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mariasont · 14 days ago

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Copper Changes Color - A.H

all you wanted was to stop your new kitchen from flooding. what you got was a crash course in home repair, body awareness, and what mr. hotchner looks like in a dripping dress shirt

pairings: aaron hotchner x intern!reader warnings: suggestive themes, mild accidental injury, clothing transparency, mentions of aging (el oh el), slow burn (with water damage), sexual tension but we r making it neighborly, age gap, home repair as foreplay, science girl flirts via plumbing vocabulary, ballcock failure (swear) wc: 1.9k

Water sluices through your shoes in persistent little pulses, seeping into your socks and establishing a semi-permanent colony in the crevices between your toes.

You purse your lips and pitch yourself forward, clutching at the hem of your tank like you might peel the cold from your skin if you just squeeze hard enough. It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.

The fabric clings tighter instead, now suctioned to your spine, a damp, vindictive second skin with a grudge. (Hydrophilic fibers. That’s why. Cotton loves water. An ironic choice, in retrospect, for someone who knows that cellulose absorbs up to 27 times its own weight.)

So now you’re mid-drip, mid-shiver, mid-existential reckoning over the catastrophic intersection between you and the American household plumbing system when the door swings open.

And there he is, framed in clean lines and afternoon light — your neighbor, your new neighbor, your prohibitively attractive, aggressively symmetrical new neighbor.

What a great impression you seem to be making judging by the look he gives you, as if trying to discern whether this is a cry for help or just your natural state of being.

You realize, belatedly, that you don’t even know which one you’d prefer him to believe.

“Hi! I — okay. This is probably the weirdest neighbor interaction you’ve had all month. Maybe all year. But my kitchen kind of exploded? Not exploded-exploded, there weren’t any flames or concussive blasts or flaming shards of sink shrapnel, just… water. A lot of it. From a valve? Under the sink? It’s called a ballcock, which sounds fake but it’s a real word, I checked. Anyway there was, like, geyser-level water pressure shooting into my ceiling and I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here. Not because I thought you could fix it, necessarily, unless you can? But mostly because I panicked. Which I don’t normally do.”

He regards you silently for a moment, his expression closed off, reminding you of a combination lock, one your brain immediately fumbles through every numeric permutation it can conjure to open it.

“I can come take a look. And call a plumber.”

He gestures for you to lead the way, falling in step behind you, or maybe beside you. It’s hard to tell. Spatial awareness takes a backseat the second his eyes dip toward the distressingly see-through state of your shirt.

He jerks his eyes away in gentlemanly fashion, burning himself on a hot stove.

Clearing his throat, he recovers, “Do you know if your water main’s outside or under the sink?”

You cross your arms, an attempted picture of casual confidence, though realistically more akin to frantic self-containment via strategically placed limbs.

You hope he doesn’t notice.

“It’s under the sink, I think. I mean sixty percent of residential shutoff valves are installed there, though some new models route to an external main, especially in cold climates, but this house predates modular plumbing standards so — yeah. Probably the sink.”

He nods once, as if you had offered a completely ordinary and appropriate response. As if normal people regularly volley niche plumbing statistics at each other in casual conversation.

Most people — regular, socially adjusted humans — would’ve blinked. Or winced a little. Or at least made that polite, closed-mouth “ah” sound that universally signals, please, for the love of god, stop talking.

But not Mr. Hotchner. (Aaron? Hotchner? You weren’t sure which name was appropriate.) He just steps into your house, either unfazed by you or polite enough to hide his confusion exceptionally well.

He crosses the kitchen in three measured strides, slacks neatly creased, white dress shirt still buttoned to the collar.

His posture practically screams executive burnout, like he spent his entire day navigating high-stakes conference calls and patiently explaining things to people he silently considered throttling.

You conclude swiftly and confidently that he must be some kind of CEO. Something complicated, lucrative, and mildly sinister. Finance, perhaps. Or no, something with a more predatory reputation. Venture capital? Private equity? Arms dealing? (Okay, not arms dealing.)

Whatever it is, you’re sure it involves quarterly earnings calls, shareholder appeasement, and an extensive collection of expensive ties.

But then again, he does live here. In this neighborhood, which is lovely, sure, all quiet and sun-dappled, all responsibly pruned hedges and tasteful porch lighting. You love it. You also could never have afforded it if the house hadn’t been, you know, inherited.

Still, it’s not exactly executive-suite-level real estate.

Unless, of course, he’s one of those hyper-rational finance-blog devotees who preach aggressive saving strategies and believe visible wealth is for amateurs. You could picture that. Actually, it fits him perfectly. Or at least, it fits perfectly with the version of him your brain is assembling based on fifteen seconds of sidewalk interaction and your wildly unused behavioral science coursework.

You haven’t exactly been studying him, per se, but certain details lodge themselves in your pattern-attuned brain. It can’t be helped.

He leaves early. Returns late, consistently solo, and displays zero evidence of a cohabiting partner. There’s no second vehicle, no conspicuous brunch plans on weekends. His grocery trips result in single-serving bags and he waters that one sad potted plant but never waves at Mindi Daugherty across the street who strategically times her daily walks past his house in distinctly flattering activewear.

He also runs every morning. You know this in the same way you know tides shift or birds migrate because he passes your porch at precisely 6:12 AM.

Same routine, same pace, same gray T-shirt darkened at the collar and clinging to upper-body definition. You’ve taken to waking up early under the noble guise of catching the sunrise before class, gaze angled vaguely toward the horizon, which just so happens to intersect with his jogging path.

But now, with him crouched at your sink, sleeves pushed past his forearms — which, by the way, are absolutely in the top percentile of forearm presentation — you confirm those jogs have a definitive purpose. Strong legs. Powerful quads capable of door-demolishing force. Not that you’ve considered that.

“Can you hand me that towel?”

You comply instantly, arm extending stiffly, acutely aware of the warmth radiating off him in slow, magnetic waves, like a space heater, or maybe a heat lamp, but one inexplicably gifted with superb genetics and bone structure.

He takes it, fingers brushing yours in an accidental collision. You would think it’s negligible by most standards, and yet your entire sensory network lights up simultaneously.

Without a word, he resumes his investigation beneath the sink, using the towel as makeshift padding for one knee.

You shift your weight, then decide proximity is crucial for educational purposes, lowering yourself onto the tile, whose damp chill promptly seeps through your leggings. Not enough to dissuade you.

“What exactly are you looking for?” you ask, voice soft so it doesn’t bounce too loud in the small kitchen.

“Fault point on the fill line. If it’s clean, it’s a seal issue. If it’s corroded, you’ll need a full replacement.”

Your lips turn to a frown.

“If it is corroded, is it something you can patch temporarily or is it full replacement only?”

He turns to respond, but his gaze slips past your eyes, dropping downward for what seems like the seventh time in ten minutes, and precisely then, his arm brushes the loosened valve with just enough force to dislodge it.

Water explodes in a vicious surge, hitting him squarely in the chest and smacking you on the cheek.

Before you can move or breathe or curse, he’s already between you and the line of fire, arm braced against the cabinet, deflecting the brunt of the stream. Water barrels into his side, soaking through his pristine shirt in seconds.

Amidst the roar of rushing spray, you hear the metallic groan, the protesting grind of something finally surrendering beneath the steady force of his hand, and at last, the deluge tapers.

He exhales and then turns to look at you, shirt molded to his pecs, sleeves dripping onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he says, voice low but not annoyed, if anything, it’s amused.

You offer him a weak smile, still blinking through droplets. “No, it’s — this is my fault. I should be the one apologizing. I mean, I’m the one who dragged you into this mess.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s a dimple there, you realize, half-hidden beneath rain-slicked skin and a mouth pulling into something between wry and warm.

His hair drapes across his forehead, coiling slightly now that it’s wet.

You’re still smiling, you think, though hopefully in a restrained, adult, totally-not-enamored-neighbor sort of way.

He tilts his head at the pipe, then looks back at you over one shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re going to need a full replacement.” He gestures vaguely at the sad, dripping underbelly of the sink. “I can shut it off from the main for now, but it needs to be looked at professionally.”

“Right.” You nod. “I’ll just add this to my ever-expanding list of adult learning experiences.” He moves toward the shutoff as you wipe water from your eyes with the edge of your tank top. “Seriously, though, thank you. I know this isn’t exactly a neighborly favor on the usual spectrum of things.”

“This was… not the worst emergency call I’ve had,” he says, almost smiling.

You’re about to respond, standing from your spot, to ask what could possibly be worse than this, when your heel skids across the drenched floor.

Your arms flail instinctively, grabbing at the nearest available support, which, of course, is him. He moves quickly, to his credit, trying to stabilize you, but the momentum carries you both backward. You tumble gracelessly into a slippery, tangled heap.

He mostly succeeds in cushioning your fall, though the resulting thud against the floor elicits a sharp grunt from him. Your palms, meanwhile, end up planted squarely against his very wet, very muscular chest.

You freeze, trapped somewhere between outright panic and complete sensory overload. His hands rest firmly on your waist in a futile attempt to salvage the situation, but the situation is well beyond saving, you’re adhered to him, nipples peaked against a top that’s now suctioned to skin. He has to feel it. And worse, your hair is now stuck across his face, one curl draped over his temple like an attempt at decoration.

His face, you notice, is stupidly handsome this close up. You can see the exact shape of his jaw, the way his lashes cluster into tiny spikes, the faint suggestion of stubble shadowing his skin, a brow that ticks just briefly as your breath catches against his collarbone.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you blurt, immediately launching into what can only be described as an anxious, full-body scramble off him. “Are you okay? Because I landed right on your — well, your thoracic region, technically, which absorbs impact better than your lower back, but still, that was a lot of force and you’re older —” You stop. “— I mean, not older, I just mean relatively speaking, like, statistically, the male spine starts to degenerate past thirty-five and — okay, I’m going to stop talking now.”

He stands with a grunt, more from effort than pain, and offers you his hand.

“You know,” he says, clasping yours as he lifts you to your feet. “I didn’t realize I was old until you mentioned it.”

Your face goes hot. “I didn’t mean you specifically, it was a general observation about musculoskeletal aging and —” You cut yourself off with a wince. “Right. Not helping.”

He exhales, a laugh almost, then glances at the kitchen. “I’ll call a plumber I know. They should be able to come out tomorrow and I can come by and oversee it, if you want.”

“Oh. Really? You’d — yeah. Thank you. That’d be great.”

He gives a nod, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing in a ruin of your own making. Then he opens the door. “Try to get some rest.”

And you will. Probably. Eventually.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#🌺 maria writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fluff #hotchner #hotch

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astrologydray · 2 months ago

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Mercury Sign Intelligence Ranking (From Sharpest to Softest Thinkers)🧠✨

Note: Everyone has strengths in different kinds of intelligence (emotional, analytical, spatial, linguistic, etc.). Mercury in Pisces may write the most moving poetry. Mercury in Capricorn might write the best business plan.

1. Mercury in Gemini

Keyword: Mental Gymnastics

This is Mercury’s domicile, meaning it functions at full strength here. Sharp, witty, fast-talking, and excellent at multitasking. Absorbs trivia like a sponge. Thinks in hyperlinks.

2. Mercury in Virgo

Keyword: Precision

Also in domicile and exaltation. Analytical, detail-oriented, and mentally organized. Masters systems, edits flawlessly, and thrives on logic. Their brain is a high-speed filing cabinet.

3. Mercury in Aquarius

Keyword: Genius-Level Pattern Seeker

Independent thinker, visionary mind. Thinks ten steps ahead and outside the box. Often “ahead of their time” — the rebels and inventors of thought.

4. Mercury in Scorpio

Keyword: Psychological Sleuth

Obsessed with depth. Highly intuitive and investigative. Can detect lies, read minds, and process information beneath the surface. Strategic thinker with razor focus.

5. Mercury in Capricorn

Keyword: Strategic Planner

Thinks long-term. Practical, grounded, and goal-oriented. Absorbs knowledge through structure and discipline. Excellent at putting ideas into action.

6. Mercury in Libra

Keyword: Diplomatic Logic

Highly intelligent socially and verbally. They weigh perspectives and speak with poise. Great debaters, lawyers, and artists of articulation.

7. Mercury in Sagittarius

Keyword: Big Picture Thinker

Philosophical, adventurous, and open-minded. Not always detail-oriented, but sees overarching meaning and vision. Brilliant storytellers and educators.

