a rant about his behaviour because it was a daily occurrence for Mirage to do whatever he wanted.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, offended by your sudden reaction, as if he wasn't used to it, "I'm all for violence unless it's directed towards me," he muttered, sounding like an annoyed child. Then, without any warning, he revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot onto the main road. You only rolled your eyes without a word but then, you noticed how fast he was passing all the other cars in his lane, which he would usually cuss out for being slow, as if their owners weren't driving under the speed limit for safety reasons.

"Mirage…" you warned him, using his full name instead of a nickname, which he did not appreciate but decided not to speak on it and just change the topic.

"Jus' tell me it's not George Michael," he said with a short sigh, as if it was very important to him that it, in fact, was not George Michael.

"Mirage..." you warned him once again, ignoring his words, gripping the steering wheel with much more force now to hopefully get him to slow down.

"Nope," he said simply, understanding what you meant without you even having to say it. If he was in his humanoid form, he'd probably cross his arms on his chest and shake his head with that signature smirk indicating that he knew he was in control of the situation. "That's what you get for hitting your poor boy," he added, sounding very content with himself, revving the engine once more just to show you that he, in fact, was not planning on slowing down.

You scoffed. "You deserved it."

"For what?" he began talking in that specific, overly innocent tone, and you just knew he was going to say something sarcastic that would only annoy you even more, "For being so cute and funny?" He asked rhetorically, as if he wasn't aware that he really needn't have honked at that man, and then drive as recklessly as he normally would when you weren't inside him.

But he was very much aware. It was just that his pride didn't allow him to apologise.

"For being a little shit." You decided not to banter with him as per usual, but just to get straight to the point. Even though you were possibly risking starting an argument between you two, you just needed to reprimend him at the moment, especially now that you noticed how nonchalant he was about it.

"Ouch," he pretended to be hurt by what you just said. And although he wasn't actually offended, he still wasn't really in the mood to let you win.

So he sped up even more.

Noticing the opportunity presented right in front of him, the almost empty road ahead of you two, he floored the gas pedal, making you let out a short, quiet noise at the impact in which you got pushed back into the seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked him with anger in your voice, not raising it just yet, and not actually expecting a response. But you got one anyway:

"Takin' you on a ride date, baby," he answered sarcastically, his overly sweet tone making him sound even more annoying than before.

"Mirage, I—"

If he wasn't as sure in his abilities as he was, he'd never drive over three times faster than the speed limit allowed, never wanting to actually risk you getting hurt in any way.

And it wasn't even his fault, when a sport's car drove right into his left side, before you could even finish your sentence.

It wasn't his fault that the car ran a red light, that it was supposed to stop and wait for him to just drive away without getting thrown to the right by the impact.

It wasn't his fault that he was now rolling over for the fifth time, his roof and sides hitting the hard asphalt every single time.

You weren't even making any noises anymore so that he would know that you were with him, conscious, alive. He ignored the sound of his glass shattering, his metal body getting scratched, bent and painfully ruined, just to be able to hear your breath.

The other car was in a much worse condition, but he didn't care. The only thing occupying his mind was you, your heartbeat he would do anything to hear again. He needed to make sure you were still there.

He felt it all. He felt the pain that came with getting drove into by another car, with flipping over with unimaginable speed and force. But he needed to make sure you were alright.

And he couldn't even do anything to stop his worst nightmare from beginning to play right in front of his very optics.

Then, after a few moments that felt like hours to him, everything finally came to an end. The hiss coming out of him was still hearable, the hot steam, the liquid pouring out of his fual lines threatened to mix with the flames growing with every passing second. But it was finally quiet; no noise of metal hitting the asphalt distracted him from listening to your body.

His spark nearly exploded with relief when he heard the faint sound of your heartbeat. He wanted to transform, to be able to hold you, to get you out of him so that his bent roof wouldn't be pressing against your wounded head.

When people began to gather up around him, he realised he had a decision to make: to transform and risk getting hunted down just like it happened to Bumblebee, or to stay there and pray to Primus, pray to the people now surrounding him that they'd help you and make sure you were okay.

He wanted to scream at them to hurry up, to get you out, to make that heartbeat of yours sound more promising. To let him know that you weren't going to—

The idea of losing you forever crossed his mind for a split second before he could even stop it.

And it was his fault that he was going a lot over the speed limit, too distracted by the need to tease you, to win the argument, and show you that you had nothing to say in the way he was behaving.

It was his fault that there was crimson running down your forehead, the drops rolling past the hairs of your eyebrows, all the way down to your jaw, then staining your shirt with your own blood.

