#textbook catastrophes

[thevagabondexpress]

Oh THERE the information on circuit breakers is. Under the stuff on grounded outlets, between the stuff on two/three plug systems and the stuff on GCFI, in a completely different place from where it is on the worksheet!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

I need to scream about this event (Friends Like These) because I truly was just. Not expecting the impact it would have--I don't remember if I read this one in Japanese???

I've only gotten the first two stories so far but I just.

Jeanne and Mozart are of course, as adorable as ever; there's no question about that. But Jeanne dropping this line:

"It galls me to sound so much like le Comte, but I am grateful to God that I met you."

I. [prolonged error 404 sounds]. I'm not sure there are words to convey the simultaneous endless wheezing laughter but also AWWWWWWWW energy that consumed me in milliseconds. Wildly oscillating between "LMFAO ah yes, sentimentality? Disgusting I'll drink to that (blasts Bring Me To Life)" and "BECAUSE YOU LOVE HIM DEEP DOWN AND HE LOVES YOU WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH."

I just can't get over how Jeanne says exactly one thing about liking another person and he's like, 'ew dad gave me cooties >:///// how dare he subject me to the mortifying ordeal of hope.' Jeanne I love you. Jeanne I would die for you. Middle schooler with well-meaning stepfather who begrudgingly accepts his kindness and grows for the better, but would rather perish than admit it. I never knew I needed this found family dynamic so freaking bad until I started playing this game. 11/10 I could watch this forever

More Shenanigans below the cut, + the Shakespeare and Comte Event Story:

Also a sidebar because I just can't help myself, I know I've talked about it before but: Mozart and Jeanne's friendship is so endlessly precious to me????? I love how Mozart is so NO I'M NOT NICE REEEEE (turtles) and Jeanne is like :> bestie. It's so damn cute watching Mozart squirm at being exposed for being sweet and Jeanne just truly grateful someone cares about him?????? How much Jeanne and MC dote on Mozart despite being together, how it only strengthens their friendship? Literally I'm over the moon, nobody touch me I'm tender!!! Jeanne deserves to live peacefully without being a tool of the state/bad actors!!!! Mozart deserves to be loved and happy without being defined by his musical success!!!!!

LIKE. Not to be dramatic but I could watch an entire saga of these two being friends and being adorable. Fresh serotonin every single time. Did I know Jeanne was going to share his food? Absolutely. Did I expect MC to think ahead and pack two lunches? Absolutely not. Was I delighted both times? Beyond what you can imagine!!!!!!!

I'm going to stop here at the risk of repeating myself over and over but wow. Jeanne's capacity to see to the very core of people, for better and worse, and how it lets Mozart be meaningfully seen. Mozart's recognition that Jeanne can mean well to a fault, worried that he might be taken advantage of--and how Jeanne can build trust with someone for the first time without being afraid. Can you hear me wailing and bawling

Naturally, I acquired the Comte and Shakespeare one next. Now, I'm gonna be honest, I saw their names together and went "oh dear God. What am I walking into. Why do I hear boss music????" But I gathered my courage (more like I'm just too feral not to gather info abt Comte, but I digress) and experienced something that left me literally on the floor because I just. Did Not Remotely Expect This Series of Events.

So like. It starts off by being pretty normal and cute and I'm like awwww baby boy (oh he's a little fked up actually) giving gifts to dad. I'm sensing an ulterior motive but right now just let me have this. Also adorable that Comte is struck dumb by it, that's really cute I'm taking notes. And then. I was hit with the veritable ANVIL that was these next few lines:

deep breath Okay. Where to begin.

I LOST IT at the implication that Will was like. Holding back from ending Comte's entire life with mere words. WILL????? WILL P L S??????? (lowkey wanted to hear the roast snickers) Why am I sensing a pattern that Comte loves spicy people??? Love this for me

I also started losing my shit the second MC was mentioned and you could just hear the record scratch/kill bill sirens. Comte really out here like "son say WHAT about MC." I can't get over how he's always so ready to throw down for both MC and Sebas at any moment. Anywho, naturally I come to the conclusion that Will was just trying to one-up Comte to mess with him by giving MC gifts. It was the one thing I did anticipate--and, fool that I was--thought it rendered me safe from what happens next.

DEAR READER. DEAR READER I WAS SO WRONG. I WAS SO TERRIBLY WRONG.

BABY GIRL. BABY GIRL ON WHAT LEVEL IS THIS NORMAL BEHAVIOR. I'M LITERALLY CRYING RN?????? THE FACT THAT I CAN'T TELL IF HE'S JUST BEING SILLY GOOFY OR HE LEGITIMATELY MEANS IT OR SOME COMBINATION OF THE TWO????????

Mans out here like "I lost everything in the war (literally) let me spoil my girlboss dream gf in peace. Vlad took everything in the divorce let me have this pls." I just. The mental image of him chasing Will around the house. The potential implications of him doing this to protect them both (I love you Will but you have. Problems). The HILARIOUS AND DUBIOUS qualifier when he says "dressing up MC is nearly my entire reason for living." Comte I love you more than life itself but that does not make this any more normal. What are you doing my beloved vampire jkhlhalfdhjfg 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Also an honorable mention moment, because it was endearing:

Just the img of him wandering around with sparkly eyes and toting home little trinkets for everyone??????? He's so cute, that's the most grandpa behavior I've ever seen. I was chortling when Will was like "sir you made me sit in that cluttered carriage followed by another carriage full of stuff all the way home IT'S TIME FOR REVENGE (affectionate)."