8. Mercury in Aries

Keyword: Quick and Blunt

Snappy thinkers. Acts on impulse and trusts instinct. While not always reflective, they’re sharp, decisive, and quick-witted in arguments.

9. Mercury in Leo

Keyword: Creative Communicator

Thinks with flair and heart. Loves storytelling and spotlight communication. Not the most logical, but brilliant at inspiring and performing.

10. Mercury in Taurus

Keyword: Slow and Steady

Learns at their own pace. Strong memory and focused attention, but slower to process new ideas. Excellent at mastering one subject deeply.

11. Mercury in Cancer

Keyword: Emotional Intelligence

Learns through emotion and memory. Not always linear, but intuitive and empathetic thinkers. More subjective, but deeply wise in a nurturing way.

12. Mercury in Pisces

Keyword: Dream Logic

Highly creative, imaginative, and intuitive — but struggles with linear or rational processes. Their intelligence is spiritual, artistic, and symbolic rather than logical.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrologyposts #astrology content #astrology aspects #astrology insights

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p0orbaby · 10 months ago

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Finders Keepers

summary: you’re good at catching things, leah’s eye is one of them

warnings: a little suggestive

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 2k

You’re the new goalkeeper coach for the Lionesses, which is great, except for one glaring problem: Leah Williamson. She’s distracting, in the way that a house fire distracts you from finishing your cup of tea. You’ve never coached a team that required so much attention to detail, and you’re starting to understand why. You need every neuron firing just to remember how to breathe when she’s in the vicinity, let alone when she’s talking to you.

And she talks to you a lot. It’s not always about goalkeeping either, which is alarming, because you’re really only equipped to discuss which angle to cover or how to improve reaction time. Instead, she wants to talk about where you’re from, what you think of London, whether or not you like Thai food. She asks you about your star sign once, which is bizarre because you’re not sure if she believes in that sort of thing or is just trying to make you sweat. You lie and say you’re a Pisces, mostly because it seems like the least offensive answer, and she nods like that explains something.

You try to keep your interactions professional, but she makes it difficult. For instance, Leah has a habit of “accidentally” bumping into you. She claims it’s because she’s got bad spatial awareness, but you’re fairly certain she just likes the way you flinch when she does it. You’ve read somewhere that “accidental” touch is a sign of attraction, but you’re not sure if that applies when the person doing the touching has the coordination of an european champion.

One day after training, she lingers on the pitch while you’re gathering up cones, which you suspect is an attempt to chat you up. She watches you with a smirk, and you can feel her eyes burning into the back of your head like an exceptionally focused laser pointer.

“You missed one,” she says, pointing out a cone about three feet to your right. You didn’t miss it, but you pick it up anyway because you can’t think of anything better to do.

“Thanks,” you mumble, trying not to meet her eyes, because when you do, it’s like looking directly at the sun. Leah Williamson is a human eclipse, and you’re about to go blind from prolonged exposure.

“No problem,” she replies, not moving.

She’s still standing there when you finish. You’re holding a bag of cones and looking for an escape route, but she’s planted herself directly in your path like she’s grown roots.

“You’re not running off, are you?” she asks, with the kind of grin that makes you wish you’d pursued a career in something less perilous, like bomb disposal.

“I was thinking about it,” you admit, and she laughs, which is a mistake because her laugh does things to you—dangerous, uncoachable things.

“You’re cute,” she says, and now you’re actively searching for the nearest exit, because if she keeps this up, you’re going to do something really stupid, like ask her out for coffee or give her your social security number.

“Uh, thanks,” you stammer, clutching the bag of cones like it’s a life preserver.

She tilts her head, clearly amused by your discomfort. “No need to be nervous,” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to relax when Leah Williamson is standing less than a foot away from you.

You’re not nervous, you want to say, but that would be a lie, and you’re not about to start lying to yourself, not when you’ve done such a good job of repressing your feelings up until this point.

“Well,” you say, taking a step back, “I should probably—”

“Want to get a drink?” she interrupts, like she’s asking you if you want to grab a sandwich, and you nearly drop the cones because your brain can’t process the words coming out of her mouth.

“What?” you blurt out, because that’s all your synapses can muster.

“A drink,” she repeats, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for a player to ask out their coach. “You know, alcohol? Liquid courage?”

You’re pretty sure you’ve just suffered a minor stroke, because the world tilts sideways and your pulse goes through the roof. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you manage to say, which is the understatement of the year, considering the fact that you’ve spent the last three months trying to convince yourself that Leah is just another player on the team, and not the walking, talking embodiment of temptation.

“Why not?” she asks, and you can tell by her tone that she’s genuinely curious, like the idea of you turning her down is as foreign to her as the concept of gravity.

“Because,” you start, then pause, because you don’t have a good reason, and she knows it.

“Because?” she prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“Because it’s unprofessional,” you say finally, as if professionalism is something you’ve ever been good at.

“We’re not at work now,” she points out, and you hate that she’s right. You hate that she’s standing so close to you that you can see the tiny freckle just above her left eyebrow. You hate that you want to reach out and touch it, trace the shape of her face with your fingers.

“Leah—” you start, but she cuts you off by taking a step forward, closing the gap between you. She’s close enough now that you can smell the faint hint of her shampoo, something fresh and citrusy that makes you want to bury your face in her hair and never come up for air.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she says, and it’s not a question.

You don’t know why you go. Maybe it’s because you’ve never been particularly good at saying no, or maybe it’s because the idea of Leah waiting for you is too tempting to resist. Either way, you find yourself standing outside the pub, staring at the sign like it’s going to give you the answers to the universe.

Inside, Leah’s already at the bar, leaning against the counter with the kind of casual confidence that makes you wonder if she’s ever had an awkward moment in her life. When she spots you, she grins, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

“You made it,” she says, as if there was any doubt.

“Yeah,” you reply, because what else can you say? I’m here because I’m an idiot? I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you? I’m here because I’m trying really hard not to fall in love with you and failing miserably?

“Drink?” she asks, holding up her pint glass.

“Sure,” you say, because if you’re going to make bad decisions, you might as well make them with alcohol in your system.

She orders you a drink, something that tastes like it should be served in a coconut with an umbrella, but you don’t complain because it’s delicious and also because Leah’s eyes are twinkling in that way that makes your stomach do somersaults.

“So,” she says after a moment, “why don’t you want to go out with me?”

The question hits you like a freight train. “I never said that,” you protest, but your voice is weak, like you’re already losing this battle.

“You didn’t have to,” she replies, taking a sip of her drink and watching you over the rim of the glass. “But you’re not very good at hiding it”

“I’m not?” you ask, horrified at the idea that your feelings might be more obvious than you’d like to admit.

“Nope,” she says, popping the “p” in a way that should be illegal. “It’s written all over your face”

“Oh.” You stare into your drink, wondering if it’s possible to drown in a pint glass.

“But it’s okay,” she continues, and now she’s leaning in closer, her knee brushing against yours under the table. “Because I’m not really good at hiding it either”

And that’s when you know you’re completely, irrevocably screwed.

It’s not a relationship, you tell yourself, because relationships require labels, and what you and Leah have is more like an ongoing series of bad decisions strung together by moments of sheer idiocy.

You try to keep things professional, but it’s difficult when she keeps showing up at your door with that grin and that laugh and those hands that seem to know exactly where to touch you to make your brain short-circuit.

One night, after you’ve spent far too long convincing yourself that you’re strong enough to resist her, she shows up at your flat with food and a bottle of wine. You know it’s a trap, but you let her in anyway, because you’re a sucker for Thai fried rice and bad decisions.

You spend the evening on the settee, eating and drinking and pretending like you’re not going to end up in bed together by the end of the night. You watch some terrible low budget comedy that Leah picked out, and you’re about halfway through when she starts inching closer to you, like she’s trying to be subtle but failing spectacularly.

“You’re sitting awfully close,” you point out, because it’s either that or spontaneously combust from the proximity.

“Am I?” she asks innocently, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Yes,” you reply, but you don’t move away, because if you’re going to go down in flames, you might as well enjoy the heat.

She grins, and then her hand is on your thigh, fingers tracing patterns that make your heart race. “I think you like it,” she says, and it’s not a question.

“I think you’re trouble,” you counter, but you don’t stop her when she leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, like she’s got all the time in the world.

You kiss her back, because you’re weak and because she tastes like wine and because you’re tired of pretending like this isn’t exactly what you want.

The rest of the movie is forgotten as you tumble into bed together, a mess of tangled limbs and breathless laughter. It’s fast and frantic, like you’re both trying to make up for lost time, and when it’s over, you’re left lying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how you got here.

“Don’t think too hard,” Leah murmurs, her head resting on your chest, and you can feel her breath against your skin, warm and steady. “You’ll hurt yourself”

“Too late,” you mutter, but you don’t push her away, because despite everything, despite all the reasons this is a terrible idea, you like the way she feels next to you.

“We’re a disaster,” you say after a while, because the silence is starting to make you anxious, and you’ve never been good at sitting with your own thoughts.

“I know,” she replies, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “But we’re a fun disaster”

You can’t argue with that, so you don’t. Instead, you close your eyes and let yourself drift off, hoping that when you wake up, you won’t regret this as much as you probably should.

You start seeing each other regularly after that, though you both refuse to call it dating. Dating implies a level of commitment that you’re not ready to acknowledge, and anyway, this is more like…mutual self-destruction with benefits.

You try to keep it a secret from the team, but you’re fairly certain they’re onto you. Especially after that time Leah practically tackled you during training because she “tripped” over her own feet, which would be believable if she wasn’t literally the most coordinated person you’ve ever met.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell her later, as you’re trying to pry her off of you in the changing room, but she just laughs and kisses you on the cheek, because apparently she’s incapable of taking anything seriously.

“I’m your idiot,” she replies, and you hate how much you love the sound of that.

You’re not sure how long this can go on before everything blows up in your face, but for now, you’re content to keep making the same mistakes over and over again. After all, if you’re going to screw up, you might as well do it with someone who makes it fun.

And Leah Williamson, for all her flaws, is nothing if not fun.

Even if she is going to be the death of you.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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russellmoreton · 2 months ago

Video

flickr

Architectural Contents : Dewey #1 by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: russellmoreton.tumblr.com/archive russellmoreton.blogspot.com Pinhole Photography with text inclusions.

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hotwritergf · 10 months ago

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you could write a one shot where the reader (who is part of the bau) always acquits or does what Spencer says, letting him talk for hours and Do you also write down facts that you find interesting? I think that's a very nice thing. (also if there is some smut afterwards I don't complain somehow).

p.s. I love your stories<3

Pretty as a vine, sweet as a grape🍇

(Hi! I’m sorry I know I don’t usually add comments onto my fics anymore but I just needed to say that I loved writing this. This concept was so fun to write and I’m quite happy with how it came out.)

“How is everything you say somehow so profound but yet so socially inept?” You chuckle, shaking your head through your laughter as you look up at him. Spencer laughs along with you sarcastically, an unamused fake grin painted on his face. He takes a step closer to you, lifting the umbrella over your head, protecting you from the unforgiving Quantico rain. Spencer leads you forward, guiding you with his hand on your lower back as he rubs his palm against your damp jacket. “Back to my place?” You speak, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “We’ll get sick if we’re out in the rain too long Spence.” Accepting your offer he links his arm around yours and you begin to walk down the street together. “Sickness is not directly caused by rain, but being outside in rainy conditions could increase your exposure to airborne viruses that might be present.” Spencer explains in his trademark, matter of fact tone. Giggling, as you fiddle with your keys, searching for the right one to unlock your apartment door. He sneaks them out of your hand, inspecting the lock on your door and the keys in hand, picks out the correct key and unlocks the door with a timid smile. “Clean towels in the bathroom if you want to dry yourself off.” You recommend him the blue one, it’s new and fluffy and completely unused, knowing he’s more likely to feel comfortable with the knowledge that it’s new. You want him to feel nothing less than comfortable. Spencer nods his head and makes his way to the bathroom. At the loss of his presence you reach into your bag, pulling out your notebook and pen. Scribbling down some nonsense as a scrappy, badly written diary entry as quickly as you can. Your journals were the one thing that held every detail of your life, not even your social media pages held that much information on you. You dot your i’s and cross your t’s, swiftly closing the book and burrowing it inside your handbag again.