It was his fault that your body felt lifeless against his ruined upholstery, the only motion it was making was an almost undetectable rise of your chest every couple of seconds.

His train of thoughts got interrupted by the distant sound of sirens getting closer and closer to him. The people were talking, someone was yelling, it all making an irritating mixture of human noises he didn't need to hear at the moment.

Mirage felt his left door being opened or rather being torn out of him in a couple painful motions. He didn't care.

He just wanted them to take you away from him.

When he no longer felt your weight on his driver's seat, he almost let a sound of relief through his radio, but just now noticed that it's been ruined, making it impossible for him to do so. He hadn't paid attention to it earlier, too stunned to be able to say anything to you, even though your name and endless questions if you were okay wanted to escape him.

Cold liquid hit his hot metal body, the lower temperature of it somewhat helping him get in a clearer state of mind. Even though he felt deserving of being on fire, he appreciated the slight relief it gave him.

Somebody placed you on a stretcher, put you carefully in another vehicle, and then closed the door. He couldn't see you anymore but was sure the humans would take good care of you. Better care than he was able to offer.

The loud sirens hit his audio receptors before he registered the ambulance leaving the crash site.

And the sound was still bouncing against the interior walls of his helm every single day since the accident. The imagine of your limp body, his steering wheel covered in your blood, your head pressed uncomfortably against the remains of his left window...

Two whole weeks passed and he couldn't think of anything else but you. You in that horrible state he put you in himself.

The guilt was eating him alive, and even though he'd make Noah visit you everyday in the hospital to make sure your condiction was stable, he still couldn't help but beat himself up and be worried sick.

"Concussion, five broken ribs, broken arm and nose, and she was fucking bleeding from her liver, man," your mutual friend told him after leaving the hospital for the first time, after the doctors allowed anybody to visit you, even though you weren't conscious yet.

It affected Noah nearly as much as it did the robot. The only difference was that the human had no reason to blame himself for it, because it wasn't his recklessness that nearly killed you.

Mirage fell silent.

He got quiet, very quiet, unusually for him. Every Autobot he used to hang out with knew what happened, how much you meant to him, and how affected he was by the accident. They noticed the sudden shift in his behaviour, the once bubbly personality disappearing just so he could dwell in guilt in peace.

The thing that bothered him a lot among others was that he couldn't see you. He couldn't walk into the hospital you were being taken care of in. He couldn't sit next to you and tell you how painfully sorry he was for doing it to you, for putting you in danger, for hurting you so much your pain radiated off you body and made him feel it, too.

Noah insisted on repairing him, and he agreed purely because then he'd be able to park in front of the hospital to be as near you as possible.

But he was a wreck, both physically and emotionally.

And it still didn't change when you finally got discharged. He was not the one to pick you up from the hospital, it was Noah and Bee. He couldn't face you.

You asked about him when you woke up from the coma, your friend sitting next to you on the uncomfortable hospital chair only shrugging in response, telling you he didn't know anything about Mirage, where he was or how he was.

It was a lie. The robot was spending his time either in the garage, getting fixed by his only human friend, or out on the road, hoping that maybe, just maybe someone would crash into him again, making him feel that pain again. That pain he thought he deserved for harming you.

And when you insisted on Noah taking you to the garage to see him, after getting the information about his location out of the poor human, Mirage couldn't help but feel even worse than before.

You were alive, of course you were alive, but he also did notice the way you winced with every step, how dull the colour of your skin was compared to the times before the accident, how fragile you looked, standing there in front of him with Noah not leaving your side in case you'd collapse onto the floor.

You were alive, but also in so much pain he couldn't even look at you without feeling a strong sting in his spark.

His optics shifted to Noah in an instant, as if he was trying to bash him for taking you here, which he responded to out loud with his hands raised in a defensive gesture, "She threatened me."

You didn't even know what you were feeling at that moment. A mixture of sadness, annoyance, impatience, and hurt made you unable to say anything, forcing you to just stand there in silence. Suddenly, a short wave of pain washed over your right side, making you grimace and put your only free palm on the area surrounding your liver.

As soon as Mirage noticed your movement, he made an involuntary step towards you, his servos extended in your direction, as if he was trying to both comfort you and catch you if you were to fall.

Noah immediately asked, "You okay?" His eyes shifting between your hand on your side and your pained face. You just nodded.

Uncomfortable silence fell between the three of you, and the other human was close to replacing it with whistling just so that he wouldn't have to stand there awkwardly without a word.