I also love how Comte is like "Do I have a problem? Maybe. Will that stop me? Only when the sun cataclysmically swallows the earth."

Literally half of the members of the house are like "why are you like this" and he just heeheehoos his way out of it. How does he keep getting away with it. Can you tell I love him. Dazai isn't the only clown in this house honks Comte's nose

[birdyverdie]

It literally doesn't matter how well I sleep last night, as soon as I walk into this class lecture I fall asleep

[grubloved]

rmring the fucking insane christian biology textbook my mama bought on recommendation from her other homeschool mom friends that was almost entirely about how evolution was fake; at one point it alleged that bananas were quote "perfectly designed for the human hand" and therefore must have been intelligently designed.

which. yes. yes they were.

[hiding-in-the-vault]

.

[awesomeifidosaysomyself]

friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky but not only did one of my profs bring in oatmeal for the whole class this morning (free breakfast!) but i just found out i won a scholarship i forgot i applied for

i am the most specialest little boy in the whole universe ☝️

[whats-in-a-sentence]

These γ-tubulin ring complexes are present in the cortical cytoplasm, sometimes associated with the microtubule branches (Figure 1.26A-C), similar to how Arp 2/3 is present at branches of microfilaments. (...) Next, the protofilaments (the number varies with species) associate laterally to form a flat sheet (see Figure 1.26A). The sheet curls into a cylindrical microtubule as GTP is hydrolyzed (see Figure 1.26B). (...) The hydrolysis of GTP to GDP on the β-tubulin subunit causes the dimer to bend slightly, and if the rate of GTP hydrolysis "catches up" with the rate of addition of new heterodimers, the GTP-charged cap of tubulin vanishes and the protofilaments come apart from each other, initiating a catastrophic depolymerization that is much more rapid than the rate of polymerization (see Figure 1.26C). (...) This process is called dynamic instability (see Figure 1.26A-C).

However, plant microtubules can be released from γ-tubulin ring complexes by an ATPase, katanin (from the Japanese word katana, "samurai sword"), which severs the microtubule at the point where the growing microtubule branches off another (see Figure 1.26D). (...) During treadmilling, tubulin heterodimers are added to the growing plus end at about the same rate that they are removed from the shrinking minus end (see Figure 1.26D). The actual tubulin subunits do not move relative to the cell once they are polymerized into the microtubule (see shaded region in Figure 1.26D), because the microtubule is usually bound to a membrane through a variety of MAPs.

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

[nothazellevesque]

i stopped watching voltron as soon as season two ended based solely on a singular Bad Vibe. i adored the first season, got through the second, and for some reason, the moment shiro vanished, alarm bells went off in my mind like “oh. this is going to go downhill QUICK.” literally had a that’s so raven like vision of the show becoming dogshit, and walked my dumb ass out of the show and the fanbase. watched the entire voltron phenomenon from the outside after that, and i truly believe that something stepped in and saved me from falling down completely into that hell. i can’t be sure if it was an older me who managed to send a singular message back, or some form of divine intervention that allowed me to escape voltron before it Did That To Itself, but i was spared, and for that i am eternally grateful

[whirlybirbs]

— BURNER CELL ; 2 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: after a week of silence, you finally text dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 1.3k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, cancer mention, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader a/n: this stole all my concentration. siri play emo boy by ayesha erotica ← previous | the tag

It's the kind of week where, aside from class, human interaction isn't really on life's setlist. 

It's also the kind of week where you rediscover making a meal of raw cookie dough straight from the package. Your econ textbook might have a stranglehold on you, but you make enough time to scarf down a few globs between chapters — after all, who needs protein or fiber when you're sure this five-year master's program will kill you first?

Your head hurts.

You slump against the counter, refilling your water bottle. 

It's late now — and you can feel the quiet woes beginning to wane as you blink at the clock. By now, your friends are probably on their second or third drinks. You turned the invite down when they asked yesterday. Nuri tugged on your sweater sleeve and pouted the best pout she could manage, but you didn't budge. 

I've gotta finish this paper, I'm sorry, Nur'. 

You roll your jaw as you shut the faucet off, wandering to your freezer to wrangle some cubes from the tray. You bend it slowly, deep in thought. A few pop out, and you idly drop them into your water bottle with a twang. 

You're staring at your phone. It's by your computer on the counter. 

...You never did text Dabi. 

You told yourself it was for the best — after all, you weren't looking for a catastrophic derailment of your life at the moment. Things are good. You're two semesters away from finishing University, your family's bakery back in Kyoto is doing well, and Dad's chemotherapy seems to be working. Things are good! It's almost fall, you've managed to stick to your monthly budget, and Mizu settled in happily to your new apartment. 

No four-day poop strike like the last time you moved.

The large tuxedo cat in question ambles through the kitchen — brushing against your leg and letting out a long, low mrrooow. 

Things are great! 

You shouldn't text Dabi.

But... even if you did, it's not like it'd be the end of the world, right?

Wait, could he figure out where you lived from your number...?

You could use one of those anonymous texting services. Then, it wouldn't even be your number. Just some fake string of digits that allow you to satiate the bizarre curiosity that's been swirling in your head for the last week. 

You're sure the novelty will wear off. 

