#^ Literally those two sentences is what i worry about like who the fuck says concise

[composing-the-future]

sometimes i worry that im being too autistic on the autism website

[unclewaynemunson]

"What. The. Fuck."

Over years of living in a trailer park, Eddie has seen his fair share of weird shit. But this right here? This surpasses everything.

Wayne is sitting on the couch in the living room, with an actual baby in his lap and a completely deadpan expression on his face like this is something that happens every day.

"Hey, Ed. Meet Sasha Munson."

"Sasha Munson?" Eddie repeats, hoping that saying the name out loud will make this whole thing less surreal. It doesn't, so he automatically switches right into disbelieving panic mode instead. "Sasha Munson?! What the fuck? She isn't mine, I promise, it's literally impossible, someone must've - Wait, hold on - Is she yours? Aren't you like fifty years too old to knock someone up? What the fuck did you do? Who's the mother? What were you thinking, man, we can't take care of a -"

"Eddie, sit down."

"No, I'm not sitting down, this is ridiculous, what the fucking fuck, we can't -"

"She ain't mine and she ain't yours."

"What the-" It takes a few seconds before Wayne's words sink in. Then, Eddie freezes mid-sentence, giving his brain a second or two to catch up to what Wayne just said.

"Wait, what?" he asks.

He gives the sleeping baby a distrustful look. It's small - too small to be a human, if you asks Eddie. It scares him a little bit.

"Then whose is she?"

"I told ya to sit down, Ed."

And Wayne's voice is so strict and serious that Eddie can only obey.

"Your dad was here earlier."

Those few words are enough to tell Eddie exactly what happened. He immediately feels sick to his stomach. He wants to cover his ears, or walk out of the trailer and never come back. But instead, he keeps sitting, frozen in his chair, and listens to what Wayne tells him.

"Sasha is his daughter. He had this girlfriend, Melody, 'bout a year ago. She's much younger than him, is all I know 'bout her. I think they were kinda serious at the time. But Clyde went and messed it up, of course. Cheated on her. She dumped him. Then showed up again a few weeks later all sobered up and told him she was pregnant. Far as I know, things went okay for a while after that. But she caved right after she gave birth. It took a toll on her, Clyde said. So she needed the drugs again. He left her; he didn't see a way to help her and he was worried 'bout Sasha's safety. So he took Sasha with him and brought her to me. Said he couldn't take care of a baby and that was that."

It is a story eerily similar to what Wayne told Eddie about his own early years, whenever he'd ask him questions about his parents.

Eddie looks at the tiny human in Wayne's arms. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is just slightly agape. She's wrapped in a blanket that has a soft shade of pink, with tiny elephants printed across it.

"He never learns, does he?" Eddie remarks with a sigh.

"He doesn't," Wayne affirms in a soft voice, shaking his head. "But you know what, if these are the consequences of his actions..." He first looks up at Eddie, then down at the baby in his lap again. "I can't even be too mad at him for it."

"Jesus Christ, what a mess."

"Don't think too badly of him, Ed," Wayne says. "He wanted to help them. Both of 'em. But he didn't know how. He did what he thought was gonna be best for Sasha. Just like he did with you. He ain't evil. Just a coward who makes bad decisions."

Eddie swallows thickly.

"We'll make it work," Wayne says with certainty in his voice. "It'll be tight, but we'll survive. We did it before, we can do it again."

Eddie nods.

"You wanna hold her?"

He shifts uneasily. She seems so fragile. He doesn't know a single thing about babies; he is his father's son, after all, not Wayne's, no matter how much he wishes he were.

"C'mon, Ed, she's your sister."

It's only now that Eddie notices how well it fits, Wayne with a baby in his arms. Like he was made to be a father. Like Sasha belongs there. There aren't any pictures of Eddie as a baby, as far as he knows, but he imagines it must've looked somewhat like this scene: the exact same couch, a different blanket, and a younger version of Wayne. One with less wrinkles and more hair; less worn-out by the sorrows Eddie has given him over the years. It's simple for Wayne, in a way it isn't for Eddie's father, and in a way that Eddie fears it won't be for him. To hold her gently and let her sleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. To sit with her quietly and do nothing else. To give love and patience without expecting anything in return.

Eddie rises from his chair and sits down next to Wayne on the couch. He utters a shaky breath, trying not to show his nerves, and wipes his sweaty hands over his jeans before holding out his arms.

“Just like that,” says Wayne softly while he places Sasha in Eddie's arms.

She's warm and has that specific newborn baby scent clinging around her. She's heavier than Eddie expected. She stirs a little bit and makes a tiny sound, but then she continues her peaceful sleep. He studies her: her closed eyes, her tiny nose, the way her head rolls around helplessly if he doesn't support her steadily enough; the hand that's hanging out of the blanket, with minuscule but fully developed fingers that grab around nothing. He listens to the steady sound of her breathing and imagines the tiny lungs inside her body working on pure instinct to keep her alive. His sister.

He looks up and finds Wayne staring at the two of them with tears in his eyes. He only catches Eddie's gaze for a fraction of a second, then he looks away, to the window on his right side.

“You're wrong, you know,” Eddie says.

Wayne turns his head back to him.

“Bout what?”

“She isn't his. Neither am I.” He looks up from the girl in his hands to meet Wayne's eyes. “We're both yours. He didn't do jackshit for us, just dropped us here with you and ran away. You're the one who raised me, Uncle Wayne, and that makes me yours way more than his. And Sasha? We're both gonna be here for her, every step of the way. We're gonna change her diapers and feed her milk - I don't really know anything else about babies, but we're gonna do all of that, together. We're gonna see her grow up and become a person. She's ours.”

Wayne produces a noise that sounds somewhat like a choked-off sob. He puts an arm around Eddie and drags him closer towards him. He doesn't say anything, but Eddie didn't expect him to. He understands.

[tired-fandom-ndn]

ok but adaine showing up in fallinel for oracle things with the court of stars and the one member she is related to notices a dragon courting gift she’s wearing [it’s one of oisin’s scales on a necklace with an abjuration rune on it which notifies oisin if she’s ever attacked while she’s out on her own]

and it’s not an engagement per se but so openly wearing a dragon’s scale is quite significant because it signals to the world that this person has a dragon devoted solely to them

so they send along word to the family and adaine is sucked into a family meeting of sorts with the family matriarch (grandma) and is given the run down on how to run the family once she’s gone and turned into stardust forever and she interrupts her saying “but im an adventurer-“

and before she can finish her sentence grandma goes “no one said oisin cant also help with running things. speaking of him tell him i want to see him.” and wont move in until adaine messages her paramour to teleport to the (soon to be theirs) cursed ass castle because grandma is requesting his presence

and then it’s them two having a very in depth tour of the castle and how to run things when the family is so large and spread out across the world

and at the end of the day adaine and oisin are laying in the room that has become theirs when visiting fallinel and are quite ready for a reality, but not quite yet, where they are the heads of a loving family that they will oversee in the long years they will spend together getting old and grey

[context]

The worst part is— The worst part is—

That Adaine STILL doesn't know which person on the Court is her cousin! Absolutely no idea! They're all just sitting there wearing those silly hooded robes and never looking directly at her! Her family has explained them to her, but all the Court members are so covered that she can't figure out which is her cousin!

And obviously it doesn't really matter, but it's the principal of the thing! She got fucking tattled on to grandma by someone who she's never even spoken to! The audacity!

If she's being honest with herself, it's her own fault. Adaine knew that she was risking the privacy from her family by showing up to Fallinel with Oisin's gift, but he just looked so wounded when she considered taking it off for the meeting and she was banking on this cousin being just as unaware of her as she is of them. Obviously not. How are they even in contact with the family when they never leave that damn room?? Do they have a crystal???

The letter from her grandma summoning her to the castle wasn't especially surprising, and I don't think Adaine would even be worried about it because why would she be? If it had been her parents, yes, it would've been awful for a lot of reasons, but her grandma is cool as hell and was literally married to a whole ass dragon once and isn't gonna freak out over one grandchild being in love with a dragonborn. And Adaine is right! Her grandma is super chill! Too chill. Oh god, she's happy.

Adaine finds herself in her grandma's greenhouse/gallery/tearoom under the skeleton of a dragon (it's Grandma Abernant's favorite room, where she reads books aloud to Valdraxia's skeleton and keeps her late wife up to date on the family gossip) and receiving an extremely long lecture about what it means to grow older and the responsibilities of running a family as large as theirs and how Adaine really doesn't need to give up her life or adventures as long as she has a supportive partner (or two or seven or forty, Grandma's been married A LOT). She even goes into a lot of detail about the difficulties of marrying non-elves and the differences in lifespan and how there's ways to get around that, wink wink, nudge nudge.

(What Grandma Abernant doesn't say, at least not out loud, is that she's tired. She loves her children and grandchildren like the moon loves the stars, and she doesn't look a day over 400, but she's lived for a very very long time and she feels every single one of her years even if you can't see them on her face. She misses her wife, the only one of her many marriages that really meant something, and has found herself pressing her lips to Valdraxia's skull and whispering about how they'll be together soon. She's waited so long for a child or grandchild to be ready to take her place, and now Adaine is here and Grandma Abernant knows she'll be able to rest.

How long has it been since she's been anyone other than Grandma? How long has it been since she was just Amarthriel?)

Grandma Abernant also talks a lot about housespouses (castlespouses?) and the long tradition of adventurers having spouses who can help manage the family and estate. Why, even Grandma was an adventurer back in the day, didn't anyone tell Adaine that? She asks a million and one questions about Oisin and basically tells Adaine that he would probably be right at home in the castle, with its giant library and treasure vaults and the many, many, many curses to break. Don't look at your grandma like that, Adaine, breaking curses is fun. It's a puzzle. All wizards love a good puzzle.

Fast forward 20 minutes and Oisin is there, in clothes he hastily threw on because it's like 3 in the morning and he had to teleport very suddenly, with absolutely no idea what's going on. Grandma has retired to. . . somewhere else in the castle, presumably, and he and Adaine are being given a tour by one of Grandma's daughters from a later marriage, an extremely bored and deadpan elf who does not seem at all bothered by being summoned to her mom's house out of nowhere to give a couple teenagers a tour.

They are shown the library (with cursed books), the treasury (with cursed gold), a few of the many treasure vaults (with cursed treasure), the armory (with cursed armor), the gardens (with cursed plants), one of several massive baths (with cursed water), the kitchens (with cursed food), the gallery (with cursed paintings), the nursery (with cursed toys), the dining room (with cursed dishes), the ballroom (with cursed instruments), one of the clothing vaults (with cursed gowns), the wine cellar (with cursed wine), the empty dungeons (with cursed spirits), the jewelry vault (with cursed jewels), the spellcrafting room (with cursed everything), and a variety of other weird rooms with a lot of curses. So many curses. Why are there so many curses?

When Oisin asks that, Adaine's aunt looks at him like he's an absolute fool and explains that the castle was a gift from Valdraxia and obviously everything needed to be the absolute best quality for her wife and that includes the curses. This. . . explains absolutely nothing to Oisin who is very sleep deprived and just does not get what's going on. Don't worry Oisin, no one else gets it either.

When they're finally shown to their room (they have to break a minor curse on the bed), Oisin is just kinda. Done with existing for a while. He has been bombarded with so much information and surprises (he apparently has the Abernant family matriarch's blessing?? probably???) and is running on like two hours of sleep but they both still lie together in the giant (and now curse-free) bed, staring up at the canopy embroidered with stars and just sorta. Trying to process everything. In the morning, he'll be hit with this reality, with the knowledge that this is the home he'll share with Adaine one day, a home that will be filled with their children and grandchildren. This is their future and he couldn't be more thrilled. At breakfast, they'll talk to Grandma Abernant and ask more questions and eventually get her to explain the extended lifespand thing (surprise surprise, it involves a cursed room in the castle), but that's for the morning.

In the moment, he and Adaine curl up in the bed together and just go to sleep.

[frank2blonded]

‣ bipolar

𝓟airing ↳ 42!Miles Morales X F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. just a girl in the world who misses her ex.

𝓦arnings .. angst , short story

𝓐uthor's note .. i'm back!! the story is based off the song bipolar by peso pluma

prometi que iba a olvidarte,

i promised that i was going to forget you

You listened along to that line, thinking about him as Peso Pluma was singing that. How ironic.

You and Miles broke up 2 months ago.

After the break up, you tried focusing on yourself, your grades, and your friends. After all, you're only 16.

But when it's late at night, you think about the night he broke up with you.

You both had just went back home after a long day of hanging out with each other. Laughing and having a good time.

He suddenly got quiet. His face looked more serious. You noticed this, so you asked him if something was wrong.

"Hey, are you okay?" You rested your hand on his back.

He was silent again.

"I'm.." He didn't finish his sentence. It looked like he couldn't bring himself to say the rest of the words.

"You're..?" You chuckled a bit, but inside you were worried. Scared.

..

"I'm breaking up with you."

Those words.

You felt like you just got stabbed. Your stomach was turning. He said it with such a calm voice. The same voice that would say 'I love you.'

Your hand went back into your lap. You gulped. What were you supposed to do? Or say?

"Wh-" You stopped yourself. If you opened your mouth again, you would only burst into tears.

You took deep breaths. Your heart was racing. Was it something you did? What did you do? You thought you were the perfect girlfriend.

Slowly, tears were running down your face. You were starting to ruin your makeup. But you quickly wiped them off.

"Is it something I did?" You said, your voice being shaky.

"I'm sorry." Was he being serious? That's all he could say right now? He had to be kidding.

The silence in between the two expanded. You suddenly got up, getting your stuff from his room. Miles watched your every move. He saw you grabbing the plushies you bought him. The basket that you gave him for Valentines. The necklace and bracelet he gave you was now placed on his desk.

He walked into the room as you were still looking around. "You aren't gonna try to fight for us?" He asked. You paused. What?

"There's no way you just asked me that question." You couldn't even turn around to look at him in the eyes. "I'm bein' deadass."

"I'm not going to try and fight for someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me now." You stood on business.

But you wish you had said more.

pero me fallé, yo te volví a buscar

but i failed, i looked for you again

You did, you tried looking for Miles in every new guy that you met. None of them worked out, cause you just ended up ghosting them anyways. You felt so guilty trying to look for the right man when you know the one that you want the most is Miles.

porque por las noches yo fui débil

because at night i was weak

You couldn't help yourself but to stalk him again on another account. He hasn't been posting much. Maybe it's because he misses you too and he's sad? No. Don't be delusional. But.. what if?

y no puda evitar llamar a tu celular

and i couldn't avoid calling your phone

You went to your contacts to see his as 'my stinky boyfriend 💙❤️‼️' You couldn't change it, You always felt like you can still have another chance. You stared at the call button.