"Imma just leave you two, yeah?" He scratched the back of his neck, his feet already leading him in the direction of the exit. "Jus'... scream if you die or somethin'..." he added, the awkwardness making him joke about things he normally wouldn't joke about.

And then, he left. He left poor Mirage with even poorer you. Alone.

You let out a grunt, making your way to the nearest chair to sit down. He was ready to help you with everything, but he didn't know if you even wanted him to, so he just stayed in his spot.

"You look bad," you commented, lazily motioning to his beaten-up body with your hand. The raspiness, the weakness in your voice almost made him drop to his knees.

He responded unsurely after a pause, a forced, unamused smirk on his face plate, "...You should see the other guy."

It was awkward. Awkward as never before, you two having always found it pretty easy to communicate with each other. But now... Now he couldn't help but feel that unpleasant feeling in his tank when you spoke up and made him say something back to you.

And it was his fault.

Your reaction to his little joke wasn't something you could control. A short, quiet chuckle left your mouth, causing you to grab your right side even more tightly and a wince of pain on your face to deepen.

She can't even laugh.

He felt so excruciatingly bad he had to fight himself not to transform into a car and just drive away.

You wanted to tell him that you've been told the other driver didn't make it. But you knew the war it would start in his mind if you shared that information with him, so you stayed silent.

"You look terrible," he muttered after a few moments of observing your body, as if to himself to comment on the damage he'd done.

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. "That's exactly what every woman likes to hear," you responded, deciding that a little banter would be better than sitting without any words being exchanged.

Mirage's eyes widened slightly as he took a step towards you, his servos up in the air again in a specific gesture that indicated that he didn't actually mean it like that.

He had this tendency to make things worse with his words, and normally it wouldn't bother him at all, but this time it was you. He didn't want to make thing worse with you.

"No, no, you're pretty. Gorgeous, in my humble opinion. Walking perfection even," he wanted to correct himself, spurting word after word just to show you that he didn't want you to be mad at him. "Geez, I'm sorry," he added, bringing his servos to his face plate to cover it in... embarrassment.

Something new for him.

You shook your head, looking up at him with a small smile. "I do look kinda ter—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he said with much more confidence now, "...For everything."

He rarely apologised.

But you deserved to hear it. Even if you weren't ready to forgive him just yet, even if you were to never forgive him, he just needed you to know that he regretted it.

You frowned, opening your mouth to say something, but he interrupted you again, "Maybe I shouldn't have be the fastest car in Brooklyn that day. Maybe I should've listened to you and not be a little shit," he recalled the way you called him these few weeks ago, just minutes before the accident. With determination in his tone, he continued, "You can hate me, I can take it." But then, he changed his mind as soon as he realised he would prefer if you didn't hate him, "Actually. Hate me for the next three days at max. Please. If you don't want me to rip my vents out."

You snorted weakly once more, the movement of your body making you wince in pain again.

He finally found enough courage within himself to get closer to you. With a couple of steps, he kneeled down in front of you and extended one of his servos in your direction, as if non-verbally telling you to stop laughing and not cause yourself even more pain.

"'m sorry," he whispered his apology again, the sincere look in his optics showing you just how much he cared for you.

"It wasn't y—"

"It was," he interrupted you in a much more serious tone, but it was still filled with softness, "I was stupid..."

"Nothing new," you managed to blurt out before closing your eyes shut and grunting, a grimace on your face as you felt another sting of pain, which you were kind of used to now.

You opened your eyes and looked up at his worried optics observing your every move, his servos desperately wanting to touch and help you but he knew it'd only make things worse due to his size.

You let out a short chuckle at your own joke as soon as your body allowed you to.

"Not funny," he reprimanded you with a serious face, not finding your apparent discomfort amusing at all, even though he agreed with your words.

"You were just making jokes ab—"

"So?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Child," you insulted him, fully aware how much he hated being called out on his childishness.

"I'm older than your cute little Earth, please," he scoffed.

"No, you're not," you deadpanned.

"...So?"

"I hate you," you said, although a small smile on your lips betrayed you.

"That's the spirit," he sighed but the corners of his lips curled up as well. A beat of silence passed and his gaze went back to your face, "I meant that."

You frowned slightly.

"I am sorry. For being the..." he was about to say something that would hurt his pride and ego, but decided it was worth it, "...the dumbest machine there is. Even a hairdryer is smarter than me," he insulted himself, hoping the sacrifice would make you like him again.

"You're right." You nodded, fighting back a chuckle.

He raised his arms in a playfully offended, confused gesture. "You could at least disagree, damn."

You shook your head in amusement.

After another beat of silence, he said seriously, "You're never coming inside me again."