He's probably not even going to respond. 

You're telling yourself this is stupid as you begin to set up an account with the service — the app boasts privacy, andunlimited calls and texts... You can't help but feel a little strange as you finalize your account. 

It's done.

You import his contact with two taps and stare at the blank screen. 

...Now what?

Are you really going to do this? I mean — he's a wanted criminal. He's a member of the League of Villains. If anyone ever found out you were in contact with him, you'd be toast. You'd have All Might kicking your door in and demanding to look through your phone and that mental image is enough to make you cringe. Say goodbye to your degree, goodbye toyour future as Sakura Flour's owner, and goodbye to freedom. You're sure the Safety Commission would place you on some watch list for the rest of your life, and frankly, your tweets are already questionable. You don't need more scrutiny. 

...So, there are two options. 

Delete his number and move on... or don't get caught. 

You shouldn't text Dabi.

...But, you do.

Truth be told, he isn't shocked to see that cute Nuri girl hanging on Giran's arm again. The Broker seems pretty into her — the guy even mentioned something about taking her to a nice dinner during the week as a congrats on passing some big test. Dabi can't blame him. She's cute. Looks good in red. Not his type, but he can appreciate it from time to time.

However, Dabi is a little shocked that you're not a part of the group cheering in Giran's VIP section. There's bottle service being ordered, laughter, dancing, and a gaggle of pretty, five college girls — and none of them are you. 

His lips twist into a scowl. 

He decides he's leaving; his piss-poor drink is tossed back, and he dumps a bill down for the bartender before tugging his hood up and sucking his teeth. 

He never liked this club anyway.

He's crossing the threshold of the back door, stepping into the damp and dark alley, when the phone in his back pocket buzzes. Someone's smoking a Marlboro by the dumpster. The familiar smell makes Dabi's fingers twitch. 

He's tryna quit.

He tugs the phone from his pocket, no longer bothered by the splintered glass screen. His battery is at 13%. This fuckin' thing barely holds a charge anymore. 

The number on the screen isn't one he knows.

Dabi's passcode is unnecessarily long. His phone clicks open as he narrows his eyes and shambles towards the opening in the alley. He doesn't know this number. He has everyone's cell memorized that he needs. Shigaraki, Toga, Spinner, Jin, Compress, even Giran. He doesn't keep contacts. Doesn't work when he's ditching phones all the time. He's got his noggin. That's good enough.

The text is one word:

hi.

Dabi's squinting at the text when another buzzes through. 

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:48pm sorry, this is bar girl

→ dabi ; 11:46pm thought u were never gonna txt me ur girlie nuri is here where r u

There's no way.

Your phone buzzes three times from its far place where it sits face down on the counter — you just walked away from it, hellbent on distracting yourself while you waited out the potential reply. You go rigid in your kitchen. 

Did he seriously text you back immediately?

You purse your lips, then slink towards the phone. It buzzes again.

→ dabi ; 11:47pm c'mon don't leave me hangin pretty

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the string of replies. He has read receipts turned on like the psychopath he is. 

You lean back against the counter, chewing your cuticle as you let out a ragged sigh. Nuri is with him? Or... No, they said they were going to that club you hate. 

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:4pam oh, are they at the bar?‎

Dabi's fingers move fast.

→ dabi ; 11:49pm nah in downtown club tropical or whatever the fuck it's called

You snort a little.

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:49pm i hate that place. their drinks suck.

Dabi has started making his way back to their hideout — back to the shit box apartments they're renting above Kurogiri's bar. He's slow, idly texting as he weaves through the crowds of nightlife in Kamino Ward. 

→ dabi ; 11:50pm a girl after my own heart where r u ur dodging my question u on a date or smthng????

He's insistent, you'll give him that. You cross your legs as you lean back against the laminate counter and chew the inside of your lip.

He's typing. It starts, then stops, then starts again. 

When you start typing, the bubble disappears. 

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:50pm nah, got a huge paper to finish uni student, remember? sorry to disappoint 

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ur missin out giran got bottle service  him and nuri looked cozy

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:51pm not shocked she thinks she can fix him

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ooooo love when that happens poor girl

Typing... 

Typing...

→ dabi ; 11:51pm u think u can fix me? :p

The emoji makes your face break into a smile — it's so... not what you expected. 

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:52pm nah i'm not stupid

→ dabi ; 11:52pm just busy.... really lame of u tbh coulda been fun

← 909.999.3399 ;  11:52pm wasting cash on mid drinks is the opposite of fun

→ dabi ; 11:52pm i meant seeing me

Oh, what the fuck.

Why does that text make your face feel hot? Why does that text make you feel like you're not texting the League of Villain's #1 Arsonist, but some cute boy from class? He's not a cute boy from class. He's a danger to society. 

You're glad you don't have the opportunity to reply. Your phone is buzzing in your hands, the haptic feedback lighting the neurons in your brain on fire.  

→ dabi ; 11:53pm gtg phone is gonna die have fun with ur paper u loser hope u get a good grade or whatever i'll txt u later

You shouldn't have texted Dabi.

But you did. 

[mayasaura]

You know that story with like, Evil Chancellor Traytor, who carried a poisoned dagger called Kingslayer, and went around cackling and being the textbook evil advisor? And in the end, it turned out the dagger had been entrusted to him as a failsafe against corruption, and all his muttering and scheming had been about expanding handicap accessibile low-income housing or whatever?

