#posting process video of me hollowing him out tomorrow!

[nevesceramics]

finished up the wet work on this dog! 🐶💤

[ericsonclan]

Evening ASMR

Summary: James records a video for his ASMR channel and settles in for the evening.

Word Count: 1702

Read on AO3:

“Evening, everyone,” James’ soft voice whispered, his mouth hovering over the mic. “Groggy and I hope you all had a good day,” His fingers lightly drummed against his rubber frog nightlight, the pleasant rhythm creating the exact sort of calming bliss that was James’ signature when recording for his channel. “My day wasn’t very eventful, but it was calm, pleasant. I’ve been drinking a new blend of tea today from Sarita’s Teashop - Evening Breeze,” James took a sip of hot tea then placed the mug on the table between both of his mics, his painted black fingernails continuing their steady, soothing rhythm, this time along the outside of the mug. “The offer from my last video still stands by the way: use the code Tranquilitime15 at checkout online for a 15 percent discount on your order from Sarita’s Teashop. Now let’s get to the main part of our video. It’s Tuesday so you know what that means. It’s time for Weekly Walk,”

Leaning back in his chair, James reached behind himself to pick something from his bag of finds. “Jesse and I went for a walk along the lake. Along the way I picked a few strands of grass since the texture intrigued me. Jesse told me it’s common reed grass. It makes quite a lovely sound. Let’s listen,” Lifting up the grass, James softly ran it along his mic, letting the equipment pick up the faint rustling sounds the grass made as it ran along the mic’s surface. James continued this motion for about five minutes, letting the moment last as he too became entranced by the sound the reed grass made. Finally he pulled his hand back, ready to share his next find.

“I also spotted another rock to add to our collection. The lines of white quartz running through it are really lovely,” James held the stone up close to the camera so his viewers could see the details themselves. “Into the rock bucket it goes,” With his free hand, James lifted up a small pale blue pail full of rocks and dropped his latest one in, running his fingers through the collection of stones in silence. There was no sound round him, only the soft rumble of the stones tumbling against once another. James was grateful there were no parties going on in the dorms tonight. Sometimes, even with the padding and soundproofing he’d done to his room, it was still difficult to find recording times where his surroundings were quiet enough to properly do ASMR.

Several minutes passed before James set aside his rock bucket and picked up his next find: a curved piece of driftwood from the lake. Holding the piece up to the camera, James turned it slowly so his audience could have time to admire it properly. “This was right along the shore near the end of our walk. I love the depth of color in it. Such a rich brown,” James’ fingers trailed along the branch, inadvertently tapping against it. It had become second nature for James to tap any object of interest he came across, always on the search for new sounds that he could bring to the channel that might give his audience the tingles.

As he tapped along the wood, James hummed softly, transitioning to another segment his viewers were especially fond of. The tune he chose this time was one Jesse had taught him, a Cherokee lullaby. Though James hadn’t been able to learn the words yet the tune was still fresh in his mind. Switching back to the reed grass, James softly hummed the lullaby, closing his eyes and getting lost in the moment. He could almost imagine that Jesse was here with him, sitting upon the floor and letting James brush his hair. The sound of Jesse’s hair would make great ASMR. James didn’t want to push him into anything he was uncomfortable though. He knew how much Jesse hated feeling as though he was performing for others. Perhaps that was a sound that was reserved for James then, one only he got to hear.

Finishing the tune, James picked up Groggy once more. Turning on the nightlight, James drummed his fingers along the little frog’s back, enjoying the bounce of the rubber under his fingertips. His ASMR wasn’t only for his audience. It calmed him as well. He looked toward the camera. “I went on a hike a few days ago with a couple friends of mine. My friend Clem brought her little brother. He was really curious to learn about what ASMR was exactly. He picked out some items on our walk for me to share as well. He wanted to be here himself, but it’s past his bedtime. Hi, AJ,” James waved at the camera, knowing Clementine would show the video to AJ as soon as it was posted.