…

Ugh, fuck it. You brought the phone up to your ear as it was ringing. A few rings were heard and then it stopped. He didn't answer. (but that's what you thought.)

perdón, no lo sabes

sorry, you don't know

Then you heard a familiar voice. "Hello?" The deep, raspy voice that made you literally melt. "Miles?" You responded, with the biggest fucking smile on your face. "Y/N?" You heard him scoff a bit. "Why are you calling me?" You sighed, you were silent. After what seemed like forever, you finally said something,

pero yo te quiero con el corazón

but i love you with my heart

"I miss you Miles." Your stomach was turning. Why'd you say that? Oh my gosh. Fuck. He's silent.

"Yeah.. I-.."

"I miss you too, mami." You smiled. Your cheekbones started hurting. You almost started crying.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

…

"Can I come over?" You looked down at your clothes, then to your hair in the mirror. You sighed, "Yeah."

te quiero con el corazón.

i love you with my heart.

You waited for a bit to hear the rhythmic knock on your window. You immediately went to the window and opened it to see his face. He smiled at you and went inside your room. You didn't say anything, just stayed silent and admired each other. Even though you looked like total shit. He then hugged you, long and hard. You missed his touch. You melted into his lean body and smelled that cologne he always wears. You missed this.

"Gosh, you don't know how much I missed being with you." You whispered. You were both then looking into each other's eyes and your eyes were a bit teary. "Oh, trust me, I can tell." He joked as he was hearing the song playing. You both laughed.

The night ended well, and the morning was even better, feeling his strong arms around you.

[kerubimcrepin]

Wakfu OVA - Book 2, Ush [PART 2]

Ecaflips have better hearing than most people — or, at the very least, the Ecaflip demigods do.

It's very cute that Atcham feels the need to ask them...

The fact that 2 out of 3 Jurgen-Crepins drank tea with straws in this OVA has haunted me for years.

YESS VIOLENCE.

The way he commands them and goes "calm down"... one minute after almost spiralling after thinking that Yugo and Adamai will be mad at him.

Their family has so much equality in it.

Kbity... Also, it's cute that Joris trusts Atcham the most with checking if there is someone who broke in. Atch is kind of like a dog: loves blood and violence and tearing things apart. also very loyal.

While I have said previously that I think Kerubim is a morning person and Joris is not, they have had 600 years to change that around — and I think that Kerubim values rest while Joris values work, which goes a bit against those preferences they also have.

They contain multitudes.

Despite all his insecurities, he really does think of himself as a true hero...

He looks at him with so much love.

I am going to walk i nto into into the sea

Kerubim immediately looks a bit put off by "Atcham's" behaviour.

THANK YOU SIPHO FOR THIS MEAL!!!!

The fact that they never elaborate on what Luis does is so funny because he's literally a house WHAT is he doing. And it makes me imagine things.

I'm insane... they share guard.

I imagine it goes in a "one of them sleeps for a certain amount of time while two of them are up" way. Imagine the midnight conversations.

Imagine Joris and Kerubim up together doing something. (They would probably talk a lot. They always have something to talk about.) Imagine Joris and Atcham up together doing something. (It's quiet, but they rely on each other completely. They may quietly begin playing tic-tac-toe, or arguing how to beat up whoever may break in.) Imagine Kerubim and Atcham up together doing something. (An argument happens, but it's friendly. They just keep roasting each other, like true haters.)

I'm still wondering what the fuck a dragon slime is, after all these years.

(totally not stealing this joke from @dullard) Joris coughs this up when he has a cold and every time Kerubim says "This stuff is expensive. We should—-" and Joris replies, "If you finish this sentence I am killing you."

Thank you for the meal, Sipho...

He's worried about his brother. I love them...

Still wearing the same goddamn armor he already died once in. AND he didn't fix the hole.

He's literally insane.

Cute Joris expression.

Guys I think Harebourg and Joris don't like each other.

Makes it kinda funny that in Waven quests, Harebourg seems Bonta-aligned. I guess warcrimes can be useful for building allegiances??

Writhing on the floor and growling and trying so hard..... Just to tell Harebourg to fuck off.

Hater to the bone.

This might be THE funniest Joris expression so far.

"USH TOO?!"

Thank you Ush and Sipho for feeding me. feeding me so so well.

[codenamesazanka]

Two things I'm noticing more with the series ending is that the heroes and series have these two very shitty ideas

1 "Actions have consequences but only if the person is labelled a villain,"

Endeavor as a public figure and major player law enforcement has engaged in a list of crimes including: Child neglect, mental & emotional abuse, physical abuse, quirk marriage. To the point his eldest had a mental break when his youngest was born because he was blatantly being replaced, his wife five years later has a mental breakdown and maims the youngest, eldest shortly after has another breakdown and 'dies'. Doesn't need consequences he just needs to give a half ass apology and barely improve over the buried bar he has set.

(from the team up mission side series) Man's quirk dispels a poisonous gas from his mouth, he is not allowed to use it ever as he isn't a hero. The gas builds up leading to a medical emergency, and is no longer able to hold it back. Despite him literally having a medical emergency and being unable to control it, tries to getaway from people. The heroes (Mirko, Deku, and Dynamight, maybe more) assume maliousness and go to attack him. Deku realizes and informs the others what is happening. And at the end Deku informs us, this man who was having a medical emergency from following the law, will get a light sentence.

The violent quirkists who attacked Spinner, Shoji, Himiko's parents, they totally don't need consequences, their victims need to be the ones to inspire them to stop. And if they can't well we can't be expected to hold these poor violent quirkists accountable for their actions

Etc

2 So long as there is one exception to shitty behaviour of heroes & society, nothing needs to be done

I haven't watched the third movie but I have a general idea. Rody has to care for his younger siblings after his dad is kidnapped, heroes, social services, etc do nothing to help this child who is caring for his siblings for years. Deku who isn't even from this country helps once, Heroes are perfect

Deku's a good hero so we don't need to worry about the commission having assassin's

Etc

I'm in a rush but I can probably think of more later

(That Team Up Mission chapter pissed me off so bad!!!! It qualifies as a medical emergency, doesn't it??? He has no control over the poisonous gas build-up in this body! And it destroys his body! But to release the gas is to use his quirk, so he can't, because quirk use is illegal and he'll be arrested as a Villain. Which happens anyways! And in the end, Deku says "when the full story of the day's events hits the news, there's sure to be a petition to lighten his sentence," and while that sounds hopeful, you realize that mercy for this guy is solely on if people know and can offer some sympathy. It's so fucked up.)

I'll also add Iida running off to be a vigilante and kinda ready to murder a guy... but because (he had friends who got there in time to stop the screw up from going FUBAR and) he's promising young student, he's let off the hook. (Meanwhile, Gentle, who tried to help save someone, does fuck up, and iirc is expelled and given criminal charges.)

I think in all the examples you've used, there's also a line between whether quirks were involved or not. Domestic violence, bullying, village blood cleansing (jfc) - No (or technically no) quirk use, so we don't really see those actions resulting in any legal consequences. Heroes' (and the story's) focus is on Villains, so it often feels like they're willing to ignore non-Villain crimes.

So long as there is one exception to shitty behaviour of heroes & society, nothing needs to be done

Oh yeah. This. I hate this.

Man I really hope the epilogue might address this. (said without hope)

Thank you for your observations and sharing them!

[brave-and-gentle]

Melting: Reader x Jean Fluff Part 6

Idk why I keep calling this fluff even though it has evolved far past fluff. BUT!! IT'S FINALLY DONE.

If this is your first time here, please check out Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 and Part 5.

If you prefer reading on Ao3, check it out here.

Also you're a lucky bastard if you prefer reading on Tumblr because I would never have published here if I had known it was going to be six fucking parts!! It was only supposed to be a one shot *wails*

Pairings: afab reader x Jean (this was previously femme reader x Jean, but we get into smutty afab territory here)

Summary: You and Jean just confessed your mutual feelings for each other, but you still have unfinished business.

Warnings: Alcohol?? AND SMUUUUT!! For those who do not enjoy smut, I have bolded the sentence where you should stop reading. There is literally no plot after that, it's just smut, mwahaha.

Word count: ~3.9K

Connie throws his hands up in victory as the ping pong ball bounces on the table and drops into the lone cup standing in front of you and Jean.

Connie and Sasha high-five each other, while you and Jean groan in defeat.

“I don’t understand,” you say and shake your head. “He’s literally wasted and we’re completely sober, how did we lose?”

“He gets better at beer pong as he gets drunker,” Jean explains as his deft fingers scoop out the ping pong ball from the cup.

He chucks it at Connie.

The ball ricochets off his stomach.

“OW!! Hey, don’t be a sore loser!” Connie yells back. Sasha sticks out her tongue in defiance. The chaotic pair smirks at each other.

“We get to pick your shots now,” Sasha sings to you and Jean. “That’s always the deal for the losers.” She emphasizes the word “losers.”

You and Jean follow Sasha and Connie to the kitchen, where they relentlessly argue about which shots would be the most distasteful.

“How worried should I be?” You whisper to Jean. He’s so tall that he leans down to hear you over all the noise – Eren keeps cranking up the music, Hitch tells Annie and Mikasa the story about how she got caught shoplifting in middle school, and Reiner, Marco, Armin and Bertholdt play a board game (Armin is kicking their asses).

“Very.” Jean smirks. “They always pick something foul.”

Sasha sets down a large bottle of Everclear on the island counter top in the kitchen.

“Bottoms up, kids.” She places two shot glasses on the table and pours, the contents sloshing over.

You take the shot glass in front of you and give Jean a skeptical look, which he returns with a half smile.

“Cheers,” he says and clinks his shot glass against yours.

You maintain eye contact, his earthy hazel eyes melting you.

Jean likes me.

Jean Kirstein likes me.

Alcohol rips through your throat like wildfire, ruining the moment.

“Connie!!” You cough and gag. “This is even worse than Reiner’s protein bar – what the hell?”

Jean rubs your shoulder and gives a small laugh. “Told you it’d it be foul,” he murmurs.

Connie shrugs. “Guess you shouldn’t lose next time.”

“Want a rematch?” Sasha bounces on her toes.

“You’re on.” You point at her, and then take Jean’s hand and walk back over to the beer pong table. He squeezes your hand. Your movements together are as natural as they were during your date at the ice sculptures.

After several rounds of beer pong, you’ve all lost count of who’s won and lost how many times. You’re not drunk enough to be hungover, but you’re drunk enough that the alcohol wraps you up like a heated burrito blanket.

Without telling anyone, you step outside onto the balcony. Your breath immediately turns to vapor, spiraling up into the starry night.

You take a deep breath, the cold air prickling your lungs, and smile to yourself. You lean forward over the railing to admire the sparkling Trost skyline.

“Mind if I join you?”

You jump, not having heard the sliding door open again. Jean pokes his head out.

“Please do,” you say and gesture to the space next to you.

“Crazy view Hitch has got.” Jean nods to the skyline and he steps next to you. He buries his hands in his pockets.

“That’s for sure. She definitely didn’t get here on an artist or writer budget.”

“Hmm, maybe we should be taking notes,” Jean chuckles.

“Then again,” you pause, “my entire mental health relies on words on paper and the little guys in my head.”

Jean tips his head back and guffaws. “I guess that means mine relies on mixing colors together like a five-year old at the craft station.”

The late winter wind rattles the bare tree branches. Anticipating a wind gust, you cross your arms and turn inward.

The wind slices right through your skin, shooting shivers down your body.

“Cold?” Jean takes a side step closer to you and throws a lanky arm around you. He pulls you closer, his body heat taking the edge off the bitter winter.

Maybe staying in Trost had been the right decision after all.

There’s only one thing you’re not quite sure about.

“Jean? Can I . . . ask you something?”

Since you’re huddled against his towering body, you can’t see his face, but you can feel him nod. “Sure,” he says, sending vibrations down to where you lean against his chest.

You tap your foot on the balcony, over and over again.

You remind yourself that no matter what happens, Jean likes you.

Jean Kirstein likes you. And he’s not into Mikasa, at least, not anymore.

“You and Mikasa. What exactly happened?”

Jean pauses for only a second, but it’s like five hours of agony.

Your head swirls, wondering how Mikasa could go from Jean to Eren in just a couple of days.

“Yeah, I s’pose I owe you an explanation.” He sighs and runs a hand through his lengthening hair before shoving it back into his pocket.

You wait.

And wait.

“You’ve got part of the story – we did go on a date last year. I thought it went really well.” You crane your neck up to see Jean biting his bottom lip. “But the next day, she called me and apologized – said she had a lot of fun, but wasn’t sure if she felt the same about me.”

“And – this was before she and Eren started dating?”

“It was, yeah. That’s the part of the story most everyone has wrong. I mean, it sucked, it hurt, but,” Jean sucks in a cold breath, “but I was glad she was honest with me. You know, I was actually the first person she told when Eren asked her out. Guess he heard from Marco about our date and freaked out enough to ask her out too – idiot.” Jean laughs, but it’s with fondness. “Anyways, she obviously said yes, but asked if I was comfortable with them being public about it since we had just gone on a date.”

“Really?” You raise your brows. That sounds more like the Mikasa you know – kind and considerate.

“Yeah, she didn’t want anyone to think she was two-timing me. But Marco was the only one that knew about our date, so I said go for it. People drew their own conclusions, but I was past caring about what other people thought.” He shrugs.

“So then what about when we ran into them at the ice sculptures? And at trivia that one time?” You press, knowing you won’t be satisfied until you know every crevice of this story.

“You know, it’s pretty cute that you notice little things about me.” Jean presses a kiss to your temple, and your face flushes in response. “Eren’s a little shit. He knows what riles me up, and one of those is flaunting Mikasa in front of me like she’s some trophy. It’s weird.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get them, but they seem to be happy.”

“And are you? Happy?”

Jean leans down and presses his forehead to yours. He brushes his lips against yours, a tender gesture.

“When you’re around? Incredibly.”

The kiss starts chaste, but Jean’s tongue lingers on your lips. You open your mouth, granting permission.

The wind picks up again, swirling your hair around until Jean grasps the back of your head with a firm grip. His warm mouth is a stark contrast to the blasting wind – it’s like icicles stabbing every inch of your body.

You and Jean hardly come up for air, tongues exploring with desperation.

Until he breaks away.

He gazes at you, eyes dilated with desire.

“I want you,” he whispers and traces a gentle finger up and down your cheek. “But maybe without the presence of Everclear. I want to feel every inch of you.”

You shiver, and it has nothing to do with the freezing temperatures.

“Tomorrow?” You ask, breathless.

Jean nods in agreement. “Actually, will you come by the studio tomorrow afternoon? I want to show you something first.”

“More secrets?”

“Something like that. Come around and find out. Ready to head back inside?” He winks.

“Sure – but only if we separate Connie from the Everclear.”

~ ~ ~

As you make a small pot of coffee in your kitchen the next morning, you notice something different. It’s not just the giddiness from your mutual confession with Jean last night – or the kissing.

It’s birds chirping outside the window, as if they’re here to tell you that spring is on its way. It’s the way you popped right out of bed instead of shivering in the covers.