That's Kabru. Manipulative, controlling, with the training of an assassin, ruthlessly persuing his own agenda, which turns out to be .... to save as many lives as possible from the coming catastrophe. He spends half the story sounding like a power-hungry narcissist with good spin, but no. Turns out his "for the public good" bit was entirely sincere. It's a fucking delight. Top ten plot twists straight from a children's action figure political drama

[holmsister]

I think one of the things Dungeon Meshi is definitely about is how different people deal with being an outsider/marginalised/neurodivergent/what have you and basically what im getting at is that Kabru is TEXTBOOK "high functioning [insert diagnosis here]". Its that how they say it still? Don't care.

Basically. This man shows up and you listens to him talk and see how his party treats him and you think. Oh this is a cool guy who has his shit together. And then after like two pages you find out that he has constant flashbacks to Utaya that make him completely freeze, anxiety attacks, thought spirals, is incapable of analyzing his own feelings, is a stuttering mess when the stakes are high, has never done a chore in his life, keeps putting himself in triggering situations and re-traumatising himself, and the icing on the cake is when you read the extra material and it turns out he regularly forgets to eat and lives in a depression nest of dirty clothes and self-medicates insomnia with alcohol and also is 22. Which also kind of puts Misilril not wanting to let him go in another light - yeah for sure she's controlling and infantilising and also its not like she was really helping his issues but also she was not entirely wrong in her judgement. This man does NOT know how to take care of himself. He knows how to do the bare minimum so when he shows up at work the next day he can fool his coworkers into thinking hes got it together enough. For a bit.

He is DEEPLY unwell and he knows it but he is carried by the desperate wish to avoid another catastrophe. If he stops for a moment he KNOWS he'll collapse so he doesn't.

I also think this is why him acting nurse to Mithrun is such an important part of his arc. Its like. This person who has spent all of his adult life focused on a single objective disregarding everything else is faced with what happens when you do that for too long. And the result is a wet tissue of a creature who looks like he doesn't know where he is most of the time.

He is a man on the brink. I have no doubt he felt relieved when he decided he could trust Laios - not even in a Labru way, straight up because he knew he could not keep going like this.

But also like. Of all the characters in the manga, I think Senshi and Kabru are the most lonely ones. Except Senshi seems to be OK with solitude - for sure it's not entirely healthy to be alone for as long as he was but he definitely did well enough. He is very good at taking care of himself. Meanwhile Kabru *knows* a lot of people but can you really say he has friends? Rin, maybe, arguably, but even she does not seem to truly know him, you know? He keeps himself hidden from everyone. I think the only time we see him entirely honest is when he says to Laios that he wanted to be his friend, and hes so shocked when it comes out, you can tell he did not mean to say it. And differently from Senshi, he does NOT fare well alone. He likes people, he needs people. Again compare with Mithrun - he has like a squad of people taking care of him. If Kabru had a breakdown of that size can you say his party would go out of its way to help? Im not sure. Not because they're bad people, but because he's simply not that intimate with any of them.

Idk man it just struck me all of a sudden. Laios is weird and offputting and doesn't care about other humans the way Kabru does and YET he is infinitely more successful at building deep, meaningful relationships and taking care of himself as well. I think this is part of why Kabru is so fascinated with him as well. He can tell Laios has something he doesn't have. Wait this is turning into a whole another post I'll write this next time.

[thevagabondexpress]

Meanwhile

This is literally the only thing about circuit breakers that I can find in the textbook. I am very lucky I already know what a circuit breaker is.

[marvel-ous-m]

Catastrophizing

Written for @steddiemicrofic May Prompt: Top | WC: 510 | Rating: Teen and Up Audiences | Tags: Academic Stress, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug (and Eddie Munson gives him one)

“Stevie, it’s almost two in the morning, what are you still doing awake?” The question pulled Steve from his fixation on the task in front of him- he didn’t even realize how late it was. 

“Fuck.” Steve breathed out the exclamation, his hands coming up to scrub at his face and relieve some of the pain from his aching eyes. 

Now that he wasn’t so focused, everything he was feeling hit him like a truck: exhaustion, hunger, frustration because his stupid brain wouldn’t make sense of the words in the textbook, and he needed to understand this concept to pass the class, and he had to pass this class to get his degree, and he fucking needed to graduate or else he couldn’t go to graduate school, couldn’t be a counselor for the kids needed him, couldn’t be the person he wished he had when he was a kid-

“Shh, it’s okay baby, you’re alright.” He was being pulled into Eddie’s arms, now. His face was pressed against his boyfriend’s stomach, and Eddie was running a hand through the back of his hair in that way he did, the way that made everything in his brain go quiet and soft. 

Eddie’s shirt was wet- or, no, actually, Steve was soaking the front of Eddie’s shirt with tears. He was crying, which was so dumb, really, because who cried over a science textbook? 

Eddie’s hand carded through his hair again. Steve’s breath hitched at that, transforming into a sob muffled by the fabric of Eddie’s clothing. “Oh, sweetheart.” 

Steve was gently pulled back from his boyfriend’s embrace, then Eddie was kneeling in front of him, a worried gaze meeting his tear-soaked eyes. “Baby, you need to rest. You’ve been at this since I came home from band practice at five. Did you even have dinner?”