Picking up the pinecones AJ had given him, James began to run his fingernails along them. The light scratching sound that produced sent a tingle up his spine. James smiled softly to himself as he continued, rolling the pinecones slowly in his hands then against one another. He then picked up a few of the countless leaves AJ had scavenged from him. These were drier and produced a hollow sound as James tapped upon them. He alternated between tapping and running his fingerpads along the leaves’ surface.

As he did, the memories of that day reached the surface of his mind. AJ had been so excited that day, running ahead of them on the trail despite Clementine’s warnings to stay nearby. He’d simply been too excited to remember to keep his word though whenever his promise did reach his mind AJ would freeze and look back guiltily. On the times when he didn’t remember, Clementine would have to barrel ahead to catch up with him, leaving James and Brody alone to chat. Brody would sometimes pause to grab a flower or other plant to press when she got home. She and James also kept their eyes open for interesting leaves that Clementine could use for leaf rubbing though AJ by far gave her the most finds.

Finally, James drew back. Setting aside the pinecones and leaves, he brought out Groggy once more. As his fingers tattooed a calming rhythm upon the little frog, James smiled warmly at his audience. “Thank you for staying with me tonight and hearing my stories. I hope you all sleep well and have a beautiful day tomorrow. Till next time, like, share and subscribe and I’ll see you next time for Tranquilitime,” With that James ended the recording. Cleaning up his workspace first, James then settled in to get the video uploaded. It was a bit of a process but one he was familiar with.

While the video uploaded, James poured another cup of Evening Breeze for himself and took a thoughtful sip. The tea had a clarity to it, a freshness that reminded him of being by the lake. He’d have to pick up some more next time he dropped by the teashop. He hoped the promotion was going well for Sarita. He’d only recently gotten his channel big enough to merit sponsorship and he’d wanted to start with a brand he trusted. Perhaps if this went well he could reach out to Tripp as well and promote his sweet shop.

His phone lit up and James glanced over to check the notification. It was a text from Louis. Hey hey! Just checking if we’re still on for this Saturday.

James set down his tea and texted back. Wouldn’t miss it. A few weeks ago on a visit to Ericson’s Diner when Louis had dropped by the table to strike up a conversation with James and Jesse, he and James had somehow gotten onto a tangent about Tokyo Ghoul. Louis had been wanting to watch it but was a self-professed wimp when it came to anything horror so he’d asked if James could be his watching buddy. Since then they’d VCed on Discord each Saturday afternoon to watch another episode. Louis had been loving the series so far though there had been several moments that had made him scream and James had enjoyed revisiting the series. Maybe if Louis had the patience for it James could suggest they buddy read some of the manga together next.

With some time left to kill while he waited for the upload to finish, James opened up a new tab to peruse Picrew. Maybe he’d make another chibi version of Jesse. His boyfriend was easy to make in most Picrews with his dark eyes and long, black hair. Finding a picrew he liked, James settled in to look through the different options. He hoped Jesse never stumbled across the Picrew folder on his computer. Though he’d sent Jesse a few that he’d made, the sheer amount of picrews of his boyfriend James had saved to his computer was downright embarrassing.

Finally the upload was complete. Powering down his computer for the night, James set it aside and headed over to his bed. He immediately faceplanted upon it before rolling up in the covers and letting out a content sigh. His phone lit up again – another message. James checked it and found it was a notification from Prisha this time. She’d finished her turn in Scrabble Go and now it was his. Opening the app, James pondered his options. He didn’t have a great selection of letters but he could make something of them if he found the right opportunity. After a few minutes he’d made his selection.

Sending it off, James closed the app then opened his music library. His selection was habitual by now. Nature sounds filled the room: the gentle rush of wind, the subtle flow of water and the faint call of birds as the grass rustled gently. James set his phone upon its charging pad and reached up to turn off the light. As he closed his eyes, he could almost picture that he was there on the walk with Jesse once more. Everything was calm, peaceful. Serene. A faint smile stayed on James’ lips as he started to drift off to sleep, walking once more in his dreams.