"Wow."

"Should've worded it better, yeah..." he trailed off, "Primus, woman, give me a break." He let out a small laugh when he noticed your amused reaction to his sentence. "No, seriously... I... You're my girl, yeah? Don't want you to... You know, be in pain."

Why did he have to be so awkward about his feelings? Now that he finally had the chance to show you how much he loved you and never wanted to see you hurt again.

"I still have your..." he wanted to say that he still had your blood on some of his parts that didn't want to come off, but then decided it wasn't the best time to tell you that, "I almost lost my mind when I couldn't hear you," he confessed, his tone regaining its sincerity, the look in his optics describing his guilt to you without words.

He was referring to the moment he was so desperately trying to silence everything around him just to be able to find your heartbeat.

"I'm okay..." Your tone was soft, quiet, as if you were trying not to scare a lost, disoriented puppy.

"You're not okay," he disagreed with a slightly clenched jaw, angry at himself, not even for a second at you, "You..." He lowered himself so that he'd be able to whisper to you, as if saying these words more loudly would make them come true someday, "You almost died... I almost killed you..."

His face panel was close enough to your body for you to put your hand against his warm, metal cheek. Mirage immediately melted at the touch, his optics closing slowly just to allow him to savour the softness of your palm as much as he could.

"It wasn't your fault..." you started your monologue, this time the robot allowing you to continue, "I didn't die. I might have a broken bone or two..." He opened his eyes at this sentence, giving you a sad look. "...But I'll be alright. I didn't die," you repeated, which gained you an unsure nod from your boyfriend, who was now avoiding making eye contact with you.

You didn't force him to look up at you.

"I promise..." he trailed off, not wanting to show you how weak he felt, "I promise I'll never do that again..." His gaze went back to meet yours as you smiled softly, your eyes filled with love you had for him. "I'll never be dumber than a hairdryer, you have my unreliable word. And I'll never argue with you. I'll just say that I'm sorry, and that my woman is always right, and I'll shut up for as long as you want me to. And I... I'll never drive over twenty-five. Yeah, it hurts. But guess what hurts more. Seeing you with a broken bone or two."

Joking might've been the only way he would be able to overcome the sorrow he felt within himself. But it worked both for you and him. You really wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tell me," you whispered with a slight head tilt, slowly closing the gap between your faces.

He frowned, not understanding what you meant by that, but then the small smirk on your lips explained it to him.

He rolled his optics, the remains of guilt still evident in them, although with every passing second and every joke, they seemed to disappear bit by bit.

"'m sorry. My woman is always right," he repeated himself, pretending to find it very boring, as if he didn't really want to admit that. But he did. He did want you to know that he meant every single thing that rolled off his glossa.

Your smile widened immediately, your eyes closing as you minimized the gap between your and Mirage's lips completely.

And then, after long weeks of not being able to forgive himself for hurting the only woman he loved, he was finally able to feel relief.

[bambiraptorx]

Have you ever had a conversation with someone where they leave to talk to someone else in the middle of it and you can't tell if it was intentional or not but it still hurts? ...yeah me neither.

[samarecharm]

i love makoto so much but fanon does her so much better (the good parts of the fandom) because in the game her character is so lack luster. they butchered her confidant it is so borning and not even about her. they made her a cop. A COP. they pushed this "canon waifu" role onto her (before sumire came along and did it Even Worse). and it SUCKS because SHE IS SO MUCH MORE!!! SHE IS SO MUCH BETTER!!!! SHE COULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER!!! the way i feel about canon makoto is the same way i feel about the canon ryuji events post komoshida where he's horribly mistreated and used purely as comic relief: i ignore them <3 my game now <3 never happened <3 my ocs <3

You are so right. I generally apply this to all characters in p5 bc the game does such a shit job of staying consistent with character arcs and personalities. Theres a desperate need to throw in perverse jokes at the expense of female characters and a need to show that the police (as a whole) are reliable people who are not influenced by things like money and power; only the BAD cops do that. Not to mention this obvious fatphobia and homophobia but i feel likes thats a given.

But back to Makoto. Shes a victim of bad writing just like everyone else. Ryuji during the kamoshida arc was fighting with self loathing and genuine anxiety, and aside from the like. One comment on Panthers outfit in the metaverse, hes more than well behaved. All of that is shelved as soon as Kamoshida is gone and replaced with him being weird comic relief (and the focus of alot of sexual jokes that were nonexistent in the beginning of the game). Anns arc about self love and empowerment is completely dropped as soon as the nasty bad guy is put away (so that its good to be weird about her w the Good Guys). Makoto loses her a chunk of her personality to be the mature waifu which is INSANE to me bc shes like. Not okay or normal at all 😭😭😭 she THINKS shes responsible and so does everyone else on her team, but its an act! She doesnt know shit! And she doesnt know that she doesnt know shit bc shes respectful and adults dont care about anything as long as u respect them!