A few days pass and you’re not feeling up to scratch. With the pharmacy not filling your prescription, mixed with the depths of your unrelenting depressing you’re struggling to keep your head above water. The files of paperwork stack up higher than they should on your desk, coffee rings stain the wood on your desk as it wobbles under your writing. Each case seemed to be more emotionally demanding than the last. But there was Spencer. He stumbles over to you, clumsy and un-spatially aware as ever, placing a bag of baked goods in front of you. The smell of cinnamon hits you immediately and you melt into the back of your chair, your lips pin up into a beaming smile. The monster in your head silencing just for a moment under the soft, dulcet act of Reid. “You’ve- you’ve seemed down. I didn’t want to pry incase you didn’t want to share, but sugar stimulates feel-good endorphins associated with reward. So, cinnamon buns!” He announced, his voice airy and angelic as he scratches the back of his head with his left hand; his right fiddling with the buttons on the stomach of his cardigan. He needn’t say anything more, the smile on your face and your back finally resting against the chair, regaining posture, says all the gratitude he needs. Spencer simply taps the bag on your desk with a grin and returns to his desk. Not only did he leave you with a sugary treat, he left with you with more of off the top of his head statistics that you couldn’t get enough of. Each one of them showing he cares, he thinks of you. He puts thought into everything he says, whether or not his words land with the people he speaks to is irrelevant. He shows he cares in his own unique way and you simply cannot get enough of it, you find your journal once more, leaving todays page decorated with his facts about sugar. Reaching into the bag from the local bakery, you take out your bun, wrapping the base with the napkin. With your first bite, you grin. Even if it didn’t ��stimulate your endorphins’ it still tasted like heaven.

Friday night rolled around eventually, this week had felt never-ending. Slotted next to Spencer on the jet, you reach out and poke his side, demanding his attention. He jerks back with a giggle, you always forget he never grew out of being ticklish. You smirk and tease, “Oh right… ticklish. I forget you’re a little baby.” His cheek gain a new pink blush that reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. “You can’t grow out of your nerve endings in your skin sending electrical signals to the somatosensory cortex. Plus- most adults are t-ticklish.” He stutters over his words, almost as if they are too shy to be spoken. His hands rise to protect himself as your fingers threaten to poke him again, he chuckles in anticipation. “Whatever you say genius, deny it all you want. It’s still adorable.” Your voice soft and teasing as you smirk at him again. “Movie night tomorrow?” You suggest, your hands moving back to your lap as he begins to re-adjust himself and relax. Spencer nods, “Can we watch Star Wars?” He asks, sounding like an excited puppy. You roll your eyes playfully and smile, “Fine. As long as its Revenge of the Sith.” Spence chuckles, shaking his head and rises from his seat, heading to the jet bathroom. As is your new routine, your diary finds its way to the table in front of you. Scrambling to write today’s entry before Spencer returns, you try to remember his every word as you write. As you hear the door unlock you practically throw the book behind you and sit in front of it. Praying that the man with the 187 IQ doesn’t notice, should be fine, right?

Settling the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, you get the TV set up ready for Spencer’s arrival. Everything is perfect, you’d bought his favourite popcorn, salted obviously. You’d also brewed a pot of the tea you’d made him last time, it was just English Breakfast tea but he’d sworn it was mind-blowing. The door is knocked, three times, Spencer’s lucky number. “It’s open!” You bellow your voice and put your feet up onto the sofa. Spence walks in, lifting your legs and placing them down on his lap when he settles next to you. He places his bag down on the floor beside him, but something bashes against it. Reaching down to find the offending item, you find its your journal. “Hey, y/n. I think you left this book on the floor. Where does it live so I can put it back in its rightful home?” He questions, you feel the blood drain out of your face, you pale immediately. “No- its okay! Just gimmie.” You respond, but he notices your shaking hands reaching out to snatch it. Spencer pulls away, opening the first page. “What are these huh?” He teases uncharacteristically. “You writing little love letters?” He jokes, before looking down at the pages and blushing when he reads his own name. He reads at an alarming speed at the best of times, but when he’s transfixed on text, he can read even faster.

“You’re- you’re writing about me? I said every word here.” Spencer’s eyes widen, the hazel irises expanding as he turns the pages rapidly and skims the text. “Oh you just had to write that. Didn’t you?” He chuckles, reading your interactions from yesterday on the jet. “I. I just find you interesting Spencer. I know everyone teases you and interrupts you when you speak, I know they don’t appreciate you enough. They take your words for granted, even when they’re so profound.” Your pale face begins to blush, it was enough that Spencer had read your private diary, but having to admit your feelings that you’ve been trying to repress and ignore, it was seemingly impossible. “I want to remember the things you say because they’re important, and every time you say something personal to me, I want to treasure it. Bottle it and keep it forever, you know?”

Spencer, for once, is at a loss for words. His cheeks burning under the heat of his blush, he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. His brain searching for anything to say, its like he’s frantically looking through the filing cabinet of words in his head and still coming up empty. With no vocabulary on his tongue, he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours. They’re soft and ample, featherlight against your own. No concerns of the lip gloss smearing and decorating his lips. Pulling away with a confused expression, “Spencer?” Your one word question is all you can say as you run your fingers through his hair. Your nails scratching against the back of his head softly and he leans into your touch wanting more. “I can’t help myself. I’ll stop if you want, if you didn’t want that I apologise profusely and I take full responsibility of my actions and I’ll do anything to make it up to you…” He gets in his own head about the moment just gone. “No, I definitely wanted that. Definitely.” You smile cheekily, rubbing your thumb against his heated cheeks. Spencer leans in once more, gasping into your mouth trying to dig deeper and deeper into your soul. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this. I just don’t- I don’t know how to get here. You know?” He explains, his hands find the small of your back and pull you closer to him. Your index finger reaches up, shh-ing against his lips. Silencing him to keep him from rambling for the first time ever. You scramble up onto his lap, leaning over him playfully. “You’re perfect Spencer Reid. Without even knowing it you’ve taken care of me for years. Let me take care of you.”

You roll your hips slowly underneath him, smirking as he fiddles with the back of your bra strap. Even with an IQ of 187 he can’t figure out how to unbuckle a bra. You smirk and let out a giggle and he blushes, “So needy already?” You tease, your voice hoarse and desperate. He grips onto your hips as if he’s deprived, pushing into your lips, kissing you like a man starved. Spencer’s breath is shaky and weak, you take his chin into your thumb and forefinger, lifting it up, deepening the kiss. “I want you.” He speaks shakily, “I know. I want you too.” You say, holding his cheeks in the palms of your hands. Rutting your hips against his bulge again, he convulses underneath you. He gasps and rushes his hand over his mouth and you know what’s happened. Not wanting to embarrassed him, you slide off of him. Slotting yourself next to him on the couch, trying to figure out the social expectation is when your crush finishes in his boxers before you’ve even touched him. You settle on pulling him into a cuddle, rubbing your palm up and down his back, feeling his boney spine through his skin. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and full of adoration, looking like pools of honey. “I need a few minutes, and maybe some of your magic tea.” He chuckles and you sigh in relief at the self depreciating humour he responds to the situation with. “Of course pretty boy.” You press your lips on the top of his forehead softly, breathing in his shampoo and cologne. He smells like coconut and sweetness. You jokingly reach out for your journal. “Today Spencer ended up cumming in his boxers.” You giggle together, your bodies rising and falling with each breath and your legs intertwined. The next hour could take a lifetime to arrive and you’d be a-okay with that.

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fatehbaz · 5 months ago

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Edit: Removed the screenshot so as not to share dm stuff, but I got a message from someone who couldn't send an ask, inquiring: "i was wondering what book it was that you mentioned about the philippines? i'd be interested in reading it." Sorry to post; figured it would be a subject worth sharing with interested others. Good news: It's an article, so it's relatively easier to access and read.

Jolen Martinez. "Plantation Anticipation: Apprehension in Chicago from Reconstruction America to the Plantocratic Philippines" (2024). An essay from an Intervention Symposium titled Plantation Methodologies: Questioning Scale, Space, and Subjecthood. Hosted and published by Antipode Online. 4 January 2024.

Basically:

Explores connections between plantations in US-occupied Philippines and the policing institutions and technologies of Chicago. Martinez begins with racism in Chicago in the 1870s. Coinciding with Black movement to the city (from the South during Reconstruction and the Great Migration) Chicago was, in Martinez's telling, a center of white apprehension. Chicago public, newspapers, and institutions wanted to obsessively record information about Black people and labor dissidents, including details on their motivations and inner life. Between 1880-ish and 1910-ish Chicago then became a center of surveillance, records-keeping, classification systems, and new innovations in collecting information. Within a year after the labor rebellions, the Adjutant General of the US Army who led Chicago's militarized crackdown on the 1877 Great Railroad Strike immediately moved to DC and proposed establishing "the Military Information Division" (MID); eventually founded in 1885, MID started collecting hundreds of thousands of Bertillon-system intelligence cards on dissidents and "criminals." Meanwhile, National Association of Chiefs of Police headquartered their central bureau of identification (NBCI) in Chicago in 1896. At play here is not just the collection of information, but the classification systems organizing that information. The MID and related agencies would then go on to collect mass amounts of information on domestic residents across the US. In Martinez's telling, these policing beliefs and practices - including "management sciences" - were then "exported" by MID to the Philippines and used to monitor labor and anticolonial dissent. Another Chicago guy developed "personality typing" and psychological examinations to classify criminality, and then trained Philippines police forces to collect as much information as possible about colonial subjects.

The information-gathering in the Philippines constituted what other scholars like Alfred McCoy have called one of the United States' first "information revolutions"; McCoy described these practices and social/professional networks as "capillaries of empire." Martinez suggests that it's important to trace the lineage of these racialized anxieties and practices from Chicago to the Philippines, because "such feelings were fundamental to linking plantations which at first seem so spatially and temporally distant." And "[u]ltimately, the US colonial plantocracy in the Philippines built its authority around information infrastructures [...] and feelings emanating from Chicago [...] that extended from the image of the American South."

Important context: 1899/1900-ish is when the US occupied or consolidated power in Panama, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, Hawaii, and the Philippines.

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Side-note:

The Bertillon system (bertillonage) was standardized at about this same time, 1879-ish, and in similar social and racial contexts, becoming popular in other Midwest/Great Lakes cities, especially to track Black people (though it was also rapidly and widely adopted famously as an essential approach across Europe). The system used body measurements to identify and classify people, especially "criminals," significantly involving photography, such that Bertillon is also sometimes credited as the originator of "the mugshot."

I'd add that the aforementioned police chiefs National Bureau of Criminal Identification (NBCI) stayed in Chicago from 1896 until 1902, when the killing of President McKinley frightened officials with potential of wider popular movements; at that point, it was moved to DC, as William Pinkerton (co-director of the Pinkerton agency) donated the agency's photograph collection to build the new bureau, and NBCI strengthened itself by collecting fingerprints and became the precursor to the FBI, founded 1908. (After 1895-ish especially, European authorities were transcending their petty rivalries to attempt forming international police agencies and share documents, tracking each others' domestic radicals/dissidents.)

---

You could compare the colonial use of Bertillon-style intelligence card systems in Chicago and US-occupied Philippines to the rise of fingerprinting as a weapon of Britain in India.

Edward Henry was the Inspector-General of Police in Bengal, appointed 1891, basically the top cop in British India. He exchanged letters with notorious eugenicist Francis Galton, wherein they specifically talked about the importance of developing a classification system for fingerprints that could be used alongside the Bertillon system of anthropometric identification. (Another British imperial administrator in India, Sir William Herschel, had previously been the first to pioneer fingerprinting by taking hand-prints.) By 1897, police forces in India had been adopting the so-called Henry Classification System, and the Governor-General of India personally decreed that fingerprinting be adopted across India. By 1900, Henry was sent to South Africa to train police in classification systems. By 1903, Henry was back in Britain and became head of the Metropolitan Police of London, now the top cop in Britain. (Compare dates with US developments: British police in India adopt fingerprint identification system the same year that Chicago police found their proto-FBI central identification bureau. Less than a year after the US head-of-state gets killed, Britain super-charges the London police.)

So, the guy who pioneered fingerprinting classification for use in maintaining order and imperial power in India and other colonies was eventually brought in to deploy those tactics on Britons in the metropole.