“N-no, but Eds, you don’t get it, I have to stay on top of this- if I don’t, I’ll fail the quiz this week, then I’ll fail the class, and then I won’t graduate on time and I won’t get accepted to grad school, and then-”

“Steve. You’re catastrophizing, sweetheart. I know this feels really hard right now, I get that, but two-in-the-morning Steve isn’t going to understand it any better than well-rested, fed, eight-in-the-morning Steve, will he?”

“I guess not? But I really need to understand this, Eddie-”

“And you will. I have the utmost confidence in you and your big, beautiful brain. But I think you’re gonna be a lot better off if you let me make you some food then come to bed with me for at least six hours of sleep. Can we try that, baby?”

Eddie grabbed his hands then, squeezed them in that loving, reassuring way that reminded Steve that, no matter what happened, he’d have Eddie by his side- and taking a break didn’t seem all that daunting, anymore. 

Steve’s silent nod of assent launched Eddie into action. Steve closed the textbook in front of him, went to their bedroom to change into pajamas, and let himself be loved. 

[megvmins]

moments with wind breaker men

some bf headcanons with my fav troublemakers.

includes: vinny, jay, dom, owen, joker

warnings: suggestive

author's note: I fell in love again and I need to share my Wind Breaker headcanons with the world. I wanted to add more but I might just do part 2 for the rest of the boys. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 🫶

VINNY: it's notoriously well-known that waking up sleeping Vinny is impossible unless he can smell something delicious or hear people talking about food. that being sad, it is also absolutely impossible to get out of his embrace in the morning. arms hugging your waist, his chin resting on the top of your head and your legs intertwined, there is nowhere for you to go. once Vinny actually wakes up, he plants a soft kiss on the top of your head (but if you mention him doing that he will deny it like his life depends on it) and only then will he let go. your favorite past-time has to be annoying him because his reactions are always priceless. for example when you two are brushing your teeth side by side and you end up pulling faces looking at him through the mirror. it's all worth it just to see him almost spit out his toothpaste and throw you a death glare that softens into a loving eye-roll. 

JAY: cooking with Jay is one of your favorite moments. if you weren't a good cook, Jay is the perfect teacher thanks to his patience, so even if you mess up he wouldn't get angry (but he might make the cutest puzzled expressions over the possible catastrophes you manage to create while working on a fairly straightforward beginner friendly recipe). those puppy-like faces just make u wanna smooch him and he definitely doesn't mind. that being said, he is frustratingly proper and won't just ditch the cooking for a make-out session (his mind is definitely running with ideas but his self-control is something to behold, unfortunately). he will just resume cooking, this time standing right behind you and guiding you through your second attempt. just know he knows what he's doing and that you did not learn anything while he was in such a close proximity and all you could think about was how nice it feels to be in his arms and that his shampoo smells amazing. 

DOM: everyone knows that Dom got really passionate about biking and now his mind is literally filled with it and nothing else. but exams are coming up and he is in great need of intervention to not repeat the year again. you'd think helping him study would be pretty straightforward but it's definitely not. half the time you just find him gazing at you with heart eyes and content smile. sometimes it's necessary to just bonk his head with your textbook to bring him back to earth. but can you blame him? he is just really curious about the new chapstick he saw you use. so to motivate him to study you have to bet something on the line and suddenly he is back to being the Mr. Passionate everyone knows him to be. it only takes the promise of a few kisses and his motivation is back in overdrive. 

OWEN: Owen is great at distracting you. if you are having a tough time or just need to do something to forget about your troubles for a bit, he is the best person to go to. he's going to search up places to take you to – pretty cafes that are absolutely instagram worth and shopping trip that will make your feet hurt and your closet overflow because he will not hold back. if he sees your gaze linger on something he is pushing it into your arms to try it. it's definitely not just a treat for you, don't be mistaken. he loves seeing you show off the items and bonus points if you need him to help you zip something up. he plays it all cool and suave but his fingers are shaking a little bit, he takes his sweet time with it and then he makes sure to send you a naughty smile with a compliment that makes you weak in the knees. 

JOKER: Joker isn't really a fan of having you attend his underground fights. it makes him uneasy, thinking he will scare you away and that you might be used against him if someone decides to look for his weakness. that doesn't stop you from showing up anyway and patching him up. at this point you are both used to this silent dance of you cleaning his cuts and cooling down his soon-to-be-bruises. when you finish up, he brings you closer between his thighs and hugs your midriff since he is usually sitting down before you and rests his head on your chest/stomach listening to your calming heartbeat. before he let's go he whispers soft “thanks.” and offers a faint barely there smile that somehow still manages to make your heart skip a beat. 

[narwhalsarefalling]

rey i need ya gen fic bnha recs

congratulations, i have a whole ass collection. but here's some faves. A collection of both oneshot and multichap!

Gauntlet Thrown - pikahlua

Pro hero Katsuki Bakugou has deigned to apply for a teaching position at UA, and the lucky bastard who gets to conduct the job interview is none other than Shouta Aizawa.

Second Chances - amarisllis

Aizawa’s heartbeat is pounding against Katsuki’s ear, so loud and fast that it blocks out everything else. Katsuki’s arms flail, unsure what to do now that he’s being hugged by his teacher who’s never really cracked more than a tiny smile in their presence before. Wha— Oh. Oh, oh shit. Aizawa is crying. “Sensei—” “You were dead.” His voice breaks on the last word. Oh. Shit.

candid - OwlF45

The Commission passes a new requirement for hero licenses: pass a mental simulation. For Izuku, a holder of One For All, this idea ends in catastrophe. A series focused on the simulation, and everything that comes after.