Its very telling that for literally every single thief (and goro), you can see the exact moment the writers gave up on adding anything of worth to their characters outside of the social links. Its like they didnt know what to even do w the characters at their disposal after their main arcs were complete. No mention of friends hanging out without you, no mention of having group hangouts. Everyone is treated as a core, important member of the friend group DURING their arc, but outside of it, they are acquaintances at best. Theres nothing in the game that convinces you that these guys are legitimately friends who care for each other and do Friend Things. And i describe it like that bc there IS a game that treats them all as friends, and its strikers! Strikers/Scramble genuinely feels like the game p5 wanted to be; a road trip w your team where they stay up at night talking to each other and hanging out and doing things together that dont necessarily include you, the player. Its refreshing and lovely but it sucks that u get that kind of attention to detail in a ‘spinoff’ title

[sipsteainanxiety]

one of the things you've come to learn about bakugou katsuki was his weakness towards praise. compliments.

particularly from you.

it all started when you first met the man—after you'd been hired at the ground zero agency to work down in its support lab. he didn't do the hiring, just cleared your papers, so you didn't actually see him throughout the entire process. not that you were complaining, of course. you'd heard stories of lord explosion murder king death god dynamite and well, they didn't quite paint him in a... positive light.

you met the other heroes running the agency over the first few weeks you were there, all of them assuring you that it was fine to address them by their actual names. they popped in and out of the support lab to drop off their suits that needed repairing after tough patrols or missions. you ranked them in your head based on how often their gear was damaged.

kaminari was at the top—he came down more often than not to drop off his busted shooters. you noticed he flirted with you quite a lot whenever he was around and liked to linger in the lab to avoid his paperwork responsibilities. sometimes you wondered if he damaged his stuff on purpose just as an excuse to come talk to you.

next was kirishima, though you gave him a pass since his quirk required him to physically put himself in the path of danger for anyone. he was a delight to talk to and never seemed to run out of conversation topics. he also sometimes snuck you some snacks on days you worked really long shifts.

tied for third place were sero and ashido. they'd made it a competition once you'd told them their ranking in your little mental system, but they were still neck-to-neck even after all this time. there was a point where they'd started sabotaging each other, but you shut that down real quick—you didn't want more work, thank you very much. still, ashido was great to talk to whenever you wanted the daily agency gossip, and sero was pretty fun when he wasn't pranking you.

and way, way at the bottom... was dynamite. you didn't see him around the lab too often—maybe because his suit didn't get roughed up much, which you guessed was likely seeing that he was the number two hero and all. he had to be good at his job, right? or maybe he went down for repairs whenever you were off duty or something. you didn't know and honestly, you didn't care all too much.

still, it was only inevitable that you would eventually meet dynamite.

kirishima had invited you to join him for lunch in one of the agency's breakrooms, as he tended to do once in a while when your schedules matched up. sometimes you were both joined by others, but today it was just you and kirishima in the empty breakroom at one of the two-person tables. it was nice being able to sit down and chat about this and that—he often told you stories about his patrols or missions he'd done in the past.

you got so wrapped up in the conversation that you almost didn't notice when dynamite entered the room. you raised an eyebrow when kirishima suddenly brightened up in the middle of a bite of his sandwich and waved an energetic hand at someone behind you.

"yo! bakugou!" he called out—loudly, even though there was no one else here. you almost choked on your drink. what did he just say? you twisted your upper body around, the straw of your drink pinched between your lips, just in time to see the man the myth the legend himself trudging over.

dynamite was dressed in a black shirt and matching black sweats—a contrast from his hero suit that you usually saw him in on the news or from a distance in the agency. the short sleeves of his shirt showed off the muscles and veins that bulged from his arms—the scars that littered them. he looked disgruntled, but then again, he always did, so you were sure that was just his default expression. you watched as he came to a stop near your table, a short "what" escaping his chapped lips.