It’s warmer today. Finally.

Warmer means about 30 degrees Fahrenheit, but that’s practically a heat wave compared to the last two months.

Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out only to find that you’ve fallen victim to Connie and Sasha’s phone breaking antics.

Your new lock screen is a photo of the inside of Connie’s nostrils, more than likely taken by Sasha.

You smirk and go to your messages.

It’s from Jean.

You up?

You breath a laugh and type out your response.

For real? Is that what we’re doing right now?

Not like that *insert eye rolling emojis here*

Just wanted to make sure you still want to come by the studio this afternoon.

For sure. Are we back to our Saturday coffee dates?

“How’s Jean boy the lover boy?” Sasha asks as she glides into the kitchen to make her usual Saturday morning pancakes.

“Good.” You can’t hide the giddy smile on your face as you wait for Jean’s response. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Bless you,” she groans and pours a steaming cup of coffee in a colossal-sized mug that looks more suitable as a bowl of soup.

Soon, I swear!! I need some studio time to get ready for you later.

. . . should I be worried? Does this involve nude modeling?

You flop on the couch and giggle at your sassy response.

You have no idea how tempting that is.

See you at 2 pm.

Heat flushes your face at the thought of Jean studying every inch of your body. What was it that he wanted you to see in the art studio?

“Get back over here and pick out your pancake toppings!” Sasha commands.

“Yes, Chef Sasha.” You obey and join your friend in what’s about to become an incredibly messy kitchen.

~ ~ ~

Your winter boots slosh through the melting snow on the way to the art studio. The sunshine toasts you enough that you had ditched the parka for a thick sweatshirt instead. Sunglasses were necessary with the sun’s rays bouncing off the snow and into your face, blinding you.

You reach the art studio and dash inside, wiping the slush mix off your boots.

“You made it!” Jean says your name from behind an easel and waves at you.

“Hey,” you breath and an uncontrollable smile spreads across your face. You walk up to Jean, but he steps in front of you before you can see what he’s working on.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts. “Can’t see yet.”

“Why not?” You place your hands on your hips.

“Because it’s a surprise.” Jean rocks back on his heels. “Um, if you’re okay with it that is.” Strawberry pink flushes his face, and he bites his bottom lip. “I have an idea for painting you. Are you – are you okay with that?”

“Oh!”

You’ve hardly given thought to the art fundraiser incident. Though it was only a few weeks, it seemed like a lifetime ago already.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can scrap this.” Jean moves to grab the canvas.

You stop him by grabbing his hands.

“No, I’d actually really like that.”

It’s the truth.

Jean’s hands relax, and he rubs a thumb over the top of your hand. “For real? You’re okay with that?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Just make sure I look good.”

“Impossible not to.” Jean lifts your hands to his lips and kisses them.

Your breath catches. You’re unused to this, open to his physical touch. But it’s a nice change.

“Take a seat on the chair.” Jean lets your hands go to gesture toward a high top stool in front of the easel.

“Do you I need to do anything in particular?” You drop your bag on the floor and hop on the stool.

“Nope, just be yourself.” Silence falls as Jean busies himself in his work, mixing paints and swirling his paint brush on the canvas. “Oh, we can talk if you want. We don’t have to be quiet in here.”

“Yeah? Anything you want to talk about?” You swing your feet around in front of the stool.

“Can I ask you a question this time?”

“Shoot.”

“What held you back before? From telling me that you liked me?” Jean’s eyes don’t move from the easel, but he swallows hard.

You nod slowly, wondering how much to share. Only Historia and Ymir knew how your one college relationship ended. You grip the sides of your seat.

But Jean had shared everything about Mikasa with you.

So you launch into the story, about how the one time you had opened up to someone and offered your heart, he rejected you.

“I didn’t want that to happen again,” you whisper after finishing your story.

Though it’s only late afternoon, a brilliant red sunset streaks across the sky in the windows behind Jean. Typical winter – the sun sets before you have much time to appreciate the day. Telling Jean your story look longer than you thought.

“It’s so unfair.” Jean frowns and shakes his head. “Not just for you, but everyone. You open up to someone honestly, and you can’t control they’ll respond. It sucks that it’s the only way to find out how they feel. But for the record,” he looks up from the canvas to meet your eyes and points his paint brush at you, “that guy sounds like an idiot.”

“He was,” you huff. “But I’m keeping better company now.”

A smile splits across Jean’s face. “I’ll say.” He puts his paintbrush down. “Alright, ready to see? It’s not quite finished yet, but this is where I’ll stop for today.”

“Sure.” Eager to see, you push yourself off the stool and walk over to Jean, who’s sporting a couple of blue splotches of paint on his face.

Once again, he steps in front of you. “How long are you going to keep me waiting?” You ask and raise a brow.

“I – um, just wanted to give a little background first.” He folds his hands together. “This winter has been really cold. Really, really cold.” His earthy hazel eyes dart around the room.

“Yes?” You respond, wondering where Jean is going with this.

“I hate the cold. Then I met you. And – the cold didn’t seem so bad anymore.”

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I see the painting?”

“Oh, yeah.” He steps aside and gestures for you to stand behind the easel with him.

You follow to see the painting.

Your heart softens.

Jean has painted you from that first night you hung out together – the ice sculptures.

You’re bundled up in your winter gear and are holding a mug with steaming contents in one hand. Your eyes sparkle, and a soft smile is spread across your face. Despite the cold, your face is blushing, the only warm color in the painting.

You’re about to ask why Jean didn’t paint himself with you, until your eyes dart to the lower right hand corner of the painting.

With your other mitten-covered hand, you hold someone else’s. The rest of his body is off canvas, but your center is turned toward where he would be. A random viewer wouldn’t know whose hand you’re holding.

“Jean.” You mouth gapes. “This is – this is beautiful.”

“You are.”

You turn to Jean, who isn’t paying any attention to his painting.

His eyes are on you.

He leans down to you, lifts your chin with two fingers, and kisses you.

“I’d like more ice sculpture nights with you. Though maybe we can do something a little warmer,” he says.

“Me too.” You sigh and melt into Jean, burying your face in his chest.

Perhaps winter wasn’t so bad after all.

“So.” Jean plants a kiss on your forehead. “How about that nude modeling? Is that offer still on the table?”

His bold request shoots ripples down your spine.

“Technically, I didn’t ever offer.” You step away from Jean, who holds a mischievous gaze with you. “But if I did,” you pause and place your finger on your chin in mock serious thought. “It’d be on the stool, not the table.”

“Say no more.” Jean winks and picks you up bridal style and carries you back over to the stool you were just sitting on.

You shriek and giggle as he sits down on the stool, and plops you on his lap. His legs stretch out far beyond the stool legs. You swivel around to straddle him, his length already pressing against his pants.

You press your forehead against his, thinking that you could drown in his hazel eyes forever. You trace a finger across his lips and his stubble, drawing out the moment.

But Jean is inpatient.

He surges forward to kiss you, tongue hungry for you. You respond with desperation, running your fingers through his silk-smooth hair, until you hit something crusty.

You break away and giggle at the sight. Jean somehow managed to get blue paint on the top of his head, but it was out of your line of sight before.

“Did you know you have paint in your hair?” You twirl his paint-crusted hair in your fingers.

Jean sighs, exasperated. “Occupational hazard.”

The paint on his face and hair doesn’t deter Jean at all. He pulls your face back to his, and snakes his hand up your shirt.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?” He asks while running a thumb just under your bra line, sending goosebumps across your chest.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe.

He grins like a devil pulls up on the hem of your shirt. You oblige, raising your arms up. Jean tosses your shirt across the studio.

Warmth pools in between your legs as Jean unclasps your bra, then switches back and forth between kissing your lips and your breasts. Your breath hitches as he gives your pert nipple a gentle bite.

He comes back to your lips and his fingers dance down, down, down. With one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants just enough for his fingers to glide over your slit, over and over again.

You release a breathy moan, desperate for more pressure on the most intimate part of your body.

“Already wet for me, darlin’?” He teases, voice deepening with desire. You gasp and smirk in return.

Nobody has ever called you “darlin’” before. You could listen to Jean calling you “darlin’” on repeat.

You buck your hips against Jean’s fingers and widen your legs in an attempt to increase the pressure you crave.

Jean slips the fabric of your panties to the side and gives you exactly that.

His dexterous fingers stroke and circle your clit. You mewl, urging him to continue.

Pleasure lights you up like a live wire. Every cell in your body vibrates.

Jean pauses for a moment to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Keep going,” you chastise.

“Yes ma’am.” He grins and continues his work.

Each wave intensifies, building off the other, until you crest the peak.

You moan and writhe, digging your nails into Jean’s back. He presses his forehead against yours, watching you with intent as you orgasm.

“Good girl,” Jean praises as you gasp for air.

He removes his fingers, and you wrap around him like koala and slacken against his chest. He holds you, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“You want to keep going?” Jean asks and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Excuse me a moment.” He lifts you up and places you on the stool while he runs over to his backpack. He ruffles through the contents and comes back over with a condom in hand. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” You stand up and grab him by the collar, bringing him down to your level so you can kiss him. He wraps one hand around your waist and with the other, squeezes your ass.

Your fingers dance over his belt, unbuckling and letting it drop and clink to the floor. You slip a hand in his boxers and stroke his hard length. Jean releases a deep moan in your ear, sending shivers down your spine once again.

You pump him over and over again, leaving him panting, desperate for more.

“I want you,” he groans.

“Then come and get me.” You smirk and take several steps back to lean against the wall.

Jean follows and plants his hands on the wall to frame your face. He towers over you, and you meet his challenging gaze. With one hand, he reaches in his back pocket to grab the condom. He brings it up to his mouth and tears it with his teeth, watching you the entire time.

“You want to do the honors?” He hands the half open wrapper to you.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” you purr and take the condom. With your other hand, you wrestle his boxers down, and they drop to his ankles. Jean takes his shirt off, throwing it across the studio to lie on top of yours. In awe, you run your free hand up and down his toned abdomen and chest.

Fuck me. Oh, yeah, you think, somehow almost forgetting what you were in the middle of.

You roll the condom on Jean, then give him a questioning glance.

He leans down, wraps his hands around your legs, and lifts you up against the wall. Your legs twist around him like second nature.

Jean lowers you on his tip with care. “That okay?” He asks, checking in.

“Mmmhmm,” you moan. “More.”

Jean obliges, lowering you all the way down on him. His dick pushes against your walls as you adjust to his length. You squeeze his bulging biceps and give a small gasp.

Jean’s strokes start soft and gentle.

“You feel so good,” he whispers your name.

He picks up the pace, faster and faster, until he’s slamming into you. He places one hand behind your head to keep you from hitting the wall too hard.

He’s holding me with one arm while fucking me against the wall, sweet Jesus.

That’s your last coherent thought.

Cascading waves of pleasure wash over you, especially as Jean’s body rubs against your swollen clit. He continues his relentless rhythm.

“I’m – I’m -” Jean doesn’t get the full sentence out before he gasps your name again. He holds you against the wall, dick spasming inside of you. You melt into each other.

He peppers your neck and your face with kisses as the two of you clutch each other.

“So,” he takes a deep breath, recovering. “You gonna write a poem about me now? It’s only fair.”

“Hmm.” Your fingers find his paint-crushed hair again. “You might just get lucky.”

He gives you a deep kiss. “I think I already did.”

[fan-goddess]

Ten Things I Hate About You - Inside alphabet

Link to the original alphabet

Link The Ten Things I Hate About You

Authors Note: I’ve referred to the reader as her to make it easier writing wise. Hopefully enjoy?!

Taglist: @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee @targaryenbarbie

Warnings: NSFW in places but mainly SFW

This was made by the wonderful @flowerandblood!

A = Anger (do they get mad and how they react to it)

She gets angry at Dibs whenever she does those unethical experiments on her. She also hates the other women when they gossip about her and treat her like a sort of victim. She tends to give cold shoulder and glares. She’s learnt from Ettore not to hide her anger and distaste.

Ettore hates everything with a pulse apart from reader. He has a tendency to either go to the box or if the anger is still there at night he just hate fucks reader till she’s begging him to slow down. (She never does.)

B = Behavior (tics, reflexes, things specific to them)

She tends to scrunch her nose in distaste at things she doesn’t like. She also when nervous fiddles with her hands, scratches herself badly, and even bites her lip so badly it can bleed. Ettores always there though to help her clean up though don’t worry.

He tends to follow her with his eyes if she’s not next to him in the room. Constantly watching her to make sure she’s safe whether she knows he’s following or not, including watching her shower from beyond the mist. He fiddles with her hair which was a very unexpected thing for her.

C = Crying (whether they cry & do what when someone else cries)

She cried at the start of the experiments as she realised she was never going back to earth and will die in space, where quite literally no one will hear her scream. She knows what to do when someone cries, aka comforting them and being there for them.

He cried once, if you could count a tear as crying. This was only as when he confessed finally to her and she said she liked him back. If someone else is crying he will not know what to do. She has never cried in front of him, but if she did he probably would kiss her to distract her from the sadness. Fuck the pain away and all that

D = Despair (who they seek help from first)

Each other as everyone hates them.

E = Enemy (who they hate or argue with most often)

Dibs and the women for the both of them, though Ettore does hold a deep hatred for Monte as he still has the doubts from when he thought Monte may have fucked his property.

F = Friends (do they have and who they consider friends)

Again, only each other. The women sort of turned on reader when she went against their help to get with Ettore, and everyone knows on Ettores past so hate him by default. I think the only neutral party is that other man I think is on the ship, but they would not call him a friend.

G = Gifts (whether they like gifts and give them themselves)

They have no real access to gifts, but doesn’t stop Ettore from teasing reader saying his cocks his gift to her. She rarely makes him little things from a kids craft box that he has under his mattress.

H = Hobby (what they do for pleasure in their free time)

They tease each other till they either are forced to fuck individually in the box or each other in a secluded area. Though reader is sometimes prone to making random shit in the creative box.

I = Idol (their role model)

They have none. There are none

J = Jokes (how they react to jokes and if they laugh)

She is a polite laugher with an awkward smile if anyone tried to make one with her.

Ettore dead stares till they go away. He will not smile nor laugh. He does not care about you, unless you’re reader. Only then will he smile out of respect.

K = Kids (do they want to have them)

She had wanted maybe one or two before the sentence, but after Dibs attempts at creating life she quickly hated the idea of giving the doctor what she wants.

Ettore loves the idea of claiming her by forcing her to get pregnant, but would definitely end up disliking the child and the responsibility. Maybe he’d like the kid when they get to the non-annoying years like teenager, but it’s a stretch. He would though be protective as fuck of it cause it’s a creation from both him and her. He’s obsessed with that concept

L = Love (anything to do with falling in love)

She never fell in love before Ettore. She’s had crushes and lovers and boyfriends and girlfriends but never loved them. It was never a deep connection and never lasted more than at least a year and a half. So when she fell for Ettore it was a very big thing for her.