The kind of colony-to-metropole violence thing described by many theorists. (Britain also developed traditions of police photography in context of rebellions in Jamaica and India. Outside of London, the first permanent "modern" police forces across the rest of Britain were legally provisioned for with the Irish Constabulary of 1837 and County Police Act of 1839, "coincidentally" just before/during a 27th of July 1838 "Vagrancy Act" law that made "joblessness" a crime which was put into effect JUST FOUR DAYS before the 1st of August 1838 date when emancipation of Black slaves in the British Caribbean was allowed. As in, four days before nearly a million Black residents of the Empire got legal freedom, Britain outlawed vagrancy and was building permanent national police forces.)

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The 1890s were outrageous. Japan's domestic 1880 Penal Code was built on French models. The Ottoman Empire built a system of passport requirements to monitor movement; France did something similar in Algeria. In 1898, the Austria-Hungary imperial foreign minister called for the formation of an "International Police League." This prompted an Italian radical at the time to write:

"The police are the same in all parts of the world. Laws have been fabricated by the bourgeoisie on the same model; in this, the bourgeoisie is more international than we are."

And Great Lakes cities, after the Great Migration, were notorious for this kind of police violence. Consider how the Bertillon system was used early-on by Minneapolis police to track and target Black "alley workers" (try keyword-searching "Minneapolis Bertillon alley workers"). Or how Chicago was a focal point of antiblack violence in the Red Summer of 1919. Or how Milwaukee has some the most distinct Black-white segregation of any large urban area in the US. Or how, after Elliot Ness lionized law enforcement officials in Chicago during the Al Capone case, he then led policing operations in Cleveland culminating in the mass eviction and the burning of Kingsbury Run shantytown. (Chicago is like a funnel, a node, a hub. Especially after the 1860s: Center of railroad networks. Center of telegraph networks. Destination for Texas/Kansas cattle shipped to Chicago meatpacking houses. Destination for Corn Belt prairie agricultural products. Hence the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition and Chicago's turn of the century image as a modernist metropolis. So they had to keep the laborers in line.)

---

Anyway, the other story that I mentioned regarding Philippines was from:

Gregg Mitman. "Forgotten Paths of Empire: Ecology, Disease, and Commerce in the Making of Liberia's Plantation Economy." Environmental History, Volume 22, Number 1. January 2017.

For context, I'd note that this takes place in the midst of the US's "conquest of the mosquito" in its militarized occupation of Panama, where the canal was completed by the US between 1904 and 1914. (Again, US was occupying Philippines, Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, and Cuba.)

In Mitman's story, Richard P. Strong was appointed as director of the brand-new Department of Tropical Medicine at Harvard in 1913. Shortly thereafter in 1914, as he toured plantations in Panama, Cuba, Guatemala, etc., Strong simultaneously took a job as director of the Laboratories of the Hospitals and of Research Work of the United Fruit Company (infamous for its brutal labor conditions in plantations, its land-grabbing in Central America, and its relationship to US corporate power). Harvard hired Strong partially on the recommendation of General William Cameron Forbes, who was the military governor of US-occupied Philippines from 1909 to 1913. When Harvard hired Strong, he had been living in the Philippines, where he was the personal physician to Governor Forbes, and was also the director of the Philippine Bureau of Science's Biological Laboratory, where he had experimented on Filipino prisoners without their knowledge; Strong fatally infected these unknowing test-subjects with bubonic plague. Then, Governor Forbes, after leading the US occupation of the Philippines, himself became an overseer to Harvard AND a director of United Fruit Company (also Forbes was a banker and the son of the president of Bell Telephone Company). Meanwhile, Strong also became a shareholder in British rubber plantations; Strong approached Harvey Firestone to help encourage the massive rubber company to negotiate a deal to expand plantations in West Africa, where Firestone got a 99-year-long concession to lease a million acres of land in Liberia. So there's an intimate relationship between military, plantations, colonization, medical professionals, corporate profiteering, land dispossession, etc.

---

So, in each case, there is imperial anxiety about the threat of potential subversion from recalcitrant laborers. Imperial authorities cooperate and learn from each other. The rubber plantation owner is friends with the military general, who's friends with the laboratory technician, who's friends with the railroad developer, who's friends with the cop, who's friends with the forestry minister, who's friends with banana plantation owner. There are connections between the exercise of power in the Philippines and Panama and West Africa and Bengal and Chicago. Connections both material and imaginative.

#sorry for all this rambling #and sorry for removing image i just cant in good conscience bring myself to share screenshot of private message someone has sent me #even if a message may have been meant as part of or adjacent to amicable public discussion #tidalectics #intimacies of four continents #geographic imaginaries #ecologies #multispecies #plantationocene and plantations i guess idk #black methodologies #indigenous pedagogies #my writing i guess #archipelagic thinking #abolition

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synchodai · 7 months ago

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Arcane S2 wasn't as good because it wasn't about air

The common critique of Arcane season two was that "it didn't let the story breathe." I'm going to one-up that and state that season one set up an entire story about breathing and forgot that in season two.

Yes, yes, Arcane was a story about Piltover oppressing the undercity, but unlike a lot of other stories about social stratification, Arcane was very explicit about the methods Piltover uses to disenfranchise Zaun. Season one was clearly a story about eco-apartheid maintained through extractivist practices.

WHAT IS ECO-APARTHEID?

Ecological apartheid (also known as enviromental racism) is a form of disenfranchising and spatially separating a class of people through pollution, exploitation, and abuse of their local environment.

[E]nvironmental apartheid was largely instituted through rural marginalization, the use of rural space as an environmental means of marginalization... - Environmental apartheid: Eco-health and rural marginalization in South Africa

Topside and the undercity are basically one nation state with a blindingly stark fence between them. Piltover and Zaun are simultaneously connected and separated by the Bridge of Progress. Progress unites them and alienates them from one another. Progress is why Piltover is wealthy and clean, and it is why Zaun is impoverished and polluted. It is was on the Bridge of Progress that Silco incited the riot that led to Vi and Powder's orphaning and Vander's betrayal. It's where Ekko and Jinx have their standoff, and where the Hextech core is exchanged. In other words, progress is a border.

WHAT IS EXTRACTIVISM?

Prior to the proliferation of shimmer and the chembarons, industry in the undercity appears to be heavily centralized around one thing — fissure mining. Vi and Powder's parents used to be miners along with Vander and Silco. Jayce and Vi visit one of these mines and she explains the masks the workers use. Oh, and let's not forget the children don't have to yearn for the mines when they're dying in the mines!

The Zaunites' livelihood being dependant on the extraction of natural resources for the benefit of the Piltovans is what is known as extractivism — the exploitation of a resource-rich land and its people by a separate "global North."

In practice, extractivism has been a mechanism of colonial and neocolonial plunder and appropriation. This extractivism, which has appeared in different guises over time, was forged in the exploitation of the raw materials essential for the industrial development and prosperity of the global North. - Extractivism and neoextractivism: two sides of the same curse

The "North," in this case, clearly being Piltover. The resources being abused and exploited here aren't only the fissure mines, but also the bodies of the workers and those born around them. Viktor's illness, for example, is a product of growing up around the gaseous waste of the fissure mines. The Zaunites take the brunt of the side-effects of the pollution so that the topsiders don't have to. The "dregs" are kept below while materials, both people and things, that are deemed useful get to rise to the top. The processing of raw materials and shipping happens in Piltover, so it's the Piltovans who get a final say on the profits.

Silco and the chembarons establish their power by creating an industry that operates outside of fissure mining that doesn't rely on the patronage of the global North. Needless to say, drug dealing isn't exactly a noble trade, but extraction, processing, and distribution are mainly controlled and operated by Zaunites, which allows them a source of wealth and power that they can leverage against Piltover. To use a more recognizable phrase, they own the means of shimmer production.

I find it fascinating that shimmer is made by killing innocent underground creatures. Cannibalizing your own kind for a temporary boost of strength that eventually turns the user into a monster? It's a poignant metaphor about the infighting of not just the chembarons' gangs but of oppressed groups in general. And while shimmer offers power and brings in wealth, that's not what the undercity truly needs and only corrupts it even further.

Nah, the show has been very clear that what Zaun needs is breathable air.

SEASON 2 FORGOT ABOUT AIR

Even outside of the air pollution caused by fissure mining, the theme of breathing and air is everywhere in season one. Ekko and the Firelights' community is built around a tree — the clean air it provides is the reason they've been able to sustain themselves. It is considered an oasis in polluted Zaun. Jinx's is often heralded by brightly colored smoke, and the way she signals to Violet is through a flare that emits it. Silco's altercation with Vander involves him almost drowning — Vander literally choking the air out of him. Silco, in reponse to this traumatic event, teaches Jinx to willingly submerge herself in a place without air by baptizing her in the same filthy water he was choked in.

In other words, air is life and purpose. Zaun's aesthetics are defined by gas masks and smoke. Meanwhile, the scenes in Piltover are clean and clear. Ekko and the Firelights' tree represented hope and the possibility of clean air in Zaun. Viktor was similarly associated to flowers that grew in the underground, symbolizing how beautiful things can live even in the harshest circumstances.

Environmental degradation, more specifically air pollution, is the raison d'être of topside-undercity conflict. Silco says as much when he threatens the other chembarons and reminds them of why he's in charge.

Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in? Air so thick it clogs your throat — stuck in your eyes. I pulled you all up from the depths, offered you a taste of topside and fresh air. I gave you life. Purpose. But you've grown fat and complacent, too much time in the sun. We came from a world where there was never enough to go around. That is why we fight. Do you remember? - The Boy Savior, Arcane S01E07

But by the second and third acts of season two, pollution may not as well exist in Zaun. How does Viktor's commune plant its flowers and grow its fruits? Does the Firelights' tree ever get cured of its corruption? Did everyone forget that the undercity is literally suffocating? Seriously, why is Ekko's storyline with the tree never resolved? Why give Jinx that monologue about a wispy goddess of air the fissurefolk pray to and never go anywhere with it?

JINX SHOULD HAVE BEEN ASSOCIATED TO JANNA

The Grey presented an opportunity for Jinx to be the revolutionary hero Arcane wanted her to be. The enforcers have clearly aligned themselves with pollution and poison, and Jinx could have been the herald of their wind goddess come to answer the people's prayers for relief. But the people don't rally behind Jinx because of her association to Janna, clean air, or her repelling the invading cops using bioweapons.

I firmly believe that Jinx being a symbol of the revolution because she blew up a government building is missing a few steps. She'll get radicals who already hated Piltover behind her, sure, but the everyday Zaunite would more likely blame her for causing chaos and bringing trouble to their streets. Because the average person doesn't really care who's on the council or if a politician so far from them dies. But they do care if the cops are suddenly at their door with tear gas because an extremist junkie decided to commit arson.

The first act of season two had me very optimistic that the show was picking up where it left off with its enviromental themes. The enforcers use The Grey, polluted air, to surpress dissent and hunt down Jinx. Jinx fights back under a mural of Janna, the goddess of clean air. Her plan involves her using air to push back The Grey and send the gust up to Piltover. After being actively gassed by the enforcers, Jinx and her association to colorful wind becomes a symbol of hope and revolution to the people of the undercity.

Except that's not what happens. The Grey is only shown affecting targeted criminals with no collateral damage to civilians despite it being deployed all over the trenches. The gusts of wind Jinx pushes up to Piltover don't make topsiders experience the air pollution Zaunites suffer. Instead, it just midly inconveniences them with paint splatters. In the end, The Grey is forgotten and has nothing to do with their fight in front of Janna's mural. Caitlyn gets a promotion despite gassing the entire underground with nothing to show for it, and the undercity idolizes Jinx despite her being the reason they were gassed in the first place.

ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION IS INTERPERSONAL RESTORATION

Unlike in the game, Arcane chose topside and the undercity to be originally established as one city — and I don't think that was done without reason. The nation of Zaun and its identity is established as a reaction to the suffering of those underground. A community developed centered around helping one another cope and survive through the pollution. In short, Piltover created Zaun.

Thus, the interplay between Piltover and Zaun extended to all plotlines and the relationships they explored and developed. Jinx and Vi, Vi and Caitlynn, Viktor and Jayce, Ekko and Heimerdinger — these are all relationships that reflect the tension between Zaun and Piltover. Family torn apart by civil war, bitter ex lovers, different ideological approaches to scientific advancement, intuitive inventiveness and practiced genius. Their relationships are born from a common desire and degrade because of that looming border inflicted by the pursuit of progress.