"done with your patrol?" kirishima asked cheerfully, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to get rid of the crumbs there. dynamite nodded, his eyes flicking over to you briefly. you sipped at your drink slowly, just as something to do, but nearly choked again when kirishima looked between the two of you and said, "oh! have you guys met yet?"

you set your drink down on the table and looked up at dynamite with a raised eyebrow. you didn't think you'd ever seen him this up close. he kind of looked a bit different than what you were expecting. in a good way, though. "nope. you'd think i'd see my own 'boss' more, working in the same building as him, but i guess not," you joked. you stuck out a hand for him to shake. "'sup?" he stared at you for a moment, then at your outstretched palm. you almost thought he wasn't going to respond, but he eventually gripped onto your palm with his own to give it a short, firm shake.

but before he could pull away, you found yourself opening your mouth as you continued to stare up at him, words coming out of it before your brain could even process them. "you've got pretty eyes."

you both froze. kirishima's jaw dropped open.

"hah?" dynamite was the first to recover, his eyes widening as his hand clenched down on your own, worryingly tight. his top lip curled up, exposing some of the watermelon pink of his gums. you gave him a sheepish smile, wondering if the sweat you were feeling in your palm was your own or his. you weren't lying or anything—he really did have pretty eyes. a bright crimson, like smoldering coal, framed by thick eyelashes that models would absolutely kill for. you'd never noticed before—not in images or videos of him you'd seen online.

you opened your mouth to ramble off some excuse, but before you could, kirishima butted in with a wide, bright grin on his face. you knew that look—it meant trouble.

"hey, we've got the same color eyes, does that mean mine are pretty too?" he asked with a snicker, fluttering his eyes at you once you turned to give him an unimpressed look. you rolled your eyes and slipped your hand from dynamite's—surprisingly easily—so you could cross your arms over your chest.

"fishing for compliments now, huh?" you replied dryly. you glanced back up at dynamite, who was still frozen in place. he glared at a spot on your table, a flush creeping up his neck and tinging his ears. shit, was he mad or something? dynamite was infamous for his temper, wasn't he? you gave him an apologetic look when he briefly flicked his eyes at you. "shit, sorry man, it kinda slipped out." there was a moment of silence. you had the sudden urge to run.

"whatever," he eventually grumbled under his breath, promptly turning on his heel so he could stomp back out of the breakroom, not even grabbing a snack or anything. you watched him leave, confused at his sudden retreat, then looked over at kirishima who'd suddenly burst out in laughter.

"h— holy shit!" he choked out, one of his fists slamming onto the table hard enough to make it rattle. "holy shit i can't believe you told him that to his face! wait until denki hears—"

"it really did just slip out!" you interrupted defensively, a pout lingering on your lips. your voice lowered into a mumble. "not my fault his eyes are nice-looking..." kirishima only gave you a sly look and took another bite of his sandwich.

from then on, you started seeing more of dynamite. it was obvious kirishima had told the others what had happened, and it was even more obvious that they were determined to get you and dynamite to hang out together. though, you were unsure why it was such a big deal. it was just a compliment, right? surely dynamite was used to it by now... that was what you kept telling yourself (at least to make yourself feel better).

in any case, you didn't mind, not really. it was fun hanging out with everyone whenever they would invite you to one of their little group outings. which was where you were at the moment—a quaint little restaurant with all six of you crammed into a booth in the back.

you picked lazily at the noodles on your plate as you listened to kaminari ramble off about one of the more recent villain battles that had aired on the news. you remembered watching it on the t.v. down in the support lab. it had been a very impressive fight—impressive, but dangerous as it always was.

"—we'd wrapped everything up easy-peasy!" kaminari boasted as he leaned back in his seat with his arms behind his head. the epitome of confidence. "villain was taken to tartarus and i got the number of this sweet babe—"

"uh huh," you interrupted, still swirling noodles around with your chopsticks. "i bet she was so impressed—especially with how much you wrecked your shooters, right?"

you lifted your gaze to look at the blond as he spluttered out, a cheeky grin on your face. "well!! we won anyways—"

"yeah but guess who had to stay up all night to fix your shit for the next day," you interjected, giving him a faux disappointed look. sero snickered from next to you as ashido let out an "ooooh." you pointed a thumb at dynamite, who'd been sitting quietly across from you in the seat near the wall. "why can't you be more like dynamite here, huh? efficient. he hasn't fucked up his gear in a hot minute."

"oh come on!" kaminari whined out loudly. "you're holding me to too high of a standard here!"