He never felt love till her. She became the reason for living, and he may never be able to show it in the conventional way, but he shows it with every action he does for her.

M = Manners (how they behave in formal situations)

She knows the basics for what to do in certain situations. She knows to smile and to nod when talking and other stuff. Sometimes those manners go out the door when Ettores around.

He has no manners. He talks when he wants and fucks when he wants. He has no manners at all.

N = Nightmare (their worst nightmare)

Hers would be finally succumbing to Dibs wishes and losing her humanity.

Ettores would be if she died. He’d go batshit crazy and hurt everyone.

O = Origin (their childhood)

She was raised in a nice middle class home. A regular childhood with a nuclear family. She had a nice life till of course, she committed her crime. Went downhill from there really.

Ettore did not have a good childhood. Raised poor and treated like shit. Was not noticed until he forced people to notice him in any way he attempted. If anything, his life got better when he got caught for his crimes.

P = Proximity (what they are like when they are intimate)

Close as possibly. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist, bite marks littering anywhere they can bite. It’s absolutely disgusting yet it’s the most hottest thing they have had in their life.

Q = Quiz (whether they like to play and how)

Ettore and her would like to try primal play as both would enjoy the thrill of the hunt.

In everyday SFW context though she likes playing with those sliding puzzles when she gets bored, Ettore enjoys watching her nimble fingers move.

R = Routine (do they have a daily routine and what is it)

Sleep, eat, fuck, eat, repeat

S = Safety (whether and where they feel safe)

With each other. The actual realisation that each other feels like a home away from home is such a revelation for the two of them when they actual realise it. They get very protective if another person threatens one of them.

T = Touch (who they allow to touch and how)

Only each other. She enjoys the feeling of his surprisingly soft lips against her skin, aswell as the feeling of his hands particularly hitting hard against her skin. She is a masochist after all.

He allows only her, and all of her. He loves the feeling of her warmth against his usually cold skin. It’s addictive to him and he always wants more.

U = Unforgivable (things they would not forgive)

Betrayal. If either fucked another person it is over for them.

V = Vengeance (whether they are vengeful and how)

She is rarely vengeful, but when the women went against her cause she went against them for Ettore, she was not subtle in showing her anger.

He was very vengeful to Monte when he thought he’d fucked you. Glares and harsh shoves in the hallways whenever he could.

W = Warderobe (what they wear, what style they have)

She wears the everyday prison clothing and nothing else.

Ettore wears only underwear and his shorts. He loves wearing no shirt both as a way to show himself off and cause he doesn’t get cold.

Y = Yearning (whether they yearn and how they express it)

She sometimes find herself yearning for Ettores unusual comfort, as it’s the only kind she can get while on the ship.

Ettore yearns for her warmth. It makes him human and while he hates the idea of it he craves it more than anything.

Z = Zone (their comfort zone)

She doesn’t get uncomfortable much, inky really when the women after she fully gave herself to Ettore tried to interrogate her and made her feel like a victim, when she was in fact the most willing. It made her feel small and a victim, which she wasn’t.

Ettore hates confrontation in regard to his feelings. One of the main things he loved about reader was that she was willing to allow him time to think about his feelings and what he wanted.

[autisticlancemcclain]

I’ve really enjoyed your writing and I was curious to know if you ever experience writers block and how you try to drag yourself out of it? (I’m in need of advice)

thank you!! and i most definitely have omg. only rarely do i actually have, like, ideas for a fic. most of the time the hours are ticking past and i’m like FUCK i don’t have a goddamn thought pinging in my brain rn for tonight’s fic 😭😭 so i deal with writers block several times a week lol. i have a couple strategies for it.

1. this one is more of a future set up thing. over the weeks and months i’ve set up a saved folder where i use social media the most —inst*gram — and every time i see something that either reminds me of the blorbos or i think has story potential (which takes some time to start noticing, don’t worry if it’s slow at first, i used to add to the folder like once or twice a week and now it’s once or twice a day lol), i save it:

sometimes i send the post to a friend with a vague outline of what i’m doing, which looks something like this:

and screenshot that for later. this way i have this folder of ideas and one-offs to turn to when the well has run dry. it doesn’t always work, but it works enough that i think it’s worth the effort.

2. this one is less cool and suave, but when i don’t have any ideas, i try to just…write whatever. i don’t mean, like, write a random story, i just mean write random ass words and see what happens. i tend to work best with dialogue, so i’ll just type out a random sentence and see what happens, see what my brain does without me focusing on it. i’ll walk you through one of those now:

“Don’t.”

there’s a random starting word. just a single word. it could go literally anywhere, from humour to actiony order-barking, but i’m getting a bit of an angsty vibe to this, so i’m just going to pick a character — my beloved — who i’m very used to writing and can picture easily and add a dialogue tag.

“Don’t,” Lance warns.

okay! now we’re getting somewhere farther. now i try to ask myself one or two prodding questions: what does his voice sound like? can i hear him saying this in my head? who’s he saying it to? what emotion is he portraying? i don’t have to actually answer any of the questions, but now i’m thinking, baby steps, and i can get going easier, because i’m actually starting to hear this in my head:

“Don’t,” Lance warns, voice wobbling. “Don’t do this to me.”

from here i just see where i can go. one thing i have to remind myself is that no one is holding me to a standard but me. this can be two words or two hundred. a page or a novel. whatever i come up with. i’ll give it a fair chance, but if it doesn’t go anywhere, that’s okay, i’ll try again later. i try to just get into things and go. i’ll lean into what’s familiar to make things easier on myself:

“Don’t,” Lance warns, voice wobbling. “Don’t do this to me.”

Keith looks away. He has a hard enough time keeping steady with Lance normally, when he’s smiling, smirking, when he puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder and teases him about his hair.

But when he’s looking at Keith like Keith has a choice to make? And he’s making the wrong one?

It’s almost physical, the ache. The pain of knowing he’s hurting someone but doing it anyway.

“I have to,” Keith says quietly. He clutches the strap of the duffel bag hanging over his shoulder, picking uselessly at a loose thread. “I can’t stay here.”

“You can.” Lance’s voice is still weak, shaking, but there’s something steady to it, a resolution. He’s sure he’s right. “You always can. You’ve never had to run.”

Keith says nothing.

“Don’t run away from me, Keith.”

Lance never pleads. He’s too proud. Keith pretends he doesn’t hear the desperation in his voice, for both of their sakes.

“I’ll call,” Keith offers. He looks up as he says it, but he still doesn’t meet Lance’s eyes. He’s afraid to see the hurt that he knows is there, the disappointment. If he doesn’t look he can pretend it’s not.

“No, you won’t.”

He says it like it’s a surety. Space is vast, time expands, and Keith won’t call. Keith is running away, again.

Keith turns around and leaves without another word.

that took me about six minutes. took some thinking, here and there, but it was easier as i kept going. i stuck to what i’m good at, remembered i don’t need any context for this (it’s just an exercise!) and moved forward.

i hope this is helpful! feel free to dm me if you’re still stuck, i’m happy to bounce around ideas :))

[project-do-over]

Violet_M00n is available

Violet_M00n: Heyyy sorry for the delay! Got caught up with work stuff...

Bookwyrm1982: literally no time has passed.

Violet_M00n: Right. Right. Habit, I guess.

Violet_M00n: Anyway, what else did you want to know about the future?

Bookwyrm1982: Well you said you had AI, right?

Violet_M00n: Well... Yes and no. We have programs people *call* "AI", but they're really just advanced machine learning. They can't actually think or anything, but they can put together a surprisingly human sounding sentence, and draw things that could at first be mistaken for art.

Violet_M00n: But of course it's awful. The results are full of factual errors or have way, way too many fingers, companies are trying to use it to replace creatives, and it burns a ton of energy doing essential nothing of value.

Violet_M00n: So could you go on ChatGPT and talk to a convincing facsimile of a human but underneath it's just a more advanced version of Dr. SBAITSO.

Bookwyrm1982: that's a shame. But then again at least you don't have to worry about them taking over the world, right?

Violet_M00n: Luna, at this point I'd welcome our robot overlords. Better than the fucks we have running things these days.

Bookwyrm1982: Are things that bad?

Violet_M00n: *sighs* no, I suppose not. I still have a job, a family, I can exist in public without fearing persecution, and I'm mostly free to do as I please.

Violet_M00n: But trust me when I say the people who very much want to take that away have much more power than feels comfortable.

Bookwyrm1982: that sounds scary though.

Violet_M00n: More enraging than scary, really. Just so many people who can't or don't want to see things from anyone's point of view from their own.

Violet_M00n: Well, that, and capitalism.

Bookwyrm1982: I thought capitalism was good though?

Violet_M00n: *sigh* we have so much to learn.

Violet_M00n: Honestly though, and you should be able to find these online if not in the library, but read some Marx.

Violet_M00n: It may not resonate a lot yet, but it will.

Bookwyrm1982: I always thought that Communism was a good idea in theory but it needed a global revolution to actually work.

Violet_M00n: You may be on to something there. And someday, hopefully in our lifetime, we may get there. But it's a long, long road. Especially here in America, where it's been used as a boogeyman for like 80 years now.

Violet_M00n: (55 for you)

Bookwyrm1982: Wow, that's.... I'm not sure I want to grow up now.

Violet_M00n: Well maybe your timeline will invent actual time travel and you can keep that wish. Luna knows I wish I could.

Bookwyrm1982: so

Bookwyrm1982: um

Bookwyrm1982: Can we talk about something more fun? Like, what's something good in your time?

Violet_M00n: Well Magic the Gathering is still pretty good.

Bookwyrm1982: We're still playing? I kinda lost interest and stopped following it a year or two ago.

Violet_M00n: Oh yeah, we're still playing, and the game is... Well, it's way different from your time but also at its heart the same.

Violet_M00n: Like it's still Magic but also there's D&D and cowboys and Gandalf, for some reason. It's cool but it's also kinda scary how much they're pumping out.

Bookwyrm1982: Oh that sounds cool! Is it just D&D and LOTR?

Violet_M00n: They've done a ton of crossovers, they call them "Universes Beyond". They've done, let's see...

Violet_M00n: Dr. Who, Warhammer, Assassin's Creed, Final Fantasy, they're doing Marvel soon, Transformers (those are Hasbro though so they were among the first), The Walking Dead, Fortnite, Stranger Things (you... Don't know about those yet, don't worry), um, lots more stuff too that I'm forgetting, but those are mostly in like five or ten card bundles.

Violet_M00n: Unlike LotR which was a full set, with boosters and everything. And the best selling set of Magic in all time, unless Bloomburrow has passed that already.

Bookwyrm1982: Really cool! You'll have to send me some pictures sometime!

Violet_M00n: I'll be sure to downscale them appropriately this time!

Bookwyrm1982: What else do we like? Is Star Trek still running?

Violet_M00n: It had a long break there where it seemed we weren't going to get any more Star Trek.

Violet_M00n: But then JJ Abrams (a director/producer of some renown) made a Star Trek movie that was meh, but good enough to get people interest in the franchise again.

Violet_M00n: Soon after that Paramount spun up Star Trek Discovery, which had a rocky start but Grew The Beard soon enough for them to greenlight Star Trek Picard. Then Lower Decks, Strange New Worlds, Academy, and probably one or two others I'm forgetting (not to forget Short Treks and Very Short Treks).

Violet_M00n: Prodigy! I forgot Prodigy!

Bookwyrm1982: The online service?

Violet_M00n: No, Star Trek Prodigy. It's a CG animated series for kids made by Nickelodeon.

Bookwyrm1982: You're making that up.

Violet_M00n: I swear, it's true. Lower Decks is animated too, but 2D, and it's for adults and probably the best thing Star Trek has ever created. It's hilarious!

Violet_M00n: SNW follows Captain Pike on the 1701

Bookwyrm1982: And Discovery?

Violet_M00n: Complicated! It starts out pre-TOS but... Spoilers! And Picard is... Also here!

Bookwyrm1982: Is that about young Picard or something?

Violet_M00n: Old Picard, but close.

Bookwyrm1982: Hey my mom... our mom... just told me to get off the computer so

Bookwyrm1982: ttys!

Violet_M00n: See you in literally no time at all!

Bookwyrm1982 is away

[moonwritewastaken]

Tales of Christmas Day 10 - cc!Foolish x gn!reader

Genre - friends to lovers, Christmas!

Warnings - language

Word count - 1002

Tina is currently keeping you company in a Discord call that has been active for a couple of hours now. The two of you had been chatting about anything and everything, including your crush.

“I really think you should tell Foolish, y/n” Tina’s suggestion is easier said than done.

“I can’t, Tina. It would fuck everything up for the whole friend group” your sigh is loud and frustrated.

“It’ll be fine, it won’t fuck anything up” Tina’s words were comforting although you didn’t believe them.

The call falls into silence for a few minutes until Tina’s gasp rings out causing you to jump slightly.

“Are you okay?” Tina laughs at your worried tone before explaining.

“You should test him” this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Test him how? This isn’t an exam”

“We’re doing that Christmas sweater stream tomorrow, right?” Her question results in a quiet hum from you, urging her to continue.

“I’ll make sure you’re making one for Foolish and you make it bad on purpose” even after her explanation you still failed to see how this would prove anything.

“Okay but what is that supposed to do?” She scoffs slightly but explains again.

“If you make it absolutely awful and he still wears it happily then he definitely likes you” you were hesitant but agreed to appease Tina.

Arriving at Karl’s house the next day, you’re greeted enthusiastically by Tina. She opens the door and pulls you inside before she pulls you into a hug. She leads you to the rest of your friends where you all share greetings.

Getting started, a quick intro is done and Tina is successful at making Foolish the receiver for your sweater. Those participating sit around in a semicircle ready to design. You had no idea how to make it so bad he wouldn’t wanna wear it, but not bad enough that it was obvious what you’re intent was.

It takes a few minutes for you to think of a design but once you do, the rest flows pretty quickly. You finish around the same time as the others and take a look at your creation. Looking it over you’re convinced you achieved your goal but you show Tina regardless.

“Hey Tina, what do you think?” Only the two of you knew the ulterior meaning behind your question.

“It’s great” she laughs and nods her head, clearly impressed with your attempt.

You make sure to hide Foolish’s sweater while everyone else is giving their’s to their respective person. Eventually it comes to your turn and you can hear Tina giggling next to you, knowing what was coming.

“I just wanna preface this by saying that I’m not a very good artist” you tried but you couldn’t get through your sentence without laughing.

You hand the sweater to Foolish who was sitting two seats to your left. He grabs it from your hands tentatively, scared of what you had made considering the reactions from you and Tina. He flips it towards him while his eyes widen slightly.

“I love it, thank you” he was lying through his teeth, it couldn’t be more obvious.

The stream is quick to end after that and you hang out for a little more before deciding to join Tina at her house. Saying goodbye to your friends, you follow her out to your car since she’d ridden with another friend from the group.