Piltover and Zaun is a single house fractured because of how it threw all its detritus in the basement as it sought to build a tower that will reach the skies. The whole building is threatening to crumble, especially now that someone threw a bomb at it like in the finale of season one. The status quo Arcane and we as a globalized eco-apartheid have is extremely precarious as is any foundation built on abuse and exploitation. A lot of people will cheer on the Jinxes who don't care so much about fixing it than they do burning it all down to express their understandable rage and grief, but that doesn't really fix the problem of having breathable air, does it?

Unfortunately, we'll never know how the show will wrap up the Zaunite plight because it was all but forgotten in season 2. The problem of Zaun was never that they needed to evolve or be perfect — it's that their environment and the people by extension were being suffocated.

In my perfect world, the finale would have addressed the lack of light and clean air in the underground. It would have mirrored how some bodies and relationships can never truly fully recover the damage that has been done. As in real life, restoration is not a substitute for not doing harm in the first place. But it could have ended with a hopeful message that burning it down and running away isn't the answer either.

When Viktor was healing Vander and decided that, despite the unprecedented effort and time, his natural, non-weaponized humanity was worth saving because of how much he means to his local community, I thought that was what they were going for. Alas, they didn't let the show breathe.

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane critical #ecocriticism #long post #arcane meta #arcane analysis #arcane s2 spoilers #It's infuriating that they reference characters like Janna Blitzcrank and Orianna and they have absolutely no impact to the plot #They're reduced to easter eggs for LoL players

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savi-our · 6 months ago

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Anti-Harem with OP Mage MC pt. 3 ft. Horrortale

Its 3 am- This... this is over 3k words.... I'm both cooking and cooked apparently bc this is even longer and more detailed than the last part, I honestly dont know what came over me. The ending is a bit rushed and im posting this half asleep and barely able to make sense of whether or not any of this is actually good but i wanted to post it before going off to sleep - i do hope you enjoy it though, even if by this point im not sure you can call it an anti harem... maybe ill explore that bit more in the next part.... (p.s. i would love love looove to hear you guy's thoughts on what ive cooked up here so please leave a comment if youre inclined to <3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It had been a few weeks since the attack on the monster settlement and your work kept you busy. Black and Mutt had both been a welcome new change as far as your experience in monsters went, the three of you seemed to grow closer by the day - sharing the mutual burdens of your job whenever you had any amount of free time. You and Black formed a good professional relationship, often sharing insights on the progress of monster integration into the world outside, and Mutt - albeit avoidant, seemed to develop an interest in watching you whenever he thought you wouldn't notice. He even sometimes visited you whenever his brother had been busy, coming to your office to slump on your couch and waste away his free time, scrolling through his phone and trying not to get caught staring at you while you filed away paperwork.

It was on a particularly early morning that you had arrived at your office, still dazed from your lack of sleep when a new case appeared at your desk. You rarely did personal requests, but this one you could hardly refuse as it had come from one of the joint rulers of the Underground.

Queen Toriel summoned you, and you listened as she told you her concerns about a particular percentage of her population having an especially difficult time with the integration process. You picked up on the finer details of her request - unspoken words to her plea.

You were aware of the spatial anomaly that had caused the particular brand of chaos that was currently plaguing Monsterkind, a rift that had caused a collision of alternates and pulled them all here. It was a guarded secret among the higher ranking officials, the details shared only to those who were known to be trusted - or to those who were smart enough to see beyond the fragile lie. You were both you supposed, the Archmage themselves requested your insight into the matter, and you offered to consult wherever you could. It didn't surprise you that the Queen turned to you for assistance - involved as you were in the matter.

You agreed to her request, you could hardly refuse considering the high brand on the paperwork, the signature of the Archmage looped in finer print at the corner of the page. You left promptly, assigning a trusted associate of yours to man the office while you were gone, unfortunately the urgency of your task bid no time to waste so you left without notifying the two skeletons that had seemed to be stuck in your orbit as of late, but that was the nature of things when you had such a demanding position.

You were relocated into the depths of the Underground, a rather lavish apartment greeting you in the shadow of the castle of the royal families, but you had little time to waste, the faster you got to work the smoother the integration process would be.

You met with those currently overseeing the progress of the whole thing, a joint department consisting of monsters, humans and mages - social workers, professors, doctors, therapists and volunteers - all with ample experience concerning the more particular quirks that came with joining cultures and assessing risks where there were any. Your status would do you more harm than good here - you realize early on, advised by the royal court to take a more personal approach as you shed down your heavy coats and branded insignias - monsters in the underground were still rather wary of mages, especially ones as infamous as you. You took on the faux position of a well renowned inspector, and set yourself to figuring out what the problem was and how best to solve it.

It was there that you met them, two new yet rather familiar faces that were introduced to you as the spokespersons for the rebuffed population, Twilight and Dusk by name.

Twilight was large, even by monster standards, a lean silhouette that towered over any others in the room with a set of jagged teeth and a weathered look to his eyes. His appearance however, seemed to be rather misleading. He was friendly, overly so, extending his hand to you in his introduction as he shook yours with a controlled precision, his crooked grin lifted, delighted to meet a new face among the many who were already so familiar over his long stay in the program. He was chatty, friendly even, a social butterfly that delighted in telling you about the many state of affairs that flitted about the establishment. There were some quirks however… every now and again he confused words, voiced idioms that you could hardly make sense of - something about frisbees. He had ticks, nervous habits and moments of sudden cautious anxiety that brought concerns to your mind, there were times where he seemed almost manic, a rattling in his bones as he flitted about the room as if trying to burn off excess magic, trying to keep his hands and mind occupied.

Then there was Dusk. Like his brother he was considerably larger than the average monster. He was bulkier, bigger, an imposing presence in the room that set even your nerves on edge. He seemed dangerous, more than any of the other monsters you've come across, something in your mind whispered caution as you introduced yourself. The best word you could use to describe Dusk was heavy, both literally and metaphorically. He dragged his words as if he practically pulled them from the depths of his mind, his movements were slow, weighed almost by some unforeseen force you could not comprehend, and every now and again he lost focus, a single red eyelight dilated and staring promptly into nothing. His mind was both sharp and slow at the same time, he often shared insights that were surprising in their outside perspective, he commented on things that others had passed by in their expertise - drawing attention to underlying issues that had been overlooked due to the fact that nobody had really thought of them as issues before he made comment. He had a finer eye for detail, but at the same time there were moments where he'd lose his train of thought, a byproduct of his severe head wound no doubt, words forgotten on the tip of his tongue - moments like those seemed frustrate him quite badly, his fingers pulled on his one blank eye socket in quiet irritation. On his better days he'd make offhanded puns that were rather dark in theme - cannibalism seemed to be a favorite of his. On his bad days his voice turned cold, words sharp as his grin pulled on his face almost maniacally, he was tense, guarded like a cornered dog ready to bare teeth.

It had taken you some time to get situated in your new environment, you spent your days meeting with the other monsters who shared similar ailments to both Twilight and Dusk, consulting with the people directly responsible for their integration process and finding correlations between things that worked best and those that didn't work at all. A common pattern in all of those monsters became clear days after your assignment, the heightened cases of sudden anxiety and panic attacks. It was odd to you for some reason, it wouldn't be unnatural for this particular batch of alternates to suffer from such things, considering what you knew they had gone through back in their own reality, but something about it seemed odd.

You investigated your suspicions further, repeatedly meeting monsters and doctors alike, questioning them about the intricacies of their ailments, trying to garner light on the plausible cause for the widespread issue. Twilight seemed eager to help you, he often accompanied you in your search for more information, more knowledge, and his assistance proved quite useful - when you questioned him as to why he seemed so willing to assist you, he responded with an abashed admission - a want to help the monsters who were struggling most finally see the light of day, to taste the fresh air of the outside world, they had been stuck underground for too long. He often stayed with you after hours, organizing papers and research as you delved into the mystery with a hyper focused obsessiveness. You found you always became like this, obsessive over things you could not define or explain, it was that part of you that had helped you rise in power as fast as you had, starved for answers, eager to explore and redefine the things unknown to you- it was almost nostalgic in a way.

Twilight had a talent for filling blanks in your knowledge, unfamiliar territory as this was he often offered you more insight in the particularities of monster illnesses and behavioral patterns that you were not privy to. You often asked him for clarifications and added depth to your research and he provided them eagerly - either through his own knowledge or systematically organized interviews and research papers that were color coordinated and alphabetized neatly on your desk. He had a knack for organization that one, but you couldn't help but notice how his expression soured whenever he had to bend to lift a particularly heavy box of files off the floor - he tried to hide it, face turned away and the occasional popping of bones concealed by the clear of his throat, but you noticed. You tentatively questioned him about it one late evening, not wishing to pry more than he was comfortable with. He seemed embarrassed by your attentiveness but didn't deny it, hands clasped and pulling on his long fingers in a nervous habit. He revealed to you that the current brand of healing magic and medicine could do very little for his deteriorated state, the effect was not potent enough or so it seemed. The fact didn't sit right with you, and you decided in your mind that you could multitask.

Your research prolonged, and your frustrations grew as the answer to your questions evaded you. You began to spend more time in your office than in your pristine afforded apartment, head buried in books and rushed consultations between experts in the department. Your obsessiveness seemed to grow, and with it your attention to your health lessened, overtaken by a constant hunger for answers. That hunger seemed to replace your baser instincts however, and one particularly busy day the consequences of your declining attention to your physical state seemed to catch up with you.

You had been on your way to another scheduled meeting with an on site surgeon, carrying a closed file with a hurried pace, you were far too absorbed in your head to notice the shake of your own fingers, or the way the corners of your vision blurred. You were so absorbed in fact, that you didn't even notice the sudden approach of Dusk from the hall across from you. You had ran right into him, nose buried in the plush of his sweater as you had your senses knocked right out of you. The contact didn't even phase him, and he had caught you by the forearm to steady you. You had apologized, noting how it was unlike you to be so distracted in your surroundings. He hadn’t seemed to mind, his large eyelight coming to a soft focus on the point of contact with your arm.

The force of your run in with him had knocked the file you were carrying onto the ground however, and as you leaned down in your hurry to grab it the world around you spun. You lost your bearings, and your vision turned to black as you fainted, vaguely aware of the pull of someone's arms around you.

You had woken up in one of the medical rooms, an IV in your arm and a growing headache in the corner of your mind. Dusk was there too, hunched in an office chair that was far too small for his hulking frame, you would have laughed - if you hadn't felt like shit at the time that is. Your movement seemed to wake him from his zoning out, and he had leveled you with a look that you couldn't readily discern - something of a mix between worry, scrutiny and confusion. The doctor on hand had walked in to check up on you, cautioning you to pay better attention to your health, you had felt like a child, embarrassed with your own state. Dusk had sat silent next to your bed while you were being discharged, and as you stood to leave with an order to go home and get some rest from the doctor, he stood with you.

The skeleton escorted you home, a silent but unmistakable presence at your side and as you were ready to thank him and say your goodbyes at your door, he had asked you when you had last gotten something to eat - you couldn't give him a straight answer.

He had pushed his way inside your temporary home then, and you questioned him in your confusion as he opened your fridge to find it mostly empty, he clicked his tongue, a low growling hum from the pit of his ribs as he pushed you down on your couch with a stern order to ‘wait here’

He blinked out of existence then, returning after a while with a greasy bag of food and he urged you to eat, pushing the bag in your lap despite your urge of protests. You complied, silently eating under the watchful eye of his softly dilated gaze.

From then on Dusk began to visit your office on a regular basis, bringing both you and Twilight regular meals and spending his time lounging in one of the bigger chairs available at the time, idly flipping through books. His presence seemed to anchor you, and often he knocked you out of your hyper focused state with a random pun or an offhand comment about the weather. It worked, your urgency had stilled to a healthy normal, mind clearer as both brothers had now taken to paying a keen interest in your physical condition. You still remembered the frantic lecture Twilight had given you after your little trip to the emergency room. He had begun to limit your time in the office after that, setting a healthy time table with a balanced schedule for both rest and work.

The growing connection between the three of you was plain as day, and as days passed you began to find the answers you were so desperately looking for. It was a regular day in the office when you finally solved the mystery - a calm afternoon spent in a comfortable conversation with the brothers over a cup of tea and some snacks Twilight had graciously shared. You had been brainstorming with the brothers, shooting off your theories for plausible causes when Dusk piped in with something that caught your attention.