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 13- Icarus

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warning for very slight suicidal themes this fic has a happy ending I swear

Masterlist

Agony.

Losing you is agony.

Endeavor is lecturing him for pulling the stunt with Bakugo earlier that day but he can’t hear or really process any of it when all he can think about is the fact you’ve blocked his number and seem to want nothing to do with him. He vaguely registers words of “I told you so” and “I warned you” and even a word or two about a demotion but none of it matters. Hawks doesn’t know how to do anything but be a hero. It’s been the driving force behind a lot of the choices he’s made in your relationship and he knows it’s the same for you, but that doesn’t make any of this easier.

“You’re going to have to work really hard to earn my trust back Hawks and the trust of your coworkers,” Endeavor warns. “Understood,” Hawks replies, his voice almost detached. It seems to disconcert Endeavor, the other man being far more accustomed to the snarky Hawks persona than the serious man in front of him now. “Hawks, uhm, do you,” Endeavor stutters suddenly unsure. He coughs to cover his discomfort and clears his throat before resuming. “Do you need to talk about what happened between you and Artemis?” he finally manages to ask. He looks so deeply uncomfortable potentially talking about the subject and his discomfort only grows when Hawks continues to give him nothing back. “That won’t be necessary,” Hawks replies before turning and walking out of the office. If Hawks doesn’t know how to live without hero work, Keigo doesn’t know how to live without you. So his only option is to abandon Keigo until the pain stops.

He can’t have slept more than a handful of hours that night but he still wakes up early the next morning to run an extra patrol before his normally scheduled one. He files paperwork, even revisits old cases, all in a bid to keep you off his mind. Of course it’s not enough to stop his coworkers from whispering. Typically he ignores the gossip of the lower ranking heroes but it’s hard when he knows they’re speculating about you and him. It certainly doesn’t help that your break up was so public and now it feels like nearly all of Japan has watched the video of it happening. Hawks used to be the darling of Endeavor’s agency, beloved by all of his coworkers. Now he’s practically a pariah.

His new outcast status is only made more obvious at the cocktail party later that day. He’d wanted to skip it entirely, the fact you were supposed to be his plus one to the event made it all the more unappealing, but he’s already skating on thin ice and had no legitimate excuse to justify his absence. So instead he watches the other heroes talk and drink and laugh about things while he hides in the corner, too exhausted and heartbroken to put up the persona necessary to maintain conversation. No one seems to ask about him anyway or even care what he thinks despite the fact it’s his personal life that’s become the hottest topic in all of Japan. He wonders if this is how Icarus felt as he plummeted to the earth. Hawks had flown too close to your light and warmth and now he’s fallen from grace. He wonders if it’s true that Icarus laughed as he fell. If so he can empathize. As painful as this fall is, he would live it over and over if it meant he could catch even a glimpse of you again.

When Shoto comes to join him it’s literally the first genuine interaction he’s had all day. “You look like shit,” Shoto comments by way of greeting. “Thanks. Feel like it too,” Hawks replies. He doesn’t have to pretend with Shoto and for that he’s grateful. “Are you ok?” Shoto asks. “Even though I’ve always hated these things I was always so good at them,” Hawks starts in response. “I’d talk, drink, laugh just like everyone’s doing, be the center of attention, play the part of the charming number two hero. And look at me now. I’m so fucking anxious about what they’ll say about me, about her, about us and what happened that I can’t have a proper fucking conversation. I used to be on fire and now I’m standing in the ashes of who I used to be and I’m just fading away. Without her I’m fading away. I’m just as pathetic as she said,” Keigo confesses and it’s a weight off but it also makes the hollow space behind his ribs where you used to live feel all the more prominent. “This right here is kind of pathetic,” Shoto starts, earning him a shocked almost laugh from the other man, “but you are not pathetic Hawks. I think (y/n) knows that, she’s just hurting. Rightfully so. The bullshit with the others in the agency will get better too.” “I don’t know about that one.” “You’re not the only one who’s done dumb or bad shit. Not by a long shot.” “Really?” “You know Iida?” Shoto asks, pointing to the man in question as he obliviously continues his conversation with one of the others present. “Yea. Your year at UA, stickler for the rules. What about him?” Hawks asks. “He chose his internship our first year with the sole intention of trying to hunt down and kill Stain to avenge his brother.” “Really? That guy?” “Yep. My dad isn’t so innocent either: quirk marriage, child abuse, oh the stories I could tell you.” “Jesus Christ.” “Exactly. Everyone has their own shit Hawks. This will pass and hopefully you and (y/n) can find your ways back to each other when it does.”