“Well, do you believe me yet?” She’s looking at you while you mull over you’re answer.

“He didn’t say he hated it, but he’d never say that anyway. It literally didn’t prove anything” she sighs gently at your response.

The rest of the night was uneventful, but it was the next day that took you by surprise.

There were plans for the same group as yesterday to do another stream so you once again found yourself at Karl’s house. You facing away from the door chatting to Sylvee and Tina when Tina cut her sentence midway through. Shooting her a questioning look, she only points behind her in response. Turning quickly you see Foolish wearing the sweater you designed for him the day before.

You whip your head around again to face Tina in disbelief. She looks just as confused as you do this clearly wasn’t what she meant by ‘wears it happily’.

“You have to tell him now. What other reason would he wear the sweater for?” She spoke in a hushed whisper but you were still worried he’d hear.

Sylvee was looking between you and Tina with a confused look so Tina fills her in quickly.

“Oh my god, y/n. You have to tell him!” you roll your eyes out of instinct, but you were considering it since two of your best friends were pushing for it. They wouldn’t lie to you.

Sighing you reluctantly agree and make your way towards where he was sitting with Karl and Punz. You nod your head towards the door, gesturing for Foolish to follow you out the room and away from prying eyes.

“What’s up?” Unsurprisingly he’s confused at what you could possibly want to talk to him about. 

“Nice sweater” he laughs and thanks you while you gather the courage to confess. You clear your throat before speaking again. 

“I have something to tell you and I understand if you want me to leave after I ju-” he interrupts you, the confused look now replaced with a concerned one. 

“Woah, it’s okay. Why would I want you to leave?” you sigh deeply to try and calm your nerves. 

“I like you, Foolish” you’re not sure what to make of his initial reaction. His eyes widen slightly and his mouth parts, jaw dropping in surprise. Before you can stop, you find yourself spilling the plan concocted by Tina.

“Oh. That is- that’s interesting. Well, I really like you, y/n” your eyes that were avoiding his, are now quick to snap towards his. 

It was safe to say that Tina was right, telling him didn’t fuck anything up. 

[ink-flavored]

Incorrect Quotes Tag Game

Tagged by @liv-is!!

Rules: use this generator to make some incorrect quotes with your characters

Okay this was fun :3c I did the dynamics that best fit the generator's quotes, since not all my characters are easily memeable. This also got pretty long so go under the cut to see everything!

Pride & Justice

Pride: Justice likes to say, “You can be part of the problem or part of the solution,” but I happen to believe you can be both. Pride: I’m a reverse necromancer. Justice: Isn’t that just killing people? Pride: Ah, technically. Justice: I have a new hoodie. Pride: Wrong. Pride: We have a new hoodie. Pride: I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate—like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning. Justice: This is a lie. Justice: I'm literally dating him. This is a lie. Justice: HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS. Justice: *eating a cinnamon roll* Pride: Cannibalism. Justice: *confused chewing noises* Pride: Go big or go home! Justice: Please, for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. Go. Home. Pride: I'm going big! Pride: You are the love of my life, and I would do anything within reason to make you happy. Justice: I would be happy if you ate, stayed hydrated, and got a reasonable amount of sleep. Pride: I said within reason, Justice. How about I murder that guy? Justice: So murder is in reason, but proper self-care isn't? Pride: Well, duh. What kind of question is that?

Dragon Raising

Lenora: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry? Hayden: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition. Lenora: You believe me? Hayden: Lenora, you’re the last good person on this planet. I‘d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning. Hayden: You spent all our money on THIS?? Lenora, putting tiny raincoats on the dragonlings: They need it. Hayden: I’m so tired. Lenora: Did you get to bed late? Hayden: No. Lenora: Did you do something strenuous? Hayden: No. Lenora: Then why are you tired? Hayden: I’m alive. Lenora: Sounds exhausting. Lenora: I made this friendship bracelet for you. Hayden: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person. Lenora: You don’t have to wear— Hayden: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off. Hayden: We either die free, or die trying! Lenora: Are those the only choices?

Henry & Priscilla

Henry: *Answers phone.* Hello? Priscilla: It's Priscilla. Henry: What did she do this time? Priscilla: No, it's me, Henry. It's actually me. Henry: What did you do this time? Priscilla: Ask me anything. Go ahead, I'll give you a straight answer. Henry: Why are we so fucking awesome? Priscilla: That's the best fucking question anybody's ever asked. Henry: People always shoot down my ideas and I’m sick of it. Two sentences in and everyone’s always shouting, “What the fuck? That’s illegal!” and “You can’t do that!”. Like, c'mon, let me talk! Henry: Where are you going? Priscilla: To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I'll decide on the way. Priscilla: You know, I used to play back in my gory days. Henry: You mean glory days? Priscilla: Ah, that too. Priscilla: Who the fuck— Henry: Language! Priscilla: Whom the fuck— Henry: No. Priscilla: Don’t worry, I have a permit. Henry: ...This just says, “I can do what I want”.

The God-Dragon's Wife

Jao: Xinya, gather the others. We need to have another Yu-Qi-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-her-before-she-hurts-someone convention. Xinya: Is anyone going to tell me what's going on in here?! Jao: It's kind of complicated, but Yu-Qi— Xinya: Got it. Forget I asked. Jao: How has life been treating you lately? Xinya: Horribly. Yu-Qi: I am a responsible adult! Xinya: *raises brow* Yu-Qi: I am an adult. Jao, talking about Yu-Qi: Is this a friend of yours, Xinya? Xinya: Kind of? Not really. She's in my life and there's nothing I can do about it. Jao: I have a bad feeling about this... Yu-Qi: What do you mean? Jao: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble? Yu-Qi: No? Xinya: That actually explains so much.

Tagging: @sigridhawke @duelistkingdom @zonnemaagd @hallwriteblr @stuffaboutwriting and anyone else who feels like it!

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I am currently trying very very hard to be good and do my grad school work diligently. But then you posted and my willpower disintegrated.

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Rhys didn’t knock, he never did. Privacy hadn’t been much of a concept when they were young.

I love these little behaviors they keep and how... lived in? it makes them and the world feel. They've adapted to each new cultural norm to some extent, but some things from how they grew up stay with them. And there's also something about Rhys having this little quirk and Arthur remembering why he does that feels... I think intimate is the word I want? There are literally a handful of people on earth who'd even remember the era Rhys grew up in, and even fewer who went through it with him and would be able to connect those norms to his present behavior. IDK - point being I liked those lines a lot.

The world had long been spinning with Alfred as the axis, but a glance left, beyond him to Matthew and she let decades collapse and he suddenly had both of them in arm.

He squeezes them. Jack is so tall, warm and bundled into a sweater and unusually solemn. He’s too bloody big to hold properly but Arthur tries anyway, suddenly desperate for the certainty of the physical. But Zee he could still hold, if only barely. It was awkward, how long he held on. He didn’t want to let go. Three children in his sight, two in his arms. Three. That'd been normal once. No longer. Zee hugged him harder than she normally did, usually giving one quick and then slipping away. She knew what was in that box.

I can't quite wrap my head around what I want to say about this scene, but I will attempt.

The world's been spinning around Alfred because of actual geopolitical stuff. The British Empire collapsed and America became the center of the Anglophone world. That's a level that they as personifications operate on - politics does inform who they have relationships with and how those work. Jack and Zee aren't just more distant with Arthur and Matt because of all the messed up interpersonal stuff, but because politically Alfred is more relevant to their lives.

But that level isn't actually relevant here - whatever's going on with Alfred, it's not changing the way the world works. So this thing where they're reverting back to how it was as kids, with Arthur being dad and being able to hug them, that's purely on the emotional side. They're upset about Alfred going missing and they're falling back to the earlier dynamic, not because they've gone back to the geopolitical reality that created it, but purely because of emotions.

It's... I highly doubt I've managed to get a point across here, but it's a lot. Something about them being people with free will and individual emotions independent of what they represent, and also them being people who worry about each other and fall into old patterns when they're stressed even though the origins are fucked up and they're all fucked up too.

He jolted, seeing his second son, tall and sharp where his mother had been— His fist went down by his side. “There was some evidence—” He couldn’t quite say it.

Arthur is NOT having a good time lately. First they dig his corpse from the axe incident up, then mom appears when he's not ready for her, then it turns out Alfred's missing. And it's all connected. No wonder he's drinking so much, it's like someone sat down with the intention of crafting a scenario that would cause him as much emotional distress as possible. (Not that I'm accusing you or anything... XD) Also, I'M SO EXCITED THAT I CALLED THE AXE! I realized as I was reading that the title was definitely a clue, but whatever, I'm giving myself credit. I CALLED IT! And now I am bouncing off the walls waiting to figure out how Alfred's going to be relevant to this incredibly traumatic event in his father's history.

“He finally let them open up the back garden for a testpit hoping they’d find some old knickknacks and they found two corpses. And one’s him.” Rhys said.

Love that Arthur let the archaeologists in because he was hoping they'd do all the work to find some of his old stuff

Also love Rhys just casually explaining that this dig found two corpses and one belongs to the guy standing right there. I know their lives are weird, but that one's so weird that the casualness tips into absurdity.

Zee said more, arching her hand over his spine. He couldn't hear her words but he remembered that blow.

The description is, as ever, absolutely fantastic. I could really feel Arthur's stress and how he was getting lost in the trauma in that moment.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Arthur’s head turned sharply. Matthew was suddenly there, from nowehere. At his sister’s elbow, opposite Rhys. He’d put himself where he always been once upon a time. Between his father and his siblings. Mortar between the bricks.

Again, just... them reverting back to these dynamics is killing me. It wasn't a good thing that their "family" existed, and it sure as hell wasn't healthy (probably still isn't), but there's something about the way the world got knocked off its axis and they all fell back into it. In some ways it's sweet (because there is genuine, if very complex and uncomfortable affection) and in other ways it's unnerving because it's caused by Alfred's disappearance. They're all working together, in this fucked-up-but-very-effective unit, but there's also the constant reminder that it doesn't (shouldn't) work like this anymore and they're doing this because something's gone very wrong.

His hand went to his back and he conceded to gravity, falling into a chair. “I’ve dug up the back garden at thousand times since ten-eighty-something. My corpse hasn’t been rotting under the bloody tudor rose for a thousand years. Your brother slid out of reality and whatever that is,” He pointed to the bones. “Slid into it.”

I am absolutely hooked on this story for so many reasons. I want to know why they got swapped, I want to know why there was some kind of time delay where the bones arrived before Alfred got yeeted, I want to know how Alfred connects to that very specific trauma of Arthur's, and I am so fucking excited to see all of it play out with the Anglos trying to deal with not only an emotional situation, but an emotional situation where Arthur is one of the most affected. (And I'm desperately curious to know how Alfred fared after attempting to trade a NASA patch for a ride to the Ren fair... to a bunch of actual medieval warriors.)

This is fic is absolutely amazing and I am so glad you're continuing it, I love it so much!

THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭 new chapter soon I always feel rotten for answering late without having another one but 💚💚💚 thank you.

[candleshopmenace]

that saved a wretch like me.

SUMMARY

Carefully, Hizashi says, “I don’t think that anybody deserves to be hit, Bakugou.”

Bakugou stares at him with the unflinching gaze of someone who believes that what they’re about to say is the absolute truth. “I do,” he says, then cants his head, considering. “Sometimes.”

Holy shit, Hizashi thinks, equal parts horrified and bemused, this kid is going to be the death of me.

—

After spending a day with six-year-old Bakugou Katsuki, Hizashi is pretty sure that he wants to kick the kid’s parents off the roof.

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[ao3 link]

[discord server]

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“I’m bored.”

Hizashi glances back at Bakugou, smiling when he sees the kid perched on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs back and forth. “Why don’t you draw or something?” he offers, flicking his pen at the sketchbook and pack of crayons sitting beside Bakugou. “You like to draw, right?”

Quickly, Bakugou says, “No.” But his fingers twitch, like they’re itching to do the very thing that he just claimed not to like. “Not really.”

“Really?” Hizashi puts his pen behind his ear and turns to face Bakugou, leaning forward with his forearms braced on his knees. “You liked it yesterday.” He has no idea how it works, but today’s Bakugou apparently remembered everything that had happened in the past two days, but without the gaps that a year’s distance would’ve had. So yesterday, even though he aged a year between it and this morning, actually seemed like yesterday in his mind. It's fucking weird, but it makes things easier, so. “Like, literally. Those were your exact words. You said, I like to draw.”

“Well, I don’t like it anymore.” Bakugou shifts, crossing his legs beneath him, absently smoothing out a wrinkle in the blanket thrown over the messily-made bed. 

“Oh, really,” Hizashi says. “What kinds of things do you like to do, then?” When Bakugou just stares at him, silent as a grave, he sighs and says, “That wasn’t a trick question, kiddo.”

“I don’t like anything.”

Hizashi snorts, disbelieving, and sits back in his chair. “Oh, c’mon,” he says, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious. Everybody likes something.” 

“I don’t like anything,” Bakugou says, steely-eyed and insistent. He sounds upset, now, his fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt and his expression tight with what looks like a mixture of worry and anger. “Really.”

“Alright,” Hizashi says, holding his hands up in surrender. “You don’t like anything. I get it.” He props his elbow on an armrest and leans his cheek against his palm, watching Bakugou. Then, trying a different angle, he asks, “Why don’t you like anything?”

Bakugou’s shoulders relax, just a bit. He stops mauling his shirt with his nails and drops his hands into his lap, and, when he speaks, his voice has gone back to its normal, even-toned cadence. Simply, he says, “Because then you can’t take anything I like away from me.”

… Fuck. 

Hizashi doesn’t really know what he’d been expecting the kid to say, but it wasn’t that.

“That’s -” he starts, then cuts himself off, wondering where he’d been going with that sentence. How does one respond to something like that? “Why would I take anything away from you?”

Bakugou shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Hizashi rubs at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Bakugou,” he says. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m always doing something wrong.” Bakugou moves again, this time kicking his legs back out and hanging them over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t swing them, though, just stays still as he says, very matter-of-factly, “I mess things up. And I break things.” He pauses for a moment, then heaves a sigh. “I’m a bad kid.”

“Christ Almighty,” Hizashi mutters, feeling very, very tired. Then, looking at Bakugou, he says, “You’re not a bad kid. Just -” He stops, glancing at the paperwork stacked on his desk. The battle from yesterday left him saddled with a bunch of accident reports that he really doesn’t feel like filling out, mostly because they’re tedious and repetitive and he hates them from the very depths of his soul. But he still has to do them, unless he wants to get an earful from Nedzu. The principal’s soft spot for Shouta - which Shouta claimed didn’t exist but was glaringly obvious to all of his co-workers, Hizashi included - didn’t tend to carry over to him, even though he and Shouta were practically a package deal by now. “Just give me a few minutes, then I’ll take you to the park or something, alright?”