"efficiency!!!" you cried out dramatically, reaching over sero to shake kaminari's shoulder. "responsibility!!!"

kaminari just reached back over sero to shake you as well, a mischievous smile on his face. you made a face at him that he copied, the two of you locked in a battle of endurance and high-wit. though, you both had to eventually stop roughhousing when sero got sick of being the man in the middle and karate-chopped the top of your heads.

you settled back in your seat with a silly smile splayed across your lips, your hand rubbing at your head. your gaze moved to look at dynamite—automatically, maybe, purposely seeking him out—and you noticed the way he'd turtled into his collar. you could see the way his ears were red, his neck flushed as he glared down at his plate.

he made eye contact with you briefly, then seemed to flush even more as he looked away with a small scoff. his jaw tensed. you felt heat in your cheeks as you focused on your food once more, missing the way ashido nudged kirishima meaningfully.

later that night, when dynamite dropped you back at your apartment, he told you to call him bakugou in a quiet voice.

---

the more time you spent with bakugou, the more you learned about him. the man you saw at the agency was nothing like how the news painted him to be and you wondered why you'd let the media influence your perception of him in the first place.

he started coming down to the support lab more—a surprise, of course, but welcome all the same. every time, he came with the gruff order that he needed his gear tweaked. a dent here, a cracked cover there. you diligently obliged to his requests, tinkering away at your desk. he liked to linger, sometimes, not that you were bothered by him. he made good company. though, you did notice a suspicious lack of visits from... other heroes. you weren't dumb—you knew what they were pulling; you couldn't say that you minded.

sometimes you'd catch bakugou staring at you, your eyebrows raising in silent question each time.

and he would always say the same thing when you asked what was up: "nothin'. jus' making sure y'aren't fucking anything up." yeah he made good company, but he was also a little shit.

one day, you needed his help with fitting together some small pieces together for his bracer. you could do it, but it was taking you longer than usual with all the individual parts. plus, your fingers were kind of greasy and the metal kept slipping from them.

bakugou grumbled a bit about how it was your job, but he approached your desk and pulled over a stool to plop himself down on. you gave him instructions on what to do and slid over all the tools he would need. he immediately got to work—diligent, you thought to yourself—which gave you time to get up and wash your hands at a sink in the corner.

you grabbed a paper towel and wiped your hands as you wandered back over to your desk and peered over bakugou's shoulder to watch him quietly work. his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, ash-blond hair partially covering his ruby eyes.

"your hands are surprisingly nimble," you commented as he clicked on a latch and fit a tiny screw in its respective hole so he could start screwing it in. you reached over to grab the section of his bracer that he'd finished in the few minutes you took to scrub your hands. you let out a low whistle. "quick too! nice work!"

his shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly as you set back down the bracer and rounded the desk to grab some more parts. as you turned back to sit next to him, you noticed he was pointedly avoiding your gaze, the apples of his cheeks dusted in a red to match his eyes. a familiar scowl danced across his lips.

and it was then that you finally realized that flush wasn't him getting angry. he was embarrassed. at you and your offhanded compliments.

the discovery was surprisingly humanizing—he could get shy over things, who knew! your gaze softened and you took your seat next to him once more, doing your best to pretend you didn't notice the way his movements turned slightly robotic and his hands lingered over your own whenever you passed him something.

it took time, but you soon realized that it wasn't dynamite you were complimenting—it was bakugou. and that made a world's difference to him.

bakugou, who was so used to people giving him compliments and praise when he stood before them in his hero suit—an invincible hero, a god amongst men. who never got compliments when he was just... himself. and that affected him more than you would ever know.

as you got closer and closer to him, you found it was easier to praise him over the smallest of things—things that you just noticed. and every time, it always filled you with a sort of warmth when he would flush and turn away with a scoff. it was kind of funny, when you thought about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

you dared to test how far you could go one day when bakugou dropped by the lab with a large box in his hands.

"oh!" you perked up as you hopped down from a table and cleared the space so he could set the box down on it. "it came already?!"

"mmhm," he hummed once he stepped back and wiped the sweat off his brow, "jus' got here."

"hell yeah." you grabbed a box cutter from a drawer and cracked the box open so you could rummage around in it and pull out the wrapped items. you'd asked bakugou to order you new materials for you to experiment with on his gear: carbon fiber sheets, mesoporous silica, zetix, etc. they hadn't been cheap.

"you got everything!" you grinned as you pulled out more black sheets and set them off to the side. your lips twitched slightly as you hummed, then said, "good boy!"

you could practically sense the way he'd straightened up then stiffened. you dared to chance a quick look up at him—hovering just in front of you on the other side of the table. his face had turned a bright red, as though someone had lit it on fire. his hands had clenched into fists at his sides.