You almost dropped the cup of tea you had been idly cradling in your hand. Jumping up to your feet in a newly discovered frenzy, you rifled through a box of files that had been offhandedly pushed to the side, and as you flipped through a particular heavy file about dietary needs it was then that it hit you, something so simple and so overlooked - of course Dusk would have been the one to point it out. Your grin was almost manic in its excitement as the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place, and you turned to the brothers that had gathered behind you in their confusion. You pulled each of them down by their faces, placing a loud smack of your lips on both of their foreheads and watched their faces glow warm as you called them both a genius. You rushed out of the office, missing exchanged looks of embarrassment - eager to share and confirm your discovery.

It was simple really, so easy to miss in all the confusion of the spatial rift and the ongoing process of integration. It was the food that was making the monsters so sick and riddled with anxiety. Coming from a reality here there had been a significant shortage of food - the first response of the healthier populace had been to feed them, feed them as much as they wanted to eat, it was natural really. Except monster food - magical in nature had high levels of energy, too high for a population of monsters that had been previously so deprived of sustenance. It made their magic run rampant, fluctuate in its intensity with high highs and even lower lows. It was the same in humans, eating too much after starving made the patient sick and would effectively do more harm than good. The answer was right there all along, and you cursed yourself at not seeing it sooner.

Things moved quickly after that, you wasted no time to form a plan of order for a change in provisions, something less straining, human food imbued with magical properties was the natural choice. It would take time for the monster's conditions to stabilize, but after a few days on the new program you began seeing positive results. You had reported your success to the royal family and Toriel had once again summoned you for a showing of your solution. If things went as predicted, the rebuffed population would soon show results of steady improvement, they would finally be prime and ready for the further relocation process.

The queen had thanked you for your service and had shown you a rather unexpected act of kindness in doing so, inviting you over to her rooms for a private tea party where you both conversed not like high mage and ruler, but as two troubled souls with the weight of the world on each of your shoulders. It was pleasant, if not a bit awkward on your part, but Toriel seemed to have a knack for making someone feel welcome.

It was a couple of days before your departure that you had invited the skeleton brothers to your apartment for a celebration dinner, you had surprised them with a meal of your own making. Expertly following the guide of their new diet you had imbued it with your own magic, the fact seemed to fluster the brothers for some reason, but they were unwilling to comment as to the reason why.

The evening trailed off in shared conversation, and as the hour grew late, the mood slightly sombered, it seemed like both Twilight and Dusk had something they had been meaning to confess for a while now, but it had never seemed like the right time. You had a feeling you knew what it was about - they weren't aware of just how much you knew about their past -you had been pretending to be a high ranking inspector after all, a secret as big as alternate realities wouldn't be handed off to someone as low down the hierarchy as that.

It was then that they opened up to you, a cautious whispered admission of their past sins, sins bred out of desperation and grief. In a moment of your own vulnerability you told them you knew, you knew and understood. You reassured them that it didn't change your opinion of them, you shared gentle words of encouragement, soft admissions of your own grief filled memories.

You would not judge them for their past, because you saw in them a desperate wish for a better life, a fragile hope that they could learn to become monsters capable of loving themselves.

Perhaps it was wrong, out of all the people in the world it was you who were the greatest threat to their continued existence. You realized you held their fragile future in your scarred hands, and decided to trust in the goodness in their souls.

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sea-lanterns · 3 days ago

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the way i just wrote the longest thirst about sexy whore reader but deleted it out of pure embarrassment, holy shit am i obsessed with that concept mainly due to projection of myself onto her 😭

the three e's are giving ed edd and eddy vibes, ei escoffier and eula the brat tamers from hell. acting up in front of one of them gets you into trouble already, but act up in front of all three and you're in for the punishment of a lifetime JGJHJHJGHF since i haven't seen anyone talk about her and we're on the topic of brat tamers i have to gush about SKIRK!!!

first off, holy shit the fact that she's a legitimate SPACE WHALE (in case you didn't notice, in addition to her tail she also has several long antennae in her head that blend in her hair like neuvillette, and fins on her back) HYBRID???????!!?! AAAAAAA the way she swims and uses her powers to fly and glide through the air in her animations is so mesmerizing, and the way the alien parts of her skin have pretty little stars and spatial creases and distortions in them?????? like parts of her skin are literally made from outer space!!!!! THAT'S SO COOL. and then she has that sexy glowing collarbone tattoo 🤤🤤. she's literally built for the au! vet reader now has a flying, alien space whale. ONTOP OF THAT THE INHUMAN PARTS OF HER BODY AND SKIN NATURALLY GLOW IN THE DARK!!!!! AND EVEN MORE THAN THAT SHE HAS HER MONSTER FOUL LEGACY FORM WHEN YOU DO HER SKILL (i like to imagine that more of her animal and spacey-alien characteristics show when she uses foul legacy that's much more exaggerated than in game) SKIRK IS SO BEAUTIFUL THAT IT MAKES ME WANT TO CRY I LOVE HER SO MUCH (if you want to see all her hidden details there's a video called "i have never seen a genshin character like this" on youtube, skirk has a shocking amount of unique details to her)

just imagine feeling up her thick, massive muscles and roaming your hands over her sexily scarred and rough skin. then you sloooowly drag them down her back and gently massage her soft fleshy fin, finally making your way down to caress that beautiful otherworldly tail. the spacey-alien parts of her body have such a foreign yet blissful feeling to them that you can't help but touch them over and over again......the strange inhuman sensation is so intoxicating that you can't pray your hand off her.....you just aimlessly and mindlessly gently caress every last bit of her tail, arms, legs, and collarbone, basking in her literal otherworldly beauty.......

omfg moving on from there she's so STRONG????? the way she just effortlessly tossed the narwhal and childe into the portal as if she was throwing crumpled paper into the garbage 😍😍😍 i bet she could easily lift you with her pinkie without even trying. no matter if you're taller or shorter than her this woman has so much strength that it's not uncommon for her to just...accidentally hoist you right into the air or squeeze you a tad bit too hard during physical contact, it honestly even catches you completely off guard sometimes because her short stature is the epitome of deceptive and makes it incredibly easy to forget that this woman is capable of casually cutting through fucking space like it's a normal tuesday.

seeing as how she has a very aloof and blunt personality and with how much time she's spent isolated by herself and fighting monsters in the abyss i can imagine that not only does skirk have a very poor understanding of how strong she actually is, but she's also severely touch starved which leads to her being severely possessive over you. the moment skirk sees another woman so much as playfully flirt with you her arms instantly have you in a death grip and she's giving this poor unsuspecting girl the nastiest death glare to have ever been done in history. other women being around skirks precious lover is a big no no. skirk just.....doesn't quite grasp the concept of being social. poor miko unknowingly made the mistake of trying to tease skirk once and for the first time in her existence she felt absolutely terrified. the poor fox learned a very hard lesson that day. which absolutely pleases and amuses ei when miko comes crawling to her recounting the unfortunate events that happened involving your alien-wife

that being said though her ungodly levels of strength coupled with her bottled up, unexplored emotions lead to skirk being a VERY pent up, it's actually impressive how much horny can fit into someone that's so short. she hungers and craves for your body and absolutely loves to let loose on you, skirk can't explain it but there's just something about you that she finds irresistible. your touch, the warmth she feels from you, the beauty of a fragile and delicate human just makes her go feral, you just drag out all of her primal urges. around skirk just can't help herself, if you're with her then prepare for roughest, hardest, and most burtal, quite literal bed breaking sex you will ever experience in the galaxy. skirk will ravage you, grabbing at every inch of her body she can, her otherworldly hands leaving deep claw marks on your creamy skin as she buries her massive cock into your insides, the foreign feeling of her body coupled with her tail clamped around your neck like a vice, restricting your air flow brings you a sensation of absolutely euphoria. the sex is animalistic and unending, all you can do is moan your lungs out and mindlessly cum on skirks cock, clamping down on her and wringing it out for everything she has as skirk smashes you into oblivion and fills you with load after load of her thick, voluminous cum. expect LOTS of standing up sex, she'll just lift you up and sit you right on her cock or hungrily put your pussy/cock in her face and gulp it down as if she hasn't eaten in eons.

it goes without saying that this woman is impatient, whether you're in the house or out and about in public, skirk will not hesitate to impose herself on you and sheath her cock directly inside you. due to skirks complete lack of awareness when it comes to social norms, you often have to stop her from tearing off your clothes and fucking you directly in the middle of somewhere and guide her somewhere secreted and away from prying eyes where she can devastate your body without too high of a risk, but there's also times where skirk isn't amenable to reason and you find yourself with your clothes shredded, pinned down under her as she mercilessly breeds you right out in the open 😅😅 you find it embarrassing yet oddly arousing that you're doing such a dubious act in the open like this........and lowkey hope to get caught in the act.

skirks favorite part though? the bratty sexiness. skirk has a short fuse and gets pissed off in an instant, especially so when someone tries to toy with her, and even more so in public, but that's precisely why she loves it. the way you tease and goade her into punishing you gives skirk the perfect outlet to take her anger and frustrations out on, this leads her to being a lot more rougher with you than she usually is but the added forcefulness just makes it even hotter. oh you're being especially bratty? skirk will just wrap her tail around your neck, the familiar sensation of her alien originated appendage cutting your airflow, lifting your body off the ground as she tilts your head to look up/down at her as she straightens you out in a low and sexy. teasing her with nip slips and panty shots while pretending to be oblivious? she's gonna fuck you until your legs won't move. taunting her with skimpy revealing outfits? better hope there's no one around cause your clothes are ripped to shreds and she's gonna show you exactly what happens when you push her buttons. making suggestive gestures with your mouth and giving the most pornographic head imagine to a popsicle while directly making eye contact with her? suddenly you're up in the sky as she's holding your legs over her shoulders making you do stand up 69 with her until you swallow every last drop of cum she has for you while she slurps laps you up because how dare you use your mouth to pleasure a popsicle more than her dick?

punishments with skirk are HARSH. she'll choke you, spank your bottom till it's bright red and you can't sit anymore, sink her teeth in your skin to the point where she draws blood, licking your wound and enjoying the taste of you, manhandle you until you're begging for mercy, and even use her excellent swordsmanship skills to carve your pretty skin with her blades, her tongue quickly following along the precise cuts to catch every last drop of blood she draws from you.

of course, expect her to take perfect care of you afterwards. she has a lifetime of combat experience allows her to give you the most professional aftercare imaginable, skillfully treating every last wound she's given you down to the tiniest scrape imaginable, then once you're all patched up she'll spoil you like there's no tomorrow. because you're skirks delicate treasure, and she loves you even more than you love her 💜 god this woman is incredible.......

(if it's not taken can i be 🥪 anon?)

This is an older ask I’m now just answering. But omg I have no words, this might be the longest thirst (and ask in general) I have ever received from any of my three blogs LOL! You really are in love with Skirk, anon! /lh

Yes, you can be 🥪 anon but my goodness I am just in awe at how many descriptive ways you want Skirk to fuck the Reader. I don’t even know what else I can add to it because every single way you described Skirk fucking us is already too hot for words. She might be one of the most dominant women in the game, alongside Arlecchino who I’m sure will get along well together (I think I mentioned a Skirkchino sandwich one time on this blog). Just two of the roughest, most dominant women ever plowing us in every position and place imaginable.

Also I feel like Skirk would just be a regular whale in the Animal Hybrid AU, not an alien space whale because that AU doesn’t allow mythical species of animals to keep some semblance of realism. But either way, Whale! Skirk would be humongous, so the size difference (despite her being a shorter woman lol) would go crazy.

#🫧feeding the fishes #🥪 anon

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nujins · 26 days ago

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[ 𓆩♡𓆪 ] for you... maybe — prologue: the first clash!

[ SYNOPSIS ] ━━ you and woonhak are in different friend groups, different classes, different social bubbles, but always find yourselves in the same place: the student council’s shared committee space. why? because the two of you and your friends somehow all, coincidentally, represent the student body despite all their hidden crazy. woonhak? doesn’t really care. you? cares a bit too much. disaster? abso-fucking-lutely. well your respective friends are very much over it. yeah, they all see what’s going on. all the bickering, the accidental eye contact, the weird tension when you’re both stuck doing posters together at 10pm. so they form an unofficial matchmaking pact. but because both sides can’t really rein in their chaos for shit, the plans are anything but smooth.