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Hizashi turns back to his paperwork, trying to ignore the way that Bakugou’s words echo through his head.

Hizashi finally finishes his work and stands up, planning to get Bakugou one of Eri’s jackets to wear for the trip to the playground. “Alright,” he starts, then pauses as a flurry of motion catches his eye. When he looks over, he sees that Bakugou is staring at him with wide eyes, his sketchbook shoved behind his back in what is quite literally the most obvious way possible. “Are you okay?” Hizashi notices the crayons lined up neatly on the bed and smiles as he asks, “Were you drawing?”

Bakugou gives a short, sharp nod, expression tense.

“That’s nice,” Hizashi says. Feeling Bakugou’s eyes on him as he opens the closet door and starts sifting through the clothes hung up inside, he asks, “May I see?” The question is almost automatic, an instinct borne from taking care of Eri - she loved to show people the things that she made, but would never do it unless they directly asked her to. Then, realizing that it's not Eri he’s talking to, Hizashi adds, “If you want to, of course.”

“Okay,” comes Bakugou’s quiet response.

Hizashi drapes a few jackets over his arm and turns back around, looking at the drawing that Bakugou is now showing him. It's a picture of a bright orange cat, lines thick and shaky with black crayon, and Hizashi finds himself grinning as he lays the clothes out on the bed. “That looks really cool, Bakugou!”

To his surprise, Bakugou frowns, flipping the sketchbook closed. He’s holding onto it so tightly that his nails dig into the cover. “Thanks,” he mumbles, sounding unsure.

Hizashi watches as Bakugou starts to put his crayons back in their box. “We should get you a pencil case,” he says, thinking out loud. “Or maybe -”

“No,” Bakugou says, glancing over at him. “You don’t have to.”

But I want to, Hizashi almost says, catching himself at the last second. Such a response would probably just make the kid upset. So, instead, he asks, “Why not?”

“Because you don’t have to,” Bakugou says, repeating his earlier reason. 

“But wouldn’t it make you happy?”

“Yeah, but -” Bakugou huffs and goes back to arranging his crayons. It's one of those twenty packs, probably borrowed from a classmate, and Hizashi watches with raised eyebrows as organizes them by color and shade. “It's not your job to make me happy.”

“That’s true,” Hizashi says, keeping his voice carefully neutral, “but I still want you to be happy.”

Bakugou is silent for a moment, busying himself by stacking his crayons on top of his sketchbook beside him, and then he turns to face Hizashi. In a very serious tone that doesn’t at all match his young voice, he asks, “Why?”

Well, that’s an easy enough question.

“Because I care about you.”

“Why?” Bakugou repeats, eyebrows furrowing. “You barely even know me.” Without waiting for an answer - or purposefully avoiding receiving one - he leans forward, frowning at the jackets that Hizashi has laid out. “I have to wear a coat?”

“It's pretty cold out, Bakugou,” Hizashi points out. “These are my daughter’s, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you borrowing one.” He picks up a dark blue hoodie with white paw prints on the front and cat ears on the hood - he’s pretty sure that it’d been gifted to Eri by Thirteen, since they were pretty much the only person out of all of them who knew how to properly shop for childrens’ clothing. “How about this? You like cats, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bakugou says, albeit a bit reluctantly, like he doesn’t understand why Hizashi won’t let him go out into the cold weather without a jacket.

“Great!” Hizashi says, handing over the hoodie and watching as Bakugou pulls it on over his head, then grabbing his wallet and his keys and putting on his shoes. He makes a mental note to ask Shouta to drop by a store and get some clothes for Bakugou - though he knows that she’d help out at a moment’s notice, he doesn’t want to tax Yaoyorozu any further. She’s still just a kid. “You ready to go, Bakugou?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou says. “Sure.” He slides off of the bed and pads over, shoving his feet into his sneakers and tying the laces into large, clumsy bows. Hizashi has the fleeting thought that they’ll be easy to trip over if they come unknotted. “Let’s go.”

Bakugou leads the way once they make it to Ground Beta, walking ahead of Hizashi like he actually knows where the Hell they’re going. Hizashi trails behind him, watching him with narrowed eyes. He’s well aware that two years can change a lot, can reshape a person completely, but a little kid? What the Hell happened? This Bakugou is nothing like the Bakugou that clambered over Hizashi’s lap on that first night and asked Shouta to come back soon. 

“Hey, Bakugou,” he starts, trying to keep his voice light and casual, like he’s just trying to make conversation. A conversation that will eventually lead to him hopefully being able to ask the questions he wants to without raising suspicion. Right. Already knowing damn well that Bakugou is an only child, he asks, “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” Bakugou says. “It's just me.”

“Really? Well, I bet you’ve got a lot of friends, right?”

“I guess?” Bakugou glances over his shoulder at Hizashi, frowning. “Why?”

Hizashi shrugs, nonchalant. “Just wondering.” They walk in silence for a moment, and then he asks, “So, how do you spend your free time?”

“I like to read.” Bakugou cringes a little as soon as the words leave his mouth, his pace increasing just a bit like he’s trying to subtly run away. “I -” The look he shoots at Hizashi this time is wide-eyed and wary. “I ride my bike. I go on adventures.”

“Adventures?” Hizashi echoes, genuinely confused. “What kind of adventures?”

Bakugou doesn’t relax completely, but at least it no longer looks like he’s about to pull a muscle with how tense his shoulders are. “In the forest. With my friends.”

Hizashi raises an eyebrow. “You play in the forest?” Then, before he can think about what he’s saying, “Don’t your parents worry about you?” And, shit. He hadn’t meant to bring up the kid’s parents so soon.

To his relief, Bakugou doesn’t get upset. He just asks, sounding puzzled beyond belief, “Why would they worry about me?”

Because that’s what parents are supposed to do, Hizashi nearly says, but bites his tongue just in time. “Why wouldn’t they worry about you?”

“Because I’m not a baby,” Bakugou says. “They don’t have to worry about me.” He glances once more at Hizashi and says, aiming the words like a dagger, “You don’t have to worry about me, either.”

Well. It seems that Hizashi was wrong about the part where he thought that Bakugou wasn’t upset. “Look, kid,” he tries, but everything he says only seems to agitate Bakugou further, and so in the end he just shuts his mouth.

For about a minute or two, nobody speaks. And then Bakugou snaps, “Will you stop following me?”

“I can’t do that,” Hizashi says. “You’ll get lost.”

“Bullshit.”

“This place is pretty big, Bakugou. Even I get confused sometimes, and I’ve been going here since I was fifteen. I assure you, you will get lost if I let you wander around by yourself.” He looks around to orient himself. He only knows that there’s a park in Ground Beta because of the fact that he got knocked out once by being chucked head-first into a jungle gym in his second year. There are probably several parks, actually, but it's nostalgic to go to the place he once got a severe concussion from. Cherished memories and all that nonsense. Also because he has no idea where to find the other parks because Ground Beta is so ridiculously huge. “Let’s go left at this corner, okay?”

“Fine.” Ground Beta is meant to resemble an actual city, which means that there are cars lining the streets, traffic lights that take way too long to turn green, and a truly unholy amount of cracks and breaks in the pavement. It's the first thing on the list that seems to catch Bakugou’s attention the most, though, and as they walk down the sidewalk, he points at a glaringly orange truck parked against the curb and asks, “Does that thing actually work?”

“Yep,” Hizashi says. He knows from personal experience that the keys for all the cars are left in the driver’s seat. It was a truly horrible idea to give kids access to fast vehicles when they were already armed to the teeth with whatever bullshit their Quirk was capable of doing, but, hey. That’s just his opinion.

“I can’t wait to go to school here,” Bakugou says, voice suddenly bright with what can only be awe. “It's going to be so cool.”

“You want to be a hero?” Hizashi asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna be the best. Y’know, like All Might!” Before Hizashi can respond, the kid wrinkles his nose, grimacing as if deeply offended by something. “You know what that boy you left me with yesterday said? He said that he doesn’t even like All Might! Isn’t that crazy? Everybody likes All Might!” He pauses, considering, then amends, “Well, except for villains.” He looks up at Hizashi. “You like All Might, right?”

With the way he’s looking at him, there can only be one correct answer. “Yeah,” Hizashi says. “He’s pretty cool.” The grin that Bakugou gives him in response makes him feel like he’s just aced a very important exam, and he laughs, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You’re going to be a great hero.”

Bakugou’s eyes go wide. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Hizashi says, smiling down at him, glad that he can grant Bakugou at least this small moment of peace. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, but he wants to stretch it out for as long as possible. “You’re so brave and strong and smart. I can’t wait to be your teacher when you get older.” The park comes into view up ahead, and he starts, “Look -” before cutting himself off when Bakugou suddenly plows into him, wrapping his arms around Hizashi’s waist and squeezing so tight that he feels like he’s being attacked by a giant python. He stumbles a bit, then steadies himself, blinking down at Bakugou. “What’s up, kiddo?”

Bakugou’s voice is muffled when he says, “Thank you.”

Hizashi takes a deep breath, blows it out. “Yeah,” he says. “No problem.”

Half of Hizashi’s attention is on Bakugou, who insists on climbing as high as he possibly can on the terrifyingly tall jungle gym, and the other half is on the conversation he’s having with Shouta, who has somehow been roped into accompanying about half of 1-A - as well as Eri - to the mall. Not that Hizashi’s surprised about that - if Nedzu’s soft spot is for Shouta, then Shouta’s soft spot is for his students.

Hizashi asks, “How’s it going over there?” and watches as Bakugou, having successfully given Hizashi five heart attacks in as many minutes, drops down and runs to the massive slide set that takes up half of the playground. 

“Well, nobody’s died,” Shouta says. In the background of the call, Hizashi can hear the chatter of too many people talking at once. If he had to guess, Shouta and his students are in the food court. “At least, not yet.”

“Not yet,” Hizashi echoes. “That’s reassuring.”

Shouta laughs, then asks, “What about you? How’s the kid doing?”

Hizashi hesitates, trying to figure out how to respond to that. Bakugou has been well-behaved - at least, by normal standards - but he’s also said some pretty concerning stuff, which is… well. Finally, Hizashi says, “He’s very different.”

Some of the humor fades from Shouta’s voice. “What does that mean?” he asks, sounding wary, and also like he already has a good idea of what the answer is going to be. 

Hizashi tracks Bakugou’s movements, watching as the kid switches from one activity to the next, looking for all the world like he’s racing to get a chance to try everything before time runs out. “He’s a lot less open about the things he likes,” he says. “You know that first night, how he was basically fanboying over you? Like, openly? He’s more closed-off, and I don’t…” He falters, frowning deeply. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

Shouta makes a thoughtful hmm-ing noise, and Hizashi can picture the way his eyebrows are furrowing, the look of concentration on his face that shows up whenever he’s presented with a particularly difficult puzzle. “I don’t think that you can really do anything about it, because that sounds like the kind of thing that builds up over years. It can’t be reversed in just a few days.” He sighs. “Just keep things calm, I guess. Don’t give him a reason to get upset.”

“I’m trying,” Hizashi says, feeling completely helpless. He has more experience with kids than Shouta does, sure, but it's not like he spends prolonged periods of time with any of them - besides Eri, of course, and she could hardly serve as an example of a stable child - so he has no idea of what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. “But I don’t know what’ll set him off!” He realizes that his voice is getting steadily louder and rushes to lower it, hissing into the phone, “He won’t even tell me what he likes!”

“Well, he likes to draw, right?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, but he said that he doesn’t!” Hizashi drags his hand down his face, exasperated and frustrated and worried, all at the same time. “He won’t tell me anything, Shouta.”

Shouta hums again, then says, “He’s probably afraid that it’ll get taken away.”

Hizashi blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s exactly what he said.”

“Oh.” Shouta makes a tsking sound under his breath. “Was hoping that I was wrong about that.” His voice gets muffled, like he’s covering up the microphone and talking to someone outside of the call, and then says, clearer, “Todoroki wants to know if Bakugou needs anything. Like, toys or clothes or books. Stuff like that.” Quieter, he says, “I’m pretty sure he feels bad about that burn that Bakugou got yesterday.”

Hizashi winces. “Ah, yeah,” he says, thinking of the faint scar on the side of Bakugou’s hand - the injury had the faded look of something that had been healing for a while, which Hizashi had thankfully managed to pass off as them taking him to see Recovery Girl during the night - and then of how pissed Shouta had been at him for leaving Bakugou in the care of Todoroki. Which, admittedly, was a pretty bad idea on his part. “You know, neither of them told me how that happened.”

“Nothing surprising about that,” Shouta says. “It's not like either of them is the type to talk for the Hell of it, and Bakugou’s gotten quieter than he was a couple nights ago.” He pauses like he’s thinking about something, and then asks, “So, does he need anything?”

“Hm.” Hizashi tilts his head, mulling the question over, then snaps his fingers as he remembers the conversation he had earlier with Bakugou. “Oh, yeah! I was thinking that we should get him a pencil case! Y’know, for his crayons and stuff.” He pauses, considering. “Maybe we should get him some colored pencils, too. And paint.” He looks at Bakugou, who seems to have gotten tired of the slides and is now clambering once again to the top of the jungle gym, and his eyes catch on the kid’s jacket. “And maybe some more clothes, y’know? I know that Yaoyorozu offered to make him an outfit for each day, but I don’t want to make her feel like she has to do that. Plus, he needs some more jackets. Or sweaters. He’s borrowing one of Eri’s right now, but he’s going to get older, so he’ll probably outgrow her clothes pretty soon, and, anyways, I think it’d be better to give him a choice of what he wants to wear. It's important to feel like you have control over something.”

There’s a pause - in which Shouta is most likely trying to process everything that Hizashi just said - and then Shouta asks, “Is that all?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Then, remembering the thought he’d had about Bakugou’s shoelaces, he says, “Oh, and new sneakers. With Velcro.” In a way that’s almost incredulous, Shouta asks, “He can’t tie his shoes?”

“He can tie them, but not very well.” Then, jumping to Bakugou’s defense, “Which isn’t that weird, actually - I didn’t learn how to tie my shoes until I was, like, ten. It requires a lot of fine motor skills, which I absolutely did not have, so.” He shrugs, then remembers that Shouta can’t see him. “He can’t be perfect at everything, Shouta.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shouta says, then sighs. “I was just surprised. Anyways -” and he clears his throat, a transparent attempt at changing the subject “- what kind of pencil case?”

“There’s a hero merch shop at the mall, right?”

“Yeah. Why?” “Well, he likes All Might. Like, a lot. He went on this whole rant about how Todoroki said that he didn’t like All Might.” He sneaks a glance at Bakugou, then waves when he sees the kid look at him. “It was so cute.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him. I’ll check it out. So -” He pauses, then sighs. “The kids want to go to the arcade. I’ll see about getting him the stuff you said, then call you back. Love you.”