"you—" he forced out hoarsely in a way that made you finally raise your head to properly make eye contact with him. he glared at you, lips pulled back in a snarl that wasn't all too intimidating with how much he was blushing. "—you... fuck, do y'know what you fuckin' do to me?" he swallowed thickly and you had to force yourself to not trace the bob of his adam's apple.

you tilted your head to the side and opened your mouth to respond, but he cut across you sharply. "sayin' this shit on purpose— are you fuckin' trying to piss me off? hah?" he sneered at you and your heart sank, just a bit. "make me look like a fuckin' idiot?"

"bakugou." you dropped everything so you could round the table and step up closer to him. you reached out to hold onto one of his clenched fists. he looked down at you with a heated glare, and yet his lips trembled—minutely. if you hadn't been watching him so carefully, you never would've noticed. "i—"

"yer takin' me for a goddamn fool," he rasped out, eyes narrowing. the redness in his face had faded only slightly. "i hate people who say shit they don't mean."

your gaze softened at his words and you released his hand to reach up and hold his warm cheeks between your palms. there was a moment where he seemed to want to step back—to pull away—but he didn't. you took that as a good sign.

"bakugou," you whispered gently to him, "baby, i meant every word." your thumbs traced over his apple cheeks. "all those compliments? you deserved every single one. okay? they were genuine, i swear."

his eyes flicked over your face, searching for something. it seemed like he wanted to protest—to argue—but suddenly, like he'd been popped with a needle, he deflated. he leaned his head closer down to your own. relieved, maybe. accepting. defensive no longer for things he didn't think he deserved.

"shaddup," he mumbled, the hot puff of his breath fanning across your face. "you and yer sappy shit. gonna kill me one day."

you chuckled. "you like it, though. i'll sing you praises for forever if i must." you gave him a cheeky wink, your lips curling into a grin. "wherever and whenever you want, bakugou." he huffed out through his nose.

"katsuki," he told you gently, bopping your head with his own. "call me katsuki."

[pineapplesaresweet]

idk if/how manta rays would come to a lake. poseidon powers probably.

[gay-artificer]

I've seen people be like downpour ruined how people see five pebbles and im gonna be honest if you were here for any number of years pre-downpour the fandom was always god-awful with the nuance in his character. thats not a downpour thing thats a fandom thing

[youhavethewrong]

do you guys remember when Attack On Titan had a fucking Looney Tunes Babies style spin off where all the characters were in junior high and the titans were just bullies and eren was mad at them because they ate his hamburg steak and it was legitimately better than the original

[fennel-tea]

That Awful OTP Meme, or: my Binah/Hod manifesto

I originally posted this on twitter but while this is mostly tongue-in-cheek I actually have a lot of thoughts on these two that are generally summarized by [god DAMN I love the interplay of two people who are varying degrees of Terrible]

or just, like, a Hannigram meme.

[prettypinkpastries]

Mini Rant

I honestly hate loasstwt tbf. Like the amount of ppl i see on there shaming others for how they manifest is absurd. Someone likes a+p? Great. Let them affirm. Someone uses states to manifest? That's great, let them do it. Someone wants to manifest in steps? Great, let them do it. Honestly if you don't like or agree with the way another person manifests something, that's okay. But don't project your negativity onto others and try to tell them that they're doing it wrong. Like stop it. You look ridiculous.

Why get so worked up and offended over how someone chooses to go about their manifestation journey? You don't like manifesting with states? Fine. That method doesn't work for you? Don't believe in subliminals? Okay good. But don't attack others for doing what works for them. Someone else creating their own rules for their own reality does not and should not conflict with yours. We're all limitless creators... right? So let us be limitless creators. Like tell me you're not confident in yourself without telling me you're not confident in yourself because people who bully others for no reason are insecure, not confident. If you were actually confident in your own manifesting abilities, you wouldn't be making others feel bad for being confident in theirs. If you actually believed in yourself, you wouldn't be bringing others down. Do better.

Side note I've seen my fair share of racism, lgbtphobia, fatphobia, etc on there too buts that's a whole nother thing to discuss, but yeah the whole "your way of manifesting is wrong" "youre a bad person for doing xyz" "why do that when you can do this" "you're not doing it right" type of mindset people have on there is something I had to address. Like. Your manifestation journey is unique. Let people do things their way and go do things your way. Don't be a pathetic asshole and let people be themselves. Sure, everything does go your way, but not everything HAS to be your way. Get what I'm saying?

Loatumblr for life >>>>>>

[caernua]

it is actually devastatingly ironic that ac valhalla told its main story about a woman refusing to bow down and lose control to the man who represents the past life she used to be even delivering the very powerful line “i will not be captive to another man’s gaudy design, my fate is my own” only for her to not receive a proper farewell bc ubisoft instead chose to make the big budget dlc based on the man who was her past life. thanks