Switchblade - Cacid

"I’m only two minutes late!” Izuku protested. Had he missed the start of an important test? None of the national, standardized tests were supposed to happen this month and even being two minutes late to one of those wouldn’t elicit this sort of reaction. They were discussing their career interest forms today, but that was it. Nothing time-critical was supposed to be happening. “Midoriya, you were reported missing a week ago. No one has seen you for eight days. The police have been combing the city for you.” "I’m sorry. What?” Midoriya Izuku went missing for a week and turned up in a back alleyway with skills he's never even heard of and no memory of how he came by them. He resigns himself to never learning the truth of what happened to him, but he shouldn't waste this chance should he? He could become a hero with reflexes like these. (Russian Translation available)

Razzmatazz - xylophones

Izuku has plans for everything. He plans out what to say to the cashier when ordering coffee, he plans out his homework before even opening his textbook. He has a whole ten-year plan for how he’s going to get into UA’s hero course and get his hero license fully quirkless. He plans for every wild, unlikely scenario he can think of because his anxiety gets so bad if he doesn’t go through every possible outcome, every way his life could landslide into disaster–– but Izuku never planned for this. For once, he doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t have time to think of one. All he can see is Yagi-san’s lined, kind face looking resigned as he stares down the villain in his shop. Yagi-san, who is the closest thing to a father figure Izuku has ever had. Izuku doesn’t think. He just moves. (Or: Izuku saves the number one hero, gets a hero license way earlier than anyone wanted, realizes that maybe hero society isn’t as great as he thought it was, and everything just kind of falls apart from there.)

third couch is the charm - laurenshappenstobemyhusband

Shouto trained for years to control his ice. Encasing everything in ice whenever he sneezed, got angry or startled, or just whenever he wasn't paying attention always got him into trouble, and he's glad he finally has complete control over his right side. Unfortunately, he can't say the same about his flames. OR: Todoroki sets three couches on fire, which apparently is too many, so now he has to take quirk control classes with Kaminari and they bond over mutual destruction

All's Well - Vexfulfolly

Trigger + Katsuki Bakugou = One hell of a precarious situation OR What it's like to be a walking bomb.

El Manisero - Lila17

"that fic where Sero runs a peanut cartel at UA"

see it all in bloom - aloneintherain

Todoroki said, “It feels like a family reunion.” (Social media fic, counting down the five months to Class 1-A's ten year reunion.)

and i know these don't REALLY count because they're mine, but here's my OWN gen fics that I had a GREAT time writing

And in the forest, I can be free

His prosthetic leg was covered in stickers. Her hands were stained with marker ink in wonderful multicolor. She could color outside the lines. She could color inside the lines. She could color the skin pink or the hair black or whatever color she wished. She could ignore the lines entirely and just draw whatever she wanted. Chiasaki would have never allowed any of this. She doesn’t freeze or feel that horrible feeling in her chest at the thought of him anymore. Instead she only felt... Something else. It was a warmer feeling, one that settled in her gut. It took a few days of this new feeling to be recognized and named- anger. She wasn’t as afraid anymore, that had grown into anger. How could anything in this so-called “sick” place ever be bad? She admires her color-stained hands, the shoes that were allowed to remain dirty, the softness of fresh mud during a rainstorm under her hands. Sand between her fingers, dust wiped away from glass to reveal a view of the forest. Eri doesn’t care if she’s cursed. She doesn’t care if this entire world is covered in little germs that would make her sick. Eri loves it so much. - A look at Eri and her relationship with cleanliness

Within Rime and Reason

1. He reached up to touch the base of his scar. Somehow, without the red hair framing it, it looked almost like a birthmark. Less of a harsh, angry burn scar and more of a memory. He didn’t look like a man with a tragic past, he looked like a boy. If he wasn’t completely blind in that eye, he would almost believe it was one. “You look so manly,” Kirishima breathes. “No,” Todoroki says with a smile. “I look like my mother. I look womanly.” 2. And suddenly so many pieces of the puzzle drop into place. His eye is unseeing. White pupil. Milky iris. With the skin around it poreless and hairless. Easy to cover up with makeup. Oil-less and unmoisturized. Like a scar. Like a burn. “Todoroki,” Mina says softly. The brush she’s holding drops to her lap. “This isn’t a birthmark I’m covering up, is it?” - Todoroki gets a makeover. Emotional conversations happen.

have fun and enjoy!

[charlottelie]

oh, lucifer?

chapter i. (or, selkie sees a snake) ✧･ﾟ

tags: reader uses she/her pronouns, fem!reader, reader is a trapeze artist, sinner!reader, reader works at lu lu world, no use of y/n, ducks galore

.

You hadn’t meant to. Your guiding philosophy in life and afterlife had always been ‘Ask for forgiveness, not permission’, and it seemed so sound a maxim that you were usually slightly bemused when you found yourself in the unfortunate position of actually having to ask for forgiveness. Upon your arrival in Hell you had thought, Well, I certainly didn’t mean to end up here. Upon your arrival in Lu Lu World you had thought, Well, I wouldn’t say I exactly intended to join a Hadean circus. You hadn’t meant for either of these moral catastrophes to come about—that is, your sending yourself to the Other Place and your working at a fairground—but, despite all your good intentions, here you were. Rotten luck. 