Shortly after Todoroki finishes speaking his phone rings and he frowns down in confusion when he notices it’s Bakugo calling him. “I didn’t think we had task force business today,” Shoto says as he answers the phone. “We don’t. Is Hawks there with you?” Bakugo asks, his tone betraying his worry. “Yea he is.” “Shit.” “What’s going on Bakugo?” “It’s about (y/n),” Bakugo admits and Shoto’s eyes widen. He casts a look at Hawks before finally deciding to drag the other man with him to an empty office on the floor they’re currently on. He locks the door behind them and then pops his phone on speaker. “Ok you’re on speaker with me and Hawks what’s going on with (y/n)?” Shoto asks, his voice remaining calm. “All Might fired her last night so she was supposed to come in this morning and collect her stuff except instead she pretty much just threw everything away. I came back to patrol and found out she’d left Midoriya and I little gifts on our desk which was weird, so I hit up her roommates and apparently she never went home after she swung by here. I thought she and Hawks may have run off together but if he’s with you...” Bakugo explains. “Maybe she’s just clearing her head or something,” Shoto suggests. “No way. The whole of Japan is gossiping about her right now, the last thing she’d want is to be out in public,” Bakugo quickly refutes. “Was there anything else off about your desks? Drawers opened?” Hawks asks. “Maybe, I wasn’t paying that much attention. Why?” Bakugo asks. “Your task force notes still there?” Hawks asks in lieu of an answer. Hawks and Shoto wait with baited breath as they hear the sound of Bakugo moving around and then opening a desk drawer. “Nope, they’re gone,” Bakugo finally reports back. “Thought so. (Y/n) wouldn’t just roll over and kiss her career goodbye, she’s probably trying to take out the terrorist cell herself and use it as leverage to get her job back,” Hawks deduces. “Alone? That’s a suicide mission,” Shoto says. “Hence the gifts on the desks,” Hawks replies grimly. “Most of our notes are over there with you guys though,” Bakugo points out. As if on cue an alarm starts blaring overhead warning of an intruder. “That’s gotta be her,” Hawks says. “I’m on my way, hold her there so we can talk some sense into that idiot,” Bakugo tells them before promptly hanging up the phone.

Hawks has to give credit where credit is due. As foolhardy as your plan is, it’s incredibly well executed. As a former member of the guest list, you would’ve known everyone would be occupied with the cocktail party on one of the lower floors, far away from where the files you need are. The elevators will take forever with so many people trying to all get upstairs which only leaves the stairs, which are marginally better but still relatively slow. You must have spent most of the night planning this out. That thought fills Hawks with a certain amount of dread. You’re probably emotional and sleep deprived on your way to take on an entire villain group yourself all in a desperate bid to save your career. It almost sounds ludicrous. Yet, as Hawks races to the top floor in hopes of catching you, all he can think of is something you’d once told him during happier times, late at night as you two were wrapped up in each other:

“Honestly Kei? I’d rather die a hero than live long enough to prove those stupid reporters right about me.”