[ WARNING ] ━━ swearing/vulgar language, technical/graphic design talk, unedited time stamps (for the tweets), arguing

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You weren’t the type of person to hate things.

Annoyed? Of course. Irritated? Occasionally. Mildly inconvenienced? Constantly—but that was just the fine print of everyday life, wasn’t it? Hate, though? That always felt like too strong a word. Too heavy, too melodramatic. You’d never been that kind of person. You were the kind of kid who shrugged when the vending machine ate your change, who calmly accepted it when the teacher forgot to call on you even though your hand had been raised for three minutes straight. You didn’t rage. You didn’t brood. You just… moved on.

Take-out place forgot your sauce? That’s fine. Someone else gets the credit for your idea in a group project? Annoying, but whatever. Your life wasn’t defined by petty grudges or disproportionate reactions.

You were the kind of person who was genuinely okay getting vanilla when they ran out of chocolate. Who didn’t throw a fit over middle seats, squished sandwiches, or bad group photos where you were blinking. You just adjusted, adapted. Made peace with it. A full phone battery, warm socks, and a smooth-writing pen could salvage even the worst day.

Your standards weren’t low—they were just realistic. And maybe a little flexible. When your friends got loud and chaotic and dramatically feral (as they often did), you didn’t bite back. You’d give them a pointed look, roll your eyes, maybe lob a dry remark in their direction if you were feeling spicy. Then it was over.

Eunchae’s constant fish jokes about Kim Dong-hyun from Class 2-3? Unoriginal, but harmless. Yuna’s endless nitpicking over your sentence casing? Pedantic, but fine. Jimin’s smug little I told you so smirks whenever she was right (which, unfortunately, was often)? You dealt with it. Anton being… Anton? Yeah, that one you’d accepted as a cosmic mystery long ago.

You liked to think of yourself as easygoing. You had strong opinions, sure, but they stayed contained. You’d argue them when necessary, then fold them neatly away again like a shirt in a drawer. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t hold grudges. You didn’t make enemies.

It wasn’t a philosophy you planned on changing any time soon.

But then again, you hadn’t really met Kim Woonhak yet, had you?

On the other hand, on the opposite side of the school—philosophically, spatially, and in nearly every single way that mattered—Kim Woonhak preferred the unexpected, and hated feeling mundane.

He didn't just want to stand out. He needed to.

Fitting in felt like a punishment. Silence? Torture. Agreement? Boring. If certain people thrived on clean lines and quiet logic (which sounds a lot like you, but he doesn't really know that, not yet), Woonhak thrived on the glitch in the system. The hiccup. The spark that sent everything sideways just long enough for something interesting to happen.

Some people found it charming. Others found it exhausting. He, however, found that incredibly delectable.

He walked into every room like a song stuck in someone's head—loud, catchy, and could be mildly irritating if they weren’t in the mood. There was always a rhythm to him, a way he spoke that made you feel like he was half-joking, even when he wasn’t. He never said “hello” like a normal person, after all. It was always a dramatic entrance, a finger-gun, a spin in his chair, a deliberately too-loud sigh, or perhaps even a full-blown tantrum on the literal floor when he loses a game with his friends.

But it wasn’t just for show. Woonhak genuinely believed things should be fun, a little risky, maybe even a little chaotic. That’s probably why he agreed to run for student council. Or, at least, let Leehan (or Kim Dong-hyun to everyone else in this school) rope him into running for positions that would let the Canva-addicted boy put his graphic design experience to good use. It wasn't for the prestige or the college apps. Heck, not even because he cared that much about the school’s broken vending machine or outdated club funding policies.

Kim Woonhak, in all his "bold-lettered, all-caps type of vibe" glory, just liked a stage.

And the idea of going the meetings? To the debates? Just thinking about the way he would make people bristle and squirm when he eventually pokes at their carefully built arguments? He lived for it.

So when he remembers the reason why he can't stop bouncing on the soles of his feet, snapping his fingers to relieve the tension, all morning—Riwoo (a.k.a. Lee Sang-hyuk) dismissed him and said it was probably just his stimming, but he begged to differ—Woonhak grinned like he’d just been handed a mic and been told to freestyle.

Game on, he thought, slapping his phone on his hand with a thrilled grin.

He hadn't met everyone yet. Didn’t matter. He’d find the straight-laced one, the one who thought rules were sacred and compromise was noble. The one who couldn’t stand being wrong. The one who mistook calm for control.

He'd find them. He always did.

So that’s probably what jumpstarted this whole shenanigans in the first place. What with just ten minutes into the first student council meeting of the year, someone’s already arguing about fonts.

Not budgets. Not school-wide policy. Jesus, not even the embezzling rumors from last year’s prom.

The first argument of this ill-starred school year for the student council, was about goddamn fonts.

“Comic Sans is a literal war crime,” you say flatly, arms crossed, a soft pink highlighter in your hand. You held it tight in a vice grip, like a weapon, or at least trying to not repurpose it as one. Your voice is calm, but everyone at the table can feel the temperature drop a degree at every word. “This is a formal announcement. For a formal event. Why would we want it to look like a kindergarten flyer?”

Across the table, a stranger who spelled "chaos"—to you, at least, with his creased jacket, loose tie, chewing on a straw for his iced coffee like he’s halfway through a music video—blinks. Once. Then again, slower.

“It’s legible. And fun,” he shrugged. “Not everyone wants to read a funeral pamphlet, Your Highness.”

Gasps. Scoffs. A choked laugh from Eunchae. Someone drops a pen (you're pretty sure it was Anton). And just like that, Kim Woonhak makes his entrance.

Your eyes narrow. You don’t recognize him. He must be one of the new reps. You internally scramble for his name, but the irritation crowds out logic. Glancing down, right at his name tag, you zero in onto the neat print.

Kim Woonhak. Huh. You've heard of the name before—on the ballot, on the whispers that trailed through orientation week. Something about him being the wildcard pick, the kind of guy who ran for council because, quote, he was bored and liked arguing. You didn’t really expect him to be this… infuriating in person. Or this confident.

Either way, all you knew was that he’s wrong. Loudly, confidently wrong.

He leans back in his chair like he owns the room. Like he chose to be annoying today.

You don’t speak right away. You just stare right at him, unyielding to his sly smirk, expression neutral, but you could feel it. You may not be able to name it for now, but the others were quick to notice how the air crackles with something unmistakable: deep, instant resentment.

Jimin, the student council president, doesn’t even glance up from her tablet. “If one of you commits murder before homecoming, I’m not filling out the forms.”

Eunchae looks like she might spontaneously combust.

The treasurer’s eyes dart nervously between you and the co-design chair, like she’s watching two ticking time bombs edge closer to each other. She sends a silent SOS across the table to Yuna, who meets her gaze, raises her smoothie in a mock toast, and mouths oh my god before taking a dramatic sip like it’s the juiciest drama she’s seen all week. That says a lot already, as the red-haired secretary has always made a point to know everything about everyone in your school.

To your right, Jungwon shifts slightly—barely—but it’s enough. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he flicks a glance from the smug expression on Woonhak's face to your ever-stiffening posture. A single brow rises. Not a word, but the message lands loud and clear: this is bad.

Anton exhales through his nose like he was an exhausted professor grading failing essays. His pen scratches against paper, and whatever he’s writing carries the weight of someone deeply questioning their life choices. Possibly: transfer schools?

Meanwhile, across the table, the energy couldn’t be more different.

“Ten minutes,” Jaehyun mutters with a lopsided grin, pulling a water bottle from his bag and nudging it across the table like a peace offering—or a warning—to Sungho.

The vice president takes it wordlessly and unscrews the cap of the water bottle, downing half of it in one go. His hand trembles slightly. Jaehyun hands him another for backup.

Taesan (or to the rest of the student body, Han Dong-min) leans so far back in his chair it creaks ominously, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like it’s a courtroom drama and he already knows who’s guilty. Riwoo leans in to whisper something under his breath—whatever it is, it makes Leehan snort before quickly covering it with a cough and a fake adjustment of his collar.

This isn’t a meeting anymore. It was a show. And the kicker? No one really gave them a program. No one warned them that Kim Woonhak’s favorite pastime is poking at anything tightly wound, and no one bothered to mention that you might just snap back like a mousetrap dipped in glitter and everything nice.

The tension in the room stretches—taut and waiting—then, complete stillness. Just half a second of silence too long, the kind that hangs in the air like a held breath. Thick. Brittle. Charged.

You break it first.

“Do you have a design degree I should know about?” you ask again, coolly.

“No, but I have eyes,” Woonhak replies, gesturing broadly to the poster mock-up presented on the TV screen at the front of the room like it's obvious. “It’s readable. That’s what matters. No one cares about your weird vendetta against fonts.”

“It’s not a vendetta,” you say incredulously, like the insinuation was comparable to a personal transgression. “It’s basic visual standards. And I’m not going to let the first event of the year look like a group of six-year-olds made it in Paint.”

“You’d be lucky if six-year-olds came,” he fires back. “People are already bored to death of the council. Let it be fun for once.”

“I’d rather it be respected.”

“Well, it’s not,” he says with a shrug. “Might as well lean in.”

Your jaw tightens. You don't yell. You never yell. It's something that was as unnatural for you as aliens actually existing out in the outer space. Instead, you just look at him like you're filing a complaint with the universe. And in your head, the decision is already made.

You hate him.

Not disliked. Not “he’s annoying.” Not “he’s loud.” No—hate. Pure, clean, and abso-fucking-lute. The kind that settles into your spine and announces itself like a new tenant. This... this asshat, whoever he is, has just made your list. Not to mention, he's actually been awarded the rare honor of being the first one on it!

And Woonhak? He doesn’t think about you that intensely. Not yet, he thinks. You were uptight, sure. Probably a little high-strung. The kind of person who probably color-codes your sock drawer and speaks in bullet points (the latter, you actually don't do, the former... eh, depends on the mood). He doesn’t hate you. He just finds you deeply irritating. Like a glitch in his otherwise good mood.

Still, something about your reaction sticks. Something about the way you looked at him like he was beneath you. Like he was wasting oxygen. He bristles. He didn't like that. Not at all.

So, suddenly, it clicks. It’s not about the font anymore.

Jaehyun sighs as the argument loops into a second round—this time about layout spacing.

“This is gonna be a long year.”

[ A. NOTE ] ━━ okay OOPS i couldn't help myself, i added some tweets. ik i did keep saying that the prologue was going to be written, and i stuck to my word mostly considering how freaking long this is lmfaooo but yeah, i wanted to show their the friend groups' online dynamic. what do you guys think? let me know what you verdict is on this. i think y/n and woonhak are so adorable even while arguing. married couple vibes, anyone? no? okay. anyway, stay tuned for chapter 1!

[ TAGLIST ] ━━ (open) @s0shroe @kazukazukiiii @beomev @sfnctzen @tempewra @aeminju @wondoras @mensisim @person-line @g3laatin @jungwonbropls @tkooooop @w3willris3 @woonbabie @prodkwh

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fatkish · 1 month ago

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Hey, I wanted to know if there's any chance you could write an Aizawa x daughter reader, with comfort for SA? I've been through shi that I'd rather not discuss but could use some one shots or drabbles of a few characters comforting for it. If you're not comfortable with it then that's fine, just figured I'd ask.

And if at all possible, can you contain these themes and characters? All are female. Maybe don't make her go into a lot of detail. You don't have to stick to these or do all or any, I just figured I'd ask. All of these are platonic, by the way. You can pick and choose if you're okay with writing for them!

Keigo Takami (Hawks) x intern reader

Shota Aizawa x daughter reader (you portray him beautifully as a father!)

Hitoshi Shinso x best friend reader

Katsuki Bakugo x quiet classmate reader

Midnight x quiet student reader

And if you know the character, maybe Shishido x intern reader? I'd adore for someone to write for him, as he's my comfort character. There's something about big, strong, but cuddly brutes that makes it easy to lose myself in.

(Sorry these took so long to get done. I’ve been struggling with physical and mental health issues as well as writers block)

Platonic MHA x Fem Reader SA

(Trigger Warning: the following contains allusions to and/or mentions of sexual assault, anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia and other potentially triggering topics. Please be warned and do not read if you’re uncomfortable with these topics)

Some of these are going to be related to each other and focus more on how the characters interact with the reader after the initial ‘incident’. Bakugou, Shinso and Aizawa’s are related to Midnight’s, which is why there might not be the same amount of detail as others.