You also hadn’t meant to be late for your act again, but here you were, late as always. You dusted your hands with chalk, briskly clapping them more out of habit than anything else as you examined your makeup in a misty mirror someone had propped up outside the dressing rooms. A poster on the wall, framed by peeling paint, announced your act in proud block capitals: Selkie, the Flying Seal! They had put you right before the interval. Did that make you the star performer? Third-best, at any rate: best were the acrobats, Belladonna and the Bedbugs, the grand finale, and second-best was Sunny’s balancing act, which opened the show. You could hear someone approaching, and fast. Your boss, no doubt, come to gently encourage you to get the fuck onto the stage. 

You looked at him mildly: Didier, who insisted it was pronounced ‘Didi-AIR’, tall, half-imposing, mostly composed, rarely generous, currently furious beyond belief. 

“Selkie! Where the fuck have you been? You’re on in thirty seconds! Ten, nine, eight—” 

You liked to think of him as sort of a lost soul, someone you’d taken under your wing, although, of course, he had been the one to take pity on you and hire you in the first place, and, of course, it was your soul that was on the line. “I’m sorry, Didi-yur,” you said quietly, and he scoffed. As you watched him thoughtfully, compassionately, he grabbed you by the shoulders and half-pushed, half-led you onto the platform—surely a textbook case of abuse in the workplace, if you weren’t in Hell—and you gave him a final glance of serene benevolence before, at his command, you whipped around, stepped into the blazing golden lights of the great circus tent, waved to the crowd, flashed a smile, and leapt from the platform into the open space before you. 

The breathless silence. The hot dusty air. The rush in your stomach like an oncoming wave before you lightly caught the bar another performer had flung towards you, adjusted your grip, and neatly somersaulted to another swing. Here a half-turn, here a straddle whip, and here, at the very peak of the motion of the trapeze, you let go, and hung impossibly in the air for a second before you plummeted, as you were wont to do, and were caught by another trapeze artist. Of course the dizzying leaps and the melodramatic plunges were part of the act. You knew the movements, the swings and the sways and the somersaults; you were, admittedly, at home here. The onlookers roared in delight; your heart, admittedly, soared. But as you spun, leant back, shifted your weight, glanced at the audience, you noticed, about three rows from the front, an unprecedented, unsolicited, indeed undesirable arrival: the strangest demon you had ever met. Or, at least, the strangest demon in the past three days. 

The fine kettle of fish was this. Belladonna, Sunny, Pell-Mell, the clowns, the knife-throwers, the knife-throwees, even the Bedbugs, bless their hearts, had all signed their souls over to Didier. He had expected the same of you when you had been given the job. But you, unused to asking, used to getting, were not prepared to quite merrily hand over the one thing that had guaranteed your continued existence to a man in a slim red tie. And so you had taken on a different sort of contract—which could have been hot, but, regrettably, Didier was not inclined to make such exchanges. You were simply paid far less than what you needed. That was all. The prosaic truth. He had you under contract, but nothing so poetic as a soul-binding one. You simply sewed your own costumes, went without breakfast. You scrounged around for whatever you could whenever you could. You had taken up residence in a formerly-disused caravan with the structural integrity of a multivitamin capsule. 

You had found there was little glory in starving, little romance. It was the banality of it that struck you, when you sighed weakly after your taps wouldn’t turn on, or Didi cut off your electricity, or you found you would have to choose between food and heating. It was the endless rolling of the cold and empty days that you suspected would grind you down in the end. But of course they were punctuated by your dazzling nights, your whirling wheeling flights through the grandly lit top tent that drew so many to Lu Lu World. And of course you were resourceful. 

In your life you had always been willing to bend the rules. In your death you were no different. You had the right kind of mind for business, and your business was, up there and down here, remarkably effective. Any con, put-on, cutup, cantrip, flimflam, ramp or scam anyone could think of, you’d done it. You once stole a woman’s shoes and sold them to her husband’s mistress for twice the retail price. Double-joke was on her, because purple was not her color. Only yesterday you had sold a sweet-looking sinner an ‘astral lightning rod’ meant to attract ‘negative interdimensional frequencies’ and channel them into their neighbors’ houses. The lightning rod in question was a refashioned rake you had found in the bins outside the gift shop. To put it plainly, as it were, if it had to be said, you were a, quote-unquote, ‘scammer’, though you and yours would never call it that. You hadn’t meant to end up in this trade, after all. You would like to think you had an entrepreneurial mindset. 

This entrepreneurial mindset had landed you in a stall (without a permit, obviously) in the Lu Lu World food court, having donned a wig and taken on the persona of a charming Texan aunt. Here you sold separately heart-shaped chocolates you had bought in bulk, meticulously unwrapped, and meticulously re-wrapped in shiny pink paper, to whichever passing demons or sinners appeared lonely or gullible or both. You told them all these chocolates, if consumed, would make anyone fall in love with them. To a pale imp in a band T-shirt you had sold three for five times what you’d paid for a box of eight; to a fishlike sinner whose disinterested girlfriend had abandoned him for the fairyfloss stall you sold five at, you told him, fifty percent off (which was three times the usual price). They had told their friends; their friends had flocked to your stall; soon afterwards, your original buyers had come back for more. But now there was a lull in business, as there usually was at this time of the afternoon. So when you noticed a duck demon – literally, a demon the size and shape of a duck, albeit a cartoonishly cute one – with an odd gait and a faraway look in his eyes, you were thrilled to have once again hit the jackpot.