Author’s Note: Does this still count as a double update if I’m posting the second one after midnight 💀 anyway I can’t believe how quickly I was able to get this chapter out. The image of Hawks standing in the corner of a massive company party feeling like a shell of himself is actually a large part of what sold me on writing this fic for him. The song this chapter correlates to just felt so right for his character that I knew it couldn’t be anyone else. I thought about waiting to post this until later tomorrow today? but I’m ✨impatient✨ so instead y’all get it now

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

[cinnamonrollstark]

Whumptober Day 1: Shaky Hands

Brief ouch ouch warning. Hurt my soul to write this but he he we love making ourselves wanna die, don’t we? Alrighty. You’ve been warned. Yee yee. Let’s get started now, shall we? Also CW/TW for suicide.

---

A descent upon piano keys, Tony’s fingers drum against ivory planks. The tune is “Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You” from The Last Five Years. It’s melancholic, plaintive in the hollow dark of the hall. A steady intake of breath, and then he hums, warm air vibrating against his lips. The fingers glide, and he pretends to be okay.

It’s been two weeks, now. It’s so odd, to find that distance, to toe the line between Peter living, and Peter gone. Of course, Tony would prefer to find himself before that line rather than after it. There is comfort within the confines of his imagination, and in its tracks, delusion. But it only leaves him so much room: the more welcoming the lie, the more obvious the truth. 

I stand on the precipice,

I struggle to keep my balance,

I open myself

I open myself one stitch at a time

There are memories. Memories of pain and also laughter, the good and the bad so inexplicably mixed and undefined. They mix and tremble and threaten to fall away. In grieving, the memories all become sources of pain in spite of the love and joy they may have once created. A reminder, really, of what has been lost. Far more lost than what was gained; Tony was often reminded in his times of bereavement that everything happened for a reason, but he knew enough to see through that. What reason could there be for this? What possible greater cause would erase such a young and vibrant life from the universe?

Tony wants to believe he is numb to it now. He should be used to this, in all he has experienced. Mother, father, friend, and-

What can he call Peter? What must he remember him as? It feels terribly intrusive, to claim him as a son or anything more than a mentee, one-sided, in Peter’s absence. Yet, this is the association in feeling, the same emotion produced when Morgan skins her knee or hits her head, multiplied with mourning. The pain it elicits can best be described as an empty space, a lead balloon settling within his ribcage like a foreign organ, a third lung whose purpose is solely to steal all the air from his body, leaving him breathless. He should’ve expected this. Nothing great ever truly lasts forever.

Goodbye, until tomorrow,

Goodbye till I recall how to breathe,

And I have been waiting,

I have been waiting for you.

He’d found Peter on the floor of the bedroom closet. The hanglight, a bulb with no cover, sent a soft glow across the boy’s paling cheeks. Most days, Peter seemed so small, a miniature hero to protect, to cover, to save. That morning, he took up the whole length of the closet, made grown by a struggle undisclosed. Tony squeezed the boy’s hand, felt for a pulse on the wrist, then shortly after on the neck. Peter’s skin was already cooling, and there was no denying his death; it was then that Tony noticed the eyes, still half open, hazel brown reflecting slivers of light overhead. Although he wasn’t sure why, Tony shut the lids before beginning compressions.

Palm to ribs, elbows straight, chest rising and falling with forced air in between the jolted movements; this went on for half an hour. Desperation gave way to grief, to denial. Then, a spark of hope: a pulse is found. Tony rejoices. 

Finally yes,

Finally now,

Finally something takes me away,

Finally Free!

Finally he can cut through these strings,

And open my wings.

Tucked in that bed, like a child, a tube protruding from his throat, breath, still not his own, pushed in through the tube and out again. Tony stroked Peter’s hand, rubbing circles in the soft skin. He was warm now, warm again. A heartbeat, precious, melodic, announcing itself every two seconds or so. Denial, personified, a figure carved so perfectly to look like the boy, his boy, that if Tony did not inspect him so closely, he would not have recognized the absence of something greater, whatever made Peter, Peter.