“Love you, too!” Hizashi says, then ends the call and checks the time. “Hey, Bakugou!” he calls out. “Let’s go get some lunch!”

Bakugou’s head pokes out from the opening of a brightly-colored slide - he’d been trying to climb up it, apparently - and he says, “I’m not hungry!” before disappearing back inside. 

“Are you sure?” Hizashi asks, watching the kid pull himself out of the top of the slide on his hands and knees, scramble to his feet, and rush across the playset to the other slide. “I can get Lunch Rush to make you literally anything you want.”

“I’m not hungry!” Bakugou repeats, glancing back at Hizashi before going down the slide. He comes to a stop at the bottom of it and stands, padding over towards Hizashi, sitting down beside him on the bench. “Can Lunch Rush really make anything I want?”

“Definitely! He’s a really good cook.” Hizashi grins at Bakugou. “Can you think of anything you’d like to eat?”

“Hm.” Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, and then he sighs, shaking his head. “Not really.” He shrugs and starts kicking his legs back and forth. “I’m not that hungry.”

Hizashi thinks it over, then says, “Well, okay.” Then, as a compromise, “But I still want you to eat something, alright? What kinds of snacks do you like?”

Bakugou blinks up at him. “Snacks?”

“Yeah, snacks. Chips? Fruit?”

Bakugou tilts his head, frowning at some unseen point in the distance. Finally, hesitantly, he says, “I like apples?”

You don’t sound very sure about that, is the automatic response, and it's totally what he’d say if he were talking to someone like Shouta. But, since he’s not talking to Shouta - and is instead talking to his miniaturized student - he says, “Great! My daughter loves apples, so we have plenty back at the dorm.” He stands and holds out his hand, grinning. “Let’s go!”

Bakugou stares up at him for a long, long moment, then reaches out and takes his hand.

Hizashi hums under his breath as he chops the apple into eighths, carving out the seeds with a quick flick of the knife. He scores the tops of the slices into a V shape, then wedges the blade underneath the skin to start peeling it away. Eri liked apples in general, but she loved bunny apples the most, so the process of making them is almost automatic by now. He glances over at where Bakugou is sitting in the doorway of the kitchen and asks, “Do you want anything with these? Caramel? Peanut butter?” To his surprise, Bakugou just shakes his head and wrinkles his nose at both suggestions. “I hate peanut butter,” he says, not looking up from where he’s collecting all the money from one of the many farming games that Eri downloaded to Hizashi’s phone without his knowledge. 

Hizashi raises an eyebrow, remembering Bakugou’s student file - according to it, the kid had no allergies. “You’re the first kid I’ve met that has ever said that.”

“Hm.” There’s the sound of coins hitting the ground as he swipes his finger across Hizashi’s screen. “It's bad for you.”

“No?” The word comes out like a question. “I mean, it's not as healthy as, like, vegetables, but it's not bad for you.” He puts the apples on one of Eri’s plates - nonbreakable, decorated with pawprints - and, because Bakugou doesn’t seem to be very inclined to move, sets it down on the floor beside the kid. “It has a lot of protein.”

And now Bakugou looks up from the game, frowning at Hizashi in a way that’s thankfully more bewildered than upset. “And a lot of fat,” he says. “There’s, like, a hundred calories per tablespoon.” He glances back down at the game and grins. “Holy shit, you have chickens!”

Hizashi blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “I have chickens.” And then he shakes his head, jolting himself back to the more important topic of this conversation. “How do you know all that stuff about calories, Bakugou? You’re too young to be worrying about stuff like that.” Then, trying to make his admonition into a joke, “You should leave that kind of thing to old people like me.”

Bakugou gives a noncommittal hum, absently biting down on an apple slice. He chews and swallows, expertly maneuvering around the game with his free hand, buying plots of land and building structures on them. “It's important to eat properly,” he says. “I don’t wanna screw up my chances at becoming a hero.” 

“Bakugou, I promise you that eating peanut butter will not mess up your chances of being a hero.” Hizashi puts the cutting board and knife in the sink and rinses them off, glancing over his shoulder at Bakugou, his attention drawn to the cash register sound that the game is making. “Hey, how many of those coins are you spending?”

Bakugou grins down at the screen as he says, “All of them.” “Hey!”

“Don’t worry,” Bakugou says, waving him off. “You get, like, a billion every hour. You’ll be fine.” And then he frowns, looking disappointed. “I wish this game had cats, though. Those are good for farms because they eat all the mice. And they’re cute.”

Hizashi smiles, fondly amused. “You like cats?”

“Mhm,” Bakugou hums, nodding. “I’ve got a cat at home. She’s orange.” He glances up at Hizashi. “Her name is Missie. That’s short for Missile Launcher.”

Hizashi’s smile widens into a grin. “Missile Launcher?” he echoes, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Did you pick that out yourself?”

Bakugou nods again, looking up from the game to focus on Hizashi. “Me and Kariage found her, but I was the one who got to keep her because his mom doesn’t like cats. Her food bowl is shaped like a fish.” He chomps down on an apple, chewing thoughtfully. “I think I like cats more than I like dogs,” he says. “Dogs are loud and kinda stupid. Cats are assholes sometimes, but they’re still really cool, and they’re quiet, so…” He blinks up at Hizashi. “Am I talking too much?”

Hizashi shakes his head and goes to work at unloading the dishwasher. “No way,” he says, opening a cabinet to put away a cup. “You can talk all you like. I don’t mind at all!”

From the way that Bakugou grins at him, he’s pretty sure that he just gave the right answer.

Shouta drops all the shopping bags on the floor and then face-plants onto the bed, grumbling into the sheets, “I’m not moving for an hour.”

“That bad?”

Shouta lifts his head just enough to look Hizashi in the eye and say, “You have no idea.” He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling with the blank gaze of a man who’s just been through a war. “I had to stop Yaoyorozu from buying an entire candy shop for Jirou. And then Kaminari -” He sits up, looking around. “Where’s Bakugou?”

“He’s in Eri’s room,” Hizashi says, then pauses. “Speaking of, where is she?”

Shouta yawns and falls back down, throwing his arm over his eyes. “She wanted to have a sleepover with the girls. And then swordfight with Kirishima. Something like that.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture, indicating that their seven-year-old daughter could possibly be doing anything from getting her hair braided to playing with very sharp objects. “How was Bakugou?”

Hizashi sits down at the foot of the bed, still frowning slightly at the mental image of Eri attacking Kirishima with a sword. “Well, he spent all my coins in one of those farming games. And he complained about the game not having any cats.” He tilts his head, thinking. “And he doesn’t like peanut butter.”

Shouta frowns. “Bullshit,” he says. “All kids like peanut butter.”

“That’s what I said!” Hizashi sighs, shaking his head even though Shouta still has his eyes covered. “He went on this whole tangent about how unhealthy it is.” He crosses his legs and braces his elbow on his knee, resting his cheek against his palm. “It was weird. Everything about this is weird. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at Bakugou without seeing him as a little kid, which is going to be awkward because he’s changed so much. He’s all frowny when he’s older, y’know? He’s still frowny now, but he at least smiles sometimes.”

Shouta drags himself upright, looking offended. “Hey, Bakugou smiles!”

Hizashi hums, disbelieving. And then, reluctantly, he says, “You probably see him more than I do, anyways, since you’re his homeroom teacher.” He sighs, glancing at the doorway. “He’s just changed a lot, you know? And I don’t even mean when he’s older. He’s changed a lot since that first night.”

Shouta shrugs. “A lot can change in two years,” he says. “Hell, a single moment can define your entire life. You can’t really base anything off of how much time it takes.”

“I guess you’re right,” Hizashi says. “I just wish that I knew what was wrong.”

Shouta’s response is instantaneous. “Shitty parents.” When Hizashi looks at him, he shrugs again, though he’s tenser than he was before. “I mean, it's kinda obvious. You’re the one who said that he was getting more reserved, being less open about what he liked - he’s afraid that anything he shows interest in will get taken away. And on that first night, when I was talking to you, he thought that I was calling his parents and got so scared that he started crying.” He throws his hands out, his own exhaustion apparently forgotten as he snaps, sounding frustrated and pissed as Hell, “That’s not fucking normal! Normal kids don’t do that!”

Hizashi blinks at him, a bit startled by his vehemence. Cautiously, he asks, “What do you want to do about it?”

Shouta deflates. “I want to help him,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling down at the ground. “I want him to be happy.” He takes a deep breath, blows it out, and then says, “Speaking of making him happy, I got him a bunch of art supplies. There’s paint and colored pencils and I got him a new sketchbook, too. It's one of the spiral ones, since those are easier to tear pages out of. I wasn’t sure if he’d like watercolor or acrylic paint more, so I got him both. And then there’s a pencil set for when he gets older and starts caring about shading and stuff.” 

“I understood about half of what you just said,” Hizashi admits. “I’ve never been that good at art.” He pauses, frowning. “There are different kinds of paint?”

“Yes, Hizashi,” Shouta says. “There are different kinds of paint.” He stands with a groan and stretches his arms over his head, then walks over to the bags on the floor. He crouches down and starts rummaging through them. “And I got him clothes, obviously. I had Asui and Sero help me with the sizing, and Midoriya helped me pick out things that the kid would actually wear, and -” He holds up a small pair of orange-and-black sneakers, triumphant. “Shoes. For tomorrow.” After a moment, he adds, “They have Velcro.”

Hizashi peers down at his husband and the bags he’s digging through. “That’s a lot of clothes,” he points out. “What are we going to do with them once the Quirk wears off?”

Shouta shrugs. “Save them for Eri, I guess. Or we could donate them.” He frowns at the shirt he’s holding. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

“That’s a first,” Hizashi says. “Usually you overthink things.” “Oh, I’m still overthinking things,” Shouta assures him, shooting him a wry grin. “Just the wrong things.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about, then?”

Shouta gives a noncommittal hum, shifting so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor as he starts to fold what can only be the clothes for tomorrow. “It just feels like Bakugou is trying to blend in, you know? Like he’s trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Like a chameleon?” Hizashi offers.

Shouta is still for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he nods in assent. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Like a chameleon.” He folds another shirt, this one black with white stripes, and then says, “And you know why they do that, right?”

“It's a defense mechanism,” Hizashi says. Hoping that he’s wrong, he says, “They do it protect themselves.”

Shouta nods, short and sharp, and finishes folding the clothes in silence.

Eri’s room - it used to belong to Kan, but he charitably packed up and moved to a spare two floors up - is right beside Shouta and Hizashi’s. Standing in it now, Hizashi wonders, as always, what the point of giving Eri her own bed was if she was just going to infiltrate theirs every night. But he had to admit that it came in handy at times like this. He has no idea what they’ll do when Bakugou decides that he no longer wants to sleep in a room with pastel pink walls, but he figures that they can cross that bridge when they come to it.

“This is so cool,” Bakugou says, which seems to be his favorite way to describe anything he finds even mildly interesting. He practically vibrates with excitement as he holds his new pencil box - decorated with All Might’s colors and a picture of the hero himself, obviously - then grins giddily up at Shouta. “Thank you!”

“No problem, kid,” Shouta says. “It's for your crayons and colored pencils. You know, so they don’t get lost.”

“Oh, I never lose anything,” Bakugou says, even as he plops down on the carpeted floor and starts to arrange said crayons and colored pencils in the box. “I’m not allowed to have a messy room.”

Hizashi raises an eyebrow. “Is that why you were cleaning when we came in here?” When they opened the door to show Bakugou his art supplies, they found that the kid hadn’t actually been playing at all, instead choosing to make the bed, organize Eri’s toys, and even meticulously rank the books on Eri’s shelf by height.

“Mhm,” Bakugou says, nodding. “It was a mess.” He carefully layers his colored pencils in the bottom of the box, then stacks his crayons on top. Shouta watches him, then looks up at Hizashi with a disbelieving expression. Hizashi, who’d already seen Bakugou do this once before, merely shrugs in response. Yeah, it was kinda weird that a six-year-old was so obsessed with making things look perfect, but stranger things have happened. Bakugou continues, seemingly unaware of the silent conversation taking place over his head, “Deku always leaves his room so messy. I always have to clean up after him.” He holds a red crayon in each hand, looking back and forth between them like he’s trying to determine which shade is lighter. “He pisses me off.”

Hizashi sits down in front of Bakugou and sees Shouta sit down as well, which is good, because Hizashi is pretty sure that Bakugou is about to go off on another tangent. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally decides that the red crayon in his left hand is the lightest and puts it down on top of the other one. “And he always follows me around, too. It's annoying. And he talks too much. He never gives anyone else a chance to speak, and my dad always tells me that I’m being rude when I do that. But Auntie Inko never tells Deku that! It's so unfair! But my mom says that Auntie Inko is going soft, so maybe that’s why Deku is such a deku.” He pauses to take a breath, then continues, “Plus, he cries so much. He cries when he’s not even hurt! It makes me mad, because Auntie Inko loves him a whole lot, so he has literally no reason to be such a fucking crybaby.” He finishes his rant, then looks at Hizashi, expectant. “Right?”

“Um,” Hizashi says, very unsure as to what the fuck just happened. “Well, I wouldn’t use the word crybaby -”

“But that’s what he is,” Bakugou says, stubborn as a bull. “He acts like a crybaby, so he should be called a crybaby, because that’s what he is.”

Hizashi looks over at Shouta for help, but his husband looks just as lost as Hizashi himself feels. Hizashi tries to think of what he’d say to Eri if she was acting like Bakugou was right now, but the problem with that is that Eri would never be in this situation. So, with a sigh, Hizashi shakes his head and says, “Even if somebody cries a lot, you shouldn’t call them names. It's not very nice.” He pauses, then asks, “Have you ever thought that maybe he cries because you call him names?”

And his words don’t have their intended effect at all, because Bakugou just crosses his arms and scoffs, “If he starts crying because of words, maybe he should toughen up.” He frowns, his eyes narrowing. “It's not like I hit him or anything, even though sometimes I really, really want to.”

Hizashi resists the urge to put his face in his hands. “Hitting people isn’t very nice either, Bakugou.”

“I just said that I don’t hit him,” Bakugou huffs, scowling at Hizashi. “Even when he deserves it.”

Holy shit, Hizashi thinks, equal parts horrified and bemused, this kid is going to be the death of me. He glances over at Shouta, who is watching the entire exchange with an unreadable expression, and then says, “I don’t think that anybody deserves to be hit, Bakugou.”

Bakugou stares at him with the unflinching gaze of someone who believes that what they’re about to say is the absolute truth. “I do,” he says, then cants his head, considering. “Sometimes.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“No,” Hizashi says, slicing his hands in an X. “No. Nope. That’s not how it works.” He points at Bakugou, who blinks at him in confusion. “I just said that nobody deserves to be hit, and that includes you. I don’t care what anybody tells you, but you do not deserve to be hit, now or ever, and whoever hits you is wrong.”