Midnight x Quiet Student Reader:

Ever since the beginning of your first year, Midnight had noticed something was bothering you. Your body language said it all, Aizawa didn’t have to say anything to her, she immediately took it upon herself to help you

You had been one of her students/interns due to having a quirk that requires you to have large amounts of exposed skin. Your quirk is cat. You have cat like reflexes, enhanced senses, claws, ears and a tail, increased balance/agility, but you also have very sensitive hairs all over your body

Your natural body hair works like whiskers and allows you to sense things in your environment as well as insane spatial awareness and gives you a ‘spidey sense’ in a way. The hairs aren’t any different in appearance than normal body hair so they’re not very obvious

Due to the nature of these hairs, as well as your physiology, you need a costume that allows ease of movement as well as covers as little of these hairs as possible

And this is where the problem lies, see, you’re a rather shy and reserved person who doesn’t enjoy socializing, you’re not afraid of it, you just don’t like it. This is why Midnight decided to take you under her wing and help you embrace and gain confidence in yourself and your quirk’s requirements

She immediately saw how you struggled with being able to give your all and focus on heroics when you were constantly trying to cover yourself up or hide

She managed to do some incredible work to bring you out of your shell, you had gained confidence and no longer had these mental barriers preventing you from being at 100%

She taught you to have confidence in yourself and not be bothered by things you can’t help. She taught you to ignore the comments about how ‘indecent’ your costume was and focus on what matters. You can’t control what quirk you were born with, you work with what you’re given

She focused on the mental barriers and insecurities while Aizawa focused on technical skills. You interned with your Father and other underground pros, and Midnight worked with you behind the scenes to help you. You were doing amazing and came so far

That was until the ‘incident’. Midnight knew you weren’t a social butterfly and preferred to socialize at your own leisure, she also knew just how sexualized the hero industry was especially with certain quirks. Being a cute cat girl hero, while it does help with popularity, it can also attract and bring out the worst in some people

You preferred to be an underground hero but that didn’t stop one particularly overzealous fan. Long story short, he had stalked you and harassed you from the shadows, studying your patrol routes as an intern, and when your guard was down and you were alone, he struck. Luckily, Aizawa and Shinso, who you were interning with as a hero, managed to stop him

But the damage had been done, you retreated to your dorm and refused to leave. Of course, the teachers and staff were informed of the event so your absences were understood and excused, but that doesn’t mean you were given special privileges

Midnight, having been the one who worked with you the most on your mental barriers, vouched for you and worked with Nedzu and Aizawa to set up counseling sessions and therapy sessions for you online

After some time, Midnight, with suggestions and input from your counselor/therapist, help you get back out there and handled most of your emotional fallout and breakdowns, she helped you not only bounce back, but she helped you with any and all gender/sex related hang ups and problems you ran into

Eventually, she would be the one to help you with the sexual and non-sexual parts of your future relationships, giving you advice and coaching you on how to go about things. She helped you be confident and have a positive and healthy attitude towards sex and not let the past affect your future

She wasn’t just a mentor to you, she became like a mother/aunt figure to you, she even takes you shopping for clothes and other stuff (in this world, she doesn’t die)

You would always be thankful for her and on Mother’s Day, you always give her a gift as a means to show your appreciation for being the stable maternal figure in your life

Aizawa x Daughter Reader:

You weren’t his biological daughter, you were adopted by him. He had taken you in when he found you as a small child on the streets. He saw your pickpocketing skills while he was on patrol and after finding out your parents neglected you, he decided to adopt you to keep you from growing up into a life of crime

It was difficult at first, you constantly tested the boundaries and patience of the man, he understood that you were a child and he brought you to a therapist who helped you both with your emotional/mental/ trauma issues as well as your behavioral issues

It took some time, but Aizawa proved to the deepest parts of you that he wasn’t going anywhere and that you finally had someone to depend on who would never leave you

He helped you with whatever you needed and whatever he couldn’t do (like knowing about periods and other biological girl knowledge/wisdom that only females can acquire) he had help from people he knew

When it came time for highschool, he helped you design your costume the best he could but he made sure you didn’t get any special treatment (no recommendations or insider information)

He was worried about your safety as a hero but you told him you would be fine since he’s gonna be teaching you

When he tried to contact you and got no response multiple times, he had a feeling something was wrong, he and Shinso left their patrol areas and headed to yours. You had the insight to install a secure tracker into your suit in the event that you were undercover or needed your allies to know your location

You had given Aizawa and Shinso both a device that connected to the tracker in your suit, it showed that you weren’t where you were supposed to be

They followed the tracker to a house, Aizawa had actually noticed on a few occasions that someone had been following you so he did a little preemptive investigating and had previously learned that this house belonged to whoever was following you

Aizawa knew that he needed more proof that there was something illicit going on in order to enter the house without a warrant, and Shinso had noticed some blood leading to the back door, giving them enough of a reason to enter without a warrant

Aizawa kicked the door in and they both took different entrances, one took the front, the other took the back door, and eventually they found the basement and down there they found the guy had drugged you and was on top of you

Aizawa kicked the guy off of you and restrained him while Shinso immediately tended to you. Aizawa called an ambulance as well as police while he brought the guy upstairs. Aizawa waited for the police who later investigated the whole house and found plenty of evidence of the guy having stalked you, there was a board covered in pictures of you and clippings from various things that showed a detailed map of your patrol area

The map showed where you would be and when, as well as detailed descriptions of the surrounding buildings. There were other disturbing things found that were confiscated and collected as evidence by the police. Aizawa talked with the detective on the case and made sure to share information with him so that the case would be taken care of

After doing all of the paperwork so you wouldn’t have to, he met up with Shinso at the hospital. After being given the all clear to go by the doctors, Aizawa and Shinso took you back to the dorms. Aizawa made sure that you were asleep before he went and informed Recovery Girl and Nedzu about what happened

He made sure that all your class work and assignments were gathered and he took notes on what lessons you missed so he could set up times for you to take them

He handled most of the logistics of everything so you could focus on your mental health and recover faster

Hitoshi Shinso x Best Friend Reader:

Shinso felt incredibly guilty about what had happened to you since this was the first time you both patrolled solo on your own

He had had a bad feeling about that night but you were so excited to finally have the chance to patrol on your own. As your best friend, he decided to let you go on your own

When you first woke up after being rescued, you completely shutdown and wouldn’t talk to anyone. The doctors were barely able to get more than a few words out of you

Shinso watched as you isolated yourself and dealt with the aftermath of the attack all on your own

He would make sure to take extra notes from classes and would slip them underneath your dorm room door after school

He would try to coax you out of your room but nothing he tried would work, not even bring your favorite food

When he saw that Bakugou had managed to do what he couldn’t despite him being your best friend, he began to beat himself up and started to wonder if you were afraid of him due to his quirk

Luckily for both him and you, Bakugou saw this and made sure to smack Shinso upside the head and explain things to him

After having Bakugou of all people scold him and chew him out for being an idiot and turning what happened to you into a reason to feel bad about himself he felt really embarrassed

He knew you would never judge him for his quirk but he let his insecurities and past get to him

After you started therapy and counseling, you started to break out of your old shell once more and Shinso made sure to stay by your side the entire time

If you were given exercises to work on then Shinso would do them with you

When you returned to your internship, he stayed by your side and helped you whenever you had a panic attack or became anxious

Shinso learned the same techniques you used to calm yourself down and coached you through them

He made sure to keep an eye out for suspicious characters and made sure that the press didn’t bother you

Katsuki Bakugou x Quiet Reader:

Despite him not really having the most comforting personality, or being the type of person who handles feelings, he knew a thing or two about trauma and PTSD

Aizawa might not have said it in the exact words, but Bakugou was no idiot, he knew something really bad had happened

Bakugou and you might have had a rough start when you first met in your freshman year, but after some time, you both became sparring partners and eventually became friends

Bakugou’s fighting style was offensive and relies on his own strength while yours is primarily defensive and focuses on redirecting and using your opponent’s strength and power against them

Your agility and fighting style made you the perfect sparring partner for Bakugou. Your styles couldn’t be more different and you both learned and became even better fighters from your sparring sessions

Eventually you began to really open up to Bakugou and while he wasn’t really the type to talk about his feelings and issues, he was a solid listener and even gave good advice

Eventually he did open up about his insecurities about Deku to you and you explained to him that Izuku only seems to be progressing faster because he started at zero while Bakugou had plenty of experience. You and Bakugou had developed a sort of mental health relationship, you both would discreetly check in on the other when one of you noticed the other was having issues

That’s how Bakugou was able to get you to let him in after the incident. While having other people cry on him and complain about their problems would normally piss him off, you both developed a relationship built on supporting the other and allowing your weaknesses to be seen

He made you your favorite food and brought it to you. Although, in typical Bakugou style, he told you to eat something for f——s sake so you don’t die. Despite his gruff and aggressive demeanor, you still let him in and he made sure you were taking care of yourself

He made sure to take time to help you with class work and studied with you as you caught up. He’d be damned if he let his best sparring partner get rusty just because of a bad incident

He became a silent supporter for you, for which you greatly appreciated his support. You even made him appreciation gifts in the form of super spicy snacks and even bought him some special hot sauces, which he secretly loved and laughed when you tried them only to end up crying from the pain

Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Intern Reader:

You weren’t really a hero intern/sidekick, you were more of a support/secretary person

You had a quirk called Archive. (Basically the same power as Hibiki from Fairytail https://fairytail.fandom.com/wiki/Hibiki_Lates ) you were basically a supercomputer that didn’t run on electricity. Your quirk lets you create a holographic screen and pull information from the Archive’s database and from people around you. You can connect to people telepathically and coordinate with your allies from a safe location

You’re Hawk’s secretary that the HPSC personally recruited and hired (read as forced to work for them) to keep tabs on him and help control him as well as handle the logistics of things

You get a pretty big paycheck considering all that you do, especially when you have to wrangle in a certain bird brain

Despite your professional appearances, when no one is around, you and Hawks allow your masks to fall and be real with each other

You’re one of the few people Hawks truly trusts. The HPSC is weary of you because you have so much dirt on them and you could easily leak their secrets to the public, hawks knows that the HPSC basically threatened you into working for them

Despite your quirk’s amazing abilities, you’re not really a fighter, hawks has taught you self defense, but that only goes so far when your opponent has enhanced strength or other similar abilities

With the position you were in, it was hard for you to have a romantic life. Having so many of the HPSC’s secrets, they were very wary of specific things, such as your dating and love life

No matter what, they eventually found some way to secretly interfere and make your relationships fail. That’s why, when a younger, handsome guy from the HPSC’s lower ranks decided to ask you out, you said yes

The relationship was great at first, he was kind and sweet and you really thought that this time you had finally found something that would work

But after you officially started dating and you moved in together, you started to realize that you were wrong. Long story short, after moving in and sharing your finances together, he started showing signs of being abusive. Now that you couldn’t just leave him, he started to get pushy. You had told him you weren’t interested in having sex until you were married, that’s because you wanted to make sure you genuinely loved the person you have sex with

After many arguments, you started to realize who your boyfriend really was. You had told Hawks and despite his wishes, you convinced him to let you to get sufficient evidence against your boyfriend so that you could have a solid case against him

Hawks would regret that. You had gone home for the day when he got a call from you. He picked up but you didn’t answer, then the line cut off. Hawks had left one of his feathers in your clothes after you informed him of your beliefs of your boyfriend becoming potentially abusive

Hawks focused on that feather and followed it. After perching outside your apartment window, he heard all that he needed to

He smashed the window and entered your apartment to find your boyfriend on top of you and you bleeding and bruised

After subduing him, hawks found you were unconscious and brought you to the hospital. When you woke up, Hawks told you what happened and that your boyfriend was arrested and charged with assault and domestic battery

After you were discharged from the hospital, with the permission from the HPSC, Hawks had an apartment built into his hero agency just for you. Now you didn’t have to worry about getting to work since you lived in the same building and you would be able to help in emergency situations faster

Hawks stayed by your side and became essentially and older brother figure for you. Even after he looses his quirk, you and him continue to be close

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #midnight x reader #nemuri katana x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #shinso x reader #shinso hitoshi

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