“I know this isn’t something you’d like to think about right now, but it’s important that we take advantage of the time we have. Is Peter an organ donor?”

The nurse was blurry to him, then, and in that, she drifted, lost at sea. Waves, crashing down around them with each pointed lie of Peter’s heart. 

Tony nodded. In truth, he didn’t quite remember, but he knew what Peter would want.

“Okay,” continued the nurse, joining him under the surface of the water as it rose. “It is vital that we get started with the process as soon as possible. I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss. Is there anyone we can call to be with you, after we take him?”

He’s already been taken, thought Tony. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, the word, too large to fit past his throat. “I’m all he has left.”

I could never rescue you

The nurses and doctors and staff formed lines against the walls as they walked to surgery. They called it the walk of honor. Tony did his best not to make eye contact with them; not that he could’ve seen them if he tried, tears streaming down his face and into his beard. He swallowed the ugly sobs that threatened to spill, feeling observed but overwhelmingly thankful for the many that are gathered to honor Peter’s post-mortem sacrifice. His lungs would be given to a thirteen year old, his liver to a thirty year old. Then, the heart- god, Peter’s heart- would be given to a young child, a ten year old girl. Peter’s heart would save her life. All this, he tried to remind himself as they neared the end of the hall. The doctors wheeling him stopped before the double doors and gave him space to say goodbye. 

All you ever wanted

Tony kissed Peter’s cheek and sighed into his skin. It was then that he gave way to the storm, the ocean boiling within him, and sobbed as he held him tight. “I love you Peter,” he choked out, “so, so much.” The boy’s chest rose and fell with make-pretend life, and Tony breathed in tandem. It was several minutes before he pulled away, wiping his own tears from Peter’s cheeks. “We’ll be okay, Pete. You can rest now.” 

He let go, then, and watched as they wheeled the child away.

But I could never rescue you

No matter how hard I tried

When Peter was finally gone behind those doors, Tony collapsed in on himself, for a moment, so terribly alone on that hospital floor. Then, one by one, the hands of strangers, kind strangers- those that stood for the walk of honor, pressed against his back, his head; embraces from a dozen men and women.

All I could do was love you hard,

And let you go 

Peter had killed himself. It felt pointless, really, and Tony was fairly sure that would never change. Fingertips to warm piano keys. He takes a deep breath in, and lets it out. There was so much he would’ve done, if he’d known in time. How he would’ve listened to the boy, held him when he needed it. It didn’t matter that he’d been there, that he’d loved him. That he’d been there. He hadn’t been enough, he was sure.

Light floods the kitchen across the hall, and the piano music stops. 

“That you, Morguna?”

He swallows the dry emotion as Morgan’s small frame sends shadows across the archway.

“It’s pretty daddy.”

Tony smiles, sadly. His eyes are still wet, red. He prays she wont notice.

“You’re sweet, Morgs. You wanna play?”

She grins and nods excitedly.

He would’ve tried even harder had he known. Tony already loved him endlessly as his own. Yet, there was no changing the past, only the future. As Morgan makes her run towards him, a shadow of what could’ve been and now, could be, traces behind her like a lagging video. He takes a breath as she leaps onto the piano bench next to him, and wraps his arms around her. Although he cannot save Peter, now, he can preserve his memory, and nurture the trust of understanding with Morgan, a freedom to talk and confide in all that hurts her and weighs on her mind. 

Morgan props herself up against him, and he offers up the backs of his hands. She sets her tiny palms against her father’s,  and he begins to pick up the final notes one more time.

“Daddy,” she whispers, giggling. “Your hands are all wobbly.”

He smiles, softly.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

His hands shake as he realizes the weight of the future he holds. He plays through the uneasiness, and closes his eyes, Peter’s smile at the back of his mind.

No matter how hard I tried,

All I could do was love you,

God, I loved you so.