You called him over excitedly. “Hey there, friend, what’s got you looking so glum?” That caught his attention. Hook. “You know, I see all sorts of people come through here. But ain’t none of them got such a positively chap-fallen look on their faces—not to insult you, gorgeous.” He was watching you with wary curiosity. Line. “Come on. Don’t you wanna tell old Mrs. Appleby all about it?” Sinker. 

“You’re not married,” he said. Sinker? That was strange. 

“What?”

“You’re not married. You’re not wearing a wedding ring.” Was he one of those? A flirt? Read: creep? Those were often easier to sell to. 

You pointed at your sign. Mrs. Appleby’s Apple-licious Treats. “Mrs. Appleby. That all that ambiguous?” you said, which won you a small smile from this bizarrely fluffy, bizarrely yellow duck. He flew surprisingly gracefully (you, the Flying Seal, knew what made a graceful flight) towards your stall, perching on the countertop just in front of your merchandise. And as he did so, you felt a dull crackle of power in the air, but, habitually incautious, you ignored it. Perhaps an Overlord-adjacent was taking a piss behind the neighboring food truck. Something like that. 

“It’s just heart-shaped candy,” he said. Usually demons looked like they’d just crawled out of a monsoon drain. Not this duck. He looked like a dapper gift-shop-plushie, the kind that comes with a sweet tag with their inevitably adorable name, written beneath it, Please look after this [relevant animal]! 

“Just heart-shaped candy? Why, this is the best heart-shaped candy you’ve ever had the good fortune to feast your eyes upon! ‘Why is that, Mrs. Appleby?’ Why, I’ll tell ya!” He seemed to be enjoying himself, not least because he hadn’t left. “This chocolate is magic!” That earned you another smile. 

“Really? Is that so?”

“Sure is. Straight from my distant uncle Asmodeus. Just eat one, wait three hours, and you’ll be feeling sprightly as a spring lamb. Two’ll have all the hens—or the men, don’t look so dejected, whatever you prefer—running after you like you’re catnip and they’re a litter of kittens.”

“Hold on now. You’re trying to sell me chocolate…chocolate-ified love potions? Love potion-ified chocolate? Love-ified—” 

You waved a hand at him in pleasant dismissal. “Now, don’t you overthink it, honey. I just saw you needed a helping hand and Auntie Appleby thought she’d take a”—you surprised even yourself with this one—“quack at it.” For a glorious moment he struggled between delight and disappointment. Then he laughed, genuinely, and smiled at you with something like satisfaction.

“Two’ll make me catnip. What’ll three do?”

You paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, I ate three, and look at me now.” 

And after that it really had been sinker, and you’d sold him a box of ten and wrapped it up in pink parchment and given it to him in a pretty heart-shaped bag with added glitter. You wondered if he’d realized he was being fleeced. There was an air of irony about the way he treated you, but you were pleased to play along. A sale was a sale.

Naturally, though, you tried not to encounter people you’d sold something to after you’d sold it to them. You’d been a little careless today, telling them to wait only three hours. You’d thought that’d be enough to get them out of the grounds, but this duck was persistent. As usual, you hadn’t meant for this to happen. He still had his heart-shaped bag. He was sitting smugly in a seat far too large for him. Did he recognise you? Could he recognise you? The Flying Seal was a far cry from homely Mrs. Appleby. It could have been a coincidence. Perhaps he just liked the circus. It wasn’t strictly unusual to re-encounter your customers. But he was watching you intently, you realized, before you had to maneuver yourself into the arms of your closest friend in the circus, your counterpart, Pell-Mell, the Soaring Fiddler. And then, still incautious, you let the strange duck slip from your mind, and flung yourself from the catchbar again. 

Lucifer had decided to visit Lu Lu World less out of curiosity and more out of boredom and a vague sense of duty. It was, after all, his theme park. He’d been reckless, coming as a duck, but who’d guess this out-of-place, out-of-sorts waterfowl was the Lightbringer himself? Besides, he’d wanted to watch the circus. He hadn’t quite known what to expect. Perhaps he’d expected to be disappointed. 

But now he watched you in what seemed your most natural state. Flying, entertaining. Even without the wig and the bizarre Texan accent he recognised you (he, of all people, knew what made a good trick, a good show). He saw how you fed on the crowd’s cheers like they kept you alive. It was miraculously complex and miraculously simple. You were happy they were happy. He watched you as you rose and dove through the air as your namesake might through water—easily, happily, unembarrassed—and the lights, your smile, the spectacle, recalled to him, dimly, as if seen through rain, something he had felt a long time ago. 

You landed delicately on the platform opposite the one you had arrived from. “Selkie, the Flying Seal!” the ringmaster declared triumphantly. You winked mischievously at the audience. Did you realize they were thrilled with you? Could you realize it? Did the whole performance require a level of obliviousness? You caught the outstretched hand of your fellow performer, a small, slender girl sporting a glossy bob, and lifted her onto the platform. The two of you gave a final bow, and you, beaming, looked not down at the audience but up at the distant lights. 

Lucifer decided half-consciously that he ought to come back.