Bakugou stares at him with wide eyes. His lips press into a thin, trembling line, and Hizashi only has time to think, shit, before the kid bursts into tears. Like a lot of things about him, it's loud and sudden, like his emotions are something that has been compressed and condensed until they finally exploded under the pressure, sending shrapnel flying everywhere.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hizashi sees Shouta reach out toward Bakugou, then yank his hands back like he thinks that he might make everything worse by touching him. He shoots Hizashi a helpless glance, looking hopelessly out of his element, and that’s enough to snap Hizashi out of his shocked daze. He takes a deep breath and falls back onto what knowledge he has gathered from years of interacting with kids. “Bakugou,” he says, keeping his voice calm and steady even though he feels anything but, “can you tell me why you’re upset?”

Bakugou sobs and shakes his head.

Patiently, Hizashi asks, “Is that a no as in you don’t know, or is it a no as in you can’t tell me?” When Bakugou continues crying, drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding his face in his arms, Hizashi says, “I want to help you, Bakugou, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s wrong.” But he already knows what’s wrong, doesn’t he? He pushed too hard and he pushed too fast and he completely altered the kid’s worldview in a way that was neither soft nor gentle. Fucking Hell. Feeling incredibly guilty, Hizashi starts, “I’m sorry -”

He’s cut off by a muffled sound from Bakugou.

Leaning closer, Hizashi asks, “What’d you say?”

Bakugou lifts his head and scowls at him with a suddenness that makes Hizashi wince. “I said,”  Bakugou snaps, glaring at him through teary eyes, “don’t talk to me like that!”

Hizashi frowns, confused, then hurriedly smooths his expression over to avoid setting Bakugou off again by looking hostile. “I don’t think I understand what you mean, Bakugou,” he says, leaning forward again almost unconsciously, then sighing internally at the realization that trying to get answers from a six-year-old Bakugou Katsuki basically employed the same techniques that he’d use in interrogating a suspect, seeing as he nearly always got stuck playing the good cop. “I’m talking to you the way I usually do. That’s all that I’m doing, alright?”

“Stop it!” Bakugou slaps his hands over his ears like he’s trying to block out the sound of Hizashi’s voice, which is probably exactly what he’s trying to do, actually. “Stop it! Stop being nice to me!”

… Is that seriously what he’s upset about?

Hizashi pinches at the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he has felt steadily building over the course of the entire day. “Why would I be anything but nice to you?” he asks, hearing the utter confusion in his own voice as he speaks. He’s never met a kid who got mad that somebody was being nice to them, but he also never met a kid who spouted off things like the number of calories in a tablespoon of peanut butter or whatever, so it's not as if Bakugou really fits into the impression he’s gotten from kids in general - Bakugou, as always, is in a class all of his own. “I’ve had no reason to be anything but nice to you.”

“You don’t need a reason,” Bakugou snaps, irritated, and then his frustrated expression crumples and he starts crying again, sobbing as he goes back to hiding his face in his arms. 

Hizashi stares at him, at a total loss for words. A glance at Shouta shows that he’s staring as well, but with an expression that is more pained than surprised. He’s focused on Bakugou with an intensity that reminds Hizashi of a sniper’s rifle, which is more than a bit unnerving. “Bakugou,” Shouta says, leaning forward, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, “you know that you haven’t done anything wrong, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou chokes out. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“That’s alright,” Hizashi says. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Shouta sighs, raking his fingers through his hair and shaking his head as he stands. “I’m just - I’m going to go get him some water,” he says, then quickly walks out of the room without waiting for a response. The elevator dings! a moment later, the doors slide shut, and, just like that, Hizashi is alone with Bakugou.

Bakugou says something indecipherable, punctuated by sniffles and hiccups, and huddles up further like he’s trying to disappear from sight. He looks so small like this, so sad and tiny, and Hizashi’s heart aches like somebody has grabbed it in a fist and squeezed. 

I didn’t fucking sign up for this, he thinks, which is the truth. He signed up to watch over high-schoolers, not little kids - and he may have interacted with a lot of kids over the years, but never for more than a few minutes at a time, and most of those kids had been overjoyed at the chance to meet him. Not crying. Not sobbing like they were never going to stop. And this isn’t any little kid, either. This is Bakugou, who was going to remember this moment when the Quirk wore off and was probably going to be mortified about it for the rest of his life. This is Bakugou, this is the student that has clawed his way up to being Shouta’s favorite student, and Hizashi is struck with the realization that he has no idea of what he’s supposed to fucking do.

He read somewhere that you were supposed to ignore kids when they were throwing a tantrum, but this - whatever it was - doesn’t really count as a tantrum, does it? Because Bakugou isn’t crying for the sake of crying. He’s crying because of what Hizashi said, he’s crying because Hizashi was apparently being too nice to him - and that’s such a fucked up concept that Hizashi can barely even wrap his mind around it - which means that this entire situation, the tears and the sobs and the sharp bursts of anger, is Hizashi’s fault. 

And if this is all his fault, maybe the best thing to do would be to leave.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Hizashi shakes his head. That was just the panic speaking - and he is panicked, getting worse with every passing second - and he knows that Bakugou would see him leaving as a kind of abandonment, which is not what Hizashi wants, now or literally ever.

Hizashi drags his hand down his face, takes a deep breath, and looks at Bakugou. The kid is getting quieter, which either means he’s forcibly muffling his sobs or that he’s getting tired - Hizashi is hoping that it's the latter, since that’s the least upsetting option - and he’s taking these hiccupping breaths that make his shoulders shake. His entire body is shaking, actually. 

Hizashi knocks the heel of his palm against his forehead, hoping to jar loose some kind of arcane information about how to calm a crying child down. A crying child who hated it when people were nice to them. A crying child who thought that they were inherently a bad kid.

Right.

Hizashi kind of wants to find Bakugou’s parents and throw them off of the roof of Yuuei.

He pushes the thought away, focusing his attention on Bakugou. He’ll have time to deal with his own bitter feelings later, but, right now, he has to help Bakugou. It’d be great if he could figure out how to do that without setting the kid off again, because he’s pretty sure that it's literally impossible to comfort somebody without being nice.

“Alright,” he starts, then is thankfully saved from having to figure out what to say next by the ding! of the elevator returning to their floor. 

Shouta walks into the room, looking far more composed than he had been when he left, and crouches beside Bakugou. “Hey,” he says, using the voice he usually reserves for skittish alleyway strays and Eri after nightmares, and it must work because Bakugou sniffs and turns his head slightly, peeking out at Shouta with one red-rimmed eye. Shouta holds up the water bottle - it's obviously made for a kid, but Hizashi doesn’t recognize it as Eri’s, so he wonders if Shouta had the forethought to get it for Bakugou at the mall - and shakes it slightly, like he’s trying to entice a cat into eating its food. “I got you some water. You should drink it.” He sets it down in front of Bakugou. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Or it’ll just replenish his stock of tears, Hizashi thinks, watching warily as Bakugou slowly uncurls, roughly wiping at his eyes with one hand and reaching for the bottle with the other. He whispers, “Thank you,” in the smallest voice that Hizashi has heard from him thus far.

“No problem,” Shouta says, then glances at Hizashi. When Hizashi mouths, How the fuck did you do that?, he just shrugs and looks back down at Bakugou. “What do you want to do now?” he asks, obviously trying to get the kid’s mind off of what just happened, which is probably the best course of action right now.

Bakugou shrugs and stares down at the water bottle in his hands. “I don’t know.”

Shouta looks at his watch, then says, “Well, it's only half past two, so…” He rocks back on his heels and studies Bakugou, considering, then offers, “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Hizashi isn’t really sure if this is the best thing to do - ignoring the core root of this problem and carrying on like nothing is wrong - but Bakugou is already nodding, and Shouta looks relieved, and so Hizashi asks, “What’s your favorite movie?”

Bakugou shrugs again.

“... Alright,” Hizashi says, standing up. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Let’s go into the other room.”

Bakugou obediently clambers to his feet and walks away without another word, his footsteps near silent on the carpet. Shouta and Hizashi share a glance before following, and Shouta says in a low voice, “Hopefully he’ll fall asleep.”

Hizashi frowns. “Isn’t he a bit old for naps?”

Shouta snorts in dry amusement. “Hizashi,” he says, shaking his head, “nobody is ever too old to take a nap.”

[vanosslirious]

BBS Dialogue Prompts #312

Vanoss Crew Dialogue Prompts & Sentence Starters: [ 8 ]

SMII7Y

How the fuck am I supposed to do this?

Wait, hold up, let me get this.

I fell off the roof.

I was so worried for a second.

Boy, am I glad you’re here.

What else is new around here?

I thought my prayers were answered.

What about the bedroom, any upgrades? 

Just as I suspected, it’s terrible.

How are they supposed to see me in the dark?

As long as there's not a giant roaring fire next to me, I'm going to be fine.

We literally have a camera.

What have I stumbled across?

This feels so eerie.

I feel like he targeted me, did you hear that?

You can stay here, I don't care.

Please, don’t tell me you don’t have what you think you have.

I love this, this is great.

Back to where I belong, fuck my life.

Slow down, damn.

KRYOZ

I have your problems.

It has to be done.

That's what happens when you get into my zone.

We're literally in a recession.

Wait, so did they make up for my back pay or what?

No, I can't buy anything, you bitch.

I don't have sound yet.

Shoutout to them though, they do good work.

I might say another thing here soon.

Are you spraying me, because I don't feel nothing.

VANOSSGAMING

Oh shit, that’s not the flint.

Oh, that’s convenient.

Are you going to throw a gravity grenade?

Oh, you think he’s good looking.

We’ll make a Tumblr!

I can’t wait, Mr. Googly eyes.

I’m sure he needs too.

I gave you a fucking chance!

Come here and find out.

I gave you a fucking chance when I asked you…

MOO

You mean A as in Available, because no one else is going to jump on that, I'm telling you that much.

It's fine, I'm used to it.

Yeah, that was the give away.

I don't know what we're doing, who we're doing it for, or why we're doing it.

Please don't die.

Okay, what atrocity am I being brought into?

I keep thinking that's like a duck quacking.

Yeah, I trust you…

Why did you do that?

I have twenty minutes.

H2ODELIRIOUS

Obviously, it’s a trap.

Oh, I think I’m good.

Well, I got two lives…

He’s telling the truth, I think.

That is really good, actually.

He's definitely not getting past that.

I wonder if we can break into people’s vehicles.

Maybe we can make our money this way.

I can’t believe I saw that.

I’m greedy tonight.

BRYCEGAMES

They sound close to me.

I can't tell you where he is.

They're trying to chase us.

Run towards me.

Why'd we get so much mail, all at the same time?

It is you with the ugly hat!

This is so difficult.

You shot a man grieving his dead wife.

Where did those bees come from?

Somehow, we all won, even though I died.

GRIZZY

We all froze each other at the worst times possible.

You deadass do not know how to shut the fuck up.

Yeah, I spent money already.

You gave that shit away so fast.

You learn by failing.

We're gonna figure this out once the smoke disappears.

So, I'm not gonna do that.

Oh, you hit that, oh shit.

He can literally see you.

They're still not hitting you.

BLARG

Don't look at what?

It's so fucking fast for no reason.

This is the only safe place in the kitchen, please help us.

This has never turned out bad for anybody ever.

I'm gonna land on him.

What if we just don't?

He's upset about something…

Wait, is this gonna be a laser, it's right next to me.

Hold on, let's commit a felony first.

I put it on myself!

[gaykarstaagforever]

Part 1

Fine. You want Fat Superman? Here is Fat Superman.

PART 2: FAT SUPERMAN

Spoiler warning: he gets fat from drinking expired champagne on an alien planet.

No I'm not joking.

And while he has to exercise to get thinner, faster, it was always going to wear off and he'd go back to normal.

Those are the stakes of this idiot story.

You see this? You see Lois being a bitch about it, and all the cruel fat-related puns?

10 and a half pages of that. That's basically it.

This is a joke that isn't funny, that eventually just...stops.

They made this the cover feature.

...A cover feature with a scene that doesn't even happen. Superman just says, "Man. What if I got fat in a phone booth, instead of a space capsule? (He was in a space capsule when he got fat. A FAKE space capsule. Look. It doesn't matter.)

Yeah. God forbid any actual dramatic story beats come out of this, you fat bastard.

Great. Now I'm doing it.

The only mildly amusing thing he does while fat is use his giant butt to plug a hole in a dam.

Speaking as a man with a giant butt...you use what you have, you know?

But even that isn't fun, because he has to make some comment about how he can't fly right, because of temporary obesity.

Yes. Because Superman's flying ability before now was totally a matter of real-world aerodynamics and particle physics.

Having him complain that his thighs are generating 10 million kilojoules of heat as they rub together when he walks would have been cruel garbage, but I would have accepted and even laughed at that. But FLYING? He is too fat to fly? Give me a break!

The blimp jokes were right there, you hacks!

Also, look back at that first dam panel. The people on the dam call him a hippo and wonder how he can still be a hero when he's fat.

It is well-established in the comics at this point that Superman can do anything, all the time, and also has super-hearing. Mostly because he tells everyone any time he does anything. And these jackasses have the nerve to stand well-within even NORMAL hearing range, and make fun of a LIVING GOD WITH LASER EYES for suddenly having man-tits?? He should have blown them over the edge, just to make a point.

Granted, this is Superman, and he's a goody-two-shoes. And they also no doubt know that. Plus he himself is currently whining about how he's TOO FAT TO FLY PROPERLY.

I've been mad for three days about this. Let's pause for an ad break.

Intriguing. I'll have to look up this 'Sesame Street' thing later, see if it went anywhere.

Back to hell.

Speaking of weird physics, I can't imagine how people on a plane flying at like 700 mph, passing even a fat Superman going at least as fast, can recognize anything, let alone have enough time to accurately guess his real Fat Superman weight.

But they do. Because this story is awful.

Okay this panel is pretty dense so let's talk about it.

1) He built that scale super-fast out of NOTHING, just to weigh himself. Looks to me like his super-abilities are just fine, even if he can't see his own penis.

2) ...I mean, okay, he is literally two tons. I admit, that's kind of really goddamn heavy. Maybe he should worry about this a little bit.

3) That last sentence is the greatest sentence in any Silver Age comic, ever. "Why ask questions?" Who gives a shit, right? It doesn't matter. None of this matters. Why did you buy this? Fuck you for reading this, kid. Go outside, nerd.

They didn't call him a blimp, but they DID have him call himself a parade balloon.

And then make him real sad about it.

...Did the Government pay DC to do a comic bullying fat children, because it was the height of the Cold War and they were afraid the next generation would be too porky to battle the Russians on their home tundra? Was someone on DC's editorial staff mad at his overweight mother-in-law? This is reaching frightening levels of antagonizing people who like donuts.

I've lost the thread, here. There is slightly more stupid story, but I've hit the "pictures of Fat Superman" limit, so this will need to continue in a Part 3.