#I think like if they followed more mundane experiences that still shape them to be like they are by the end

[lunarrosette]

My mutual @writertyozzie123 asked for me to expand so now I will

Nark still wouldn’t work in a non forgotten realms world! This isn’t like some sort of dramatic doomed gays that they are to me in canon they’re mostly just not compatible. This is also taking from the angle of just how all the kids were in ep 1 so the way to the soccer game pre-any development that happens in the podcast and not assuming they’d follow similar arcs in just everyday life. So we’re using Nick Close characterization ONLY! But obvs still including characterization from the podcast bc that’s what we get so like this is what I believe they’d be like in a no forgotten realms world, so if u disagree fair enough!

Basically it boils down to me that lark in confrontational and nick is avoidant. Lark shown to take most issues head on unless he is certain he would fail and even then he doesn’t typically run away from or avoid them but instead uses whatever he has to give himself leverage. He’s smart and a little cunning and an instigator and a little shit! Nick has issues with avoidance especially emotionally. He typically distracts himself to avoid his issues or makes “white” lies to “fix” whatever issue he’s in. (Like the battle axe and wanting to ditch the other dads [which is why there quotations over white bc what not an insignificant lie]) And Nick is a people pleaser but he’s a cool people pleaser ya know bc he’s trying to make his dad think he’s cool. Basically, Lark would be a chaotic little shit and would probably annoy Nick but (in this hypothetical where they are dating so Nick is being a people pleaser to Lark) he would act like it’s nothing and never talk abt this issue, unless it came to a head. And when Lark catches Nick in a lie he will directly confront Nick who would likely avoid this or lie in a way that would “make lark happy” but lark would probably keep prodding at this issue until Nick snaps. Like two magnets pushing away! Basically they have major communication issues!! To me it’s like two people who are fine but both have shit they need to work on but they are just not compatible for each other

However Nicholas Foster and Lark!? They could work a little better? Most bc of the nature of the origin of Nicholas’s people pleasing he doesn’t care much abt social coolness but coolness to his dad which would lend itself more likely for a break away (like a teenage rebellious phase) from this and lark being this weird smart chaotic kid Nicholas has known for years (and who was a dickhead) and is a kid Nicholas knows and could be someone that could be a “bad influence” and maybe someday an actual friend. Basically they’re a little more likely to be compatible bc Nicholas does feel as much of a social pressure in school as nick so it would be easier for Nicholas to break out of people pleasing as unlike nick he’d be less scared of losing like all of his friends bc he’s no longer cool bc he was never cool

[ofliterarynature]

DECEMBER 2023 WRAP UP

[loved liked ok no thanks (reread) book club*]

Mixed Magics • Chalice • To Shape a Dragon's Breath • The Haunting Season • Hither Page • The Henchmen of Zenda • System Collapse • The Phantom of the Opera • An Unexpected Peril • A Minor Chorus* • The September House • (The Dream Thieves) • The Fragile Threads of Power • The Pinhoe Egg • (Network Effect) • Some Desperate Glory

total: 16 (audiobook: 12 / ebook: 4)

Happy New Year booklr! Here's to actually getting my last monthly wrap-up post of 2023 out in decent time for once.

Some Desperate Glory - I'm getting myself off to a bad start here because I don't actually remember much from the book and I didn't write a review at the time. oops. But I do remember that once things got going I was hooked, and I couldn't wait to pick the audiobook back up. Definitely some content warnings to look out for, but an incredible read. I definitely need to go back and check out the author's other work.

Network Effect - the last book of my Murderbot reread, still great, glad to have finally read this in a text format! Also better suited to be read *after* Fugitive Telemetry, I wish I'd known to read them in chronological order the first time.

The Pinhoe Egg - a nice wrap up to the main Chrestomanci series! Though if anyone can tell me why on eARTH the 'recommended' reading order is like *that*, please explain it to me. I'd forgotten so many things by the time we got back to Cat, if I ever reread I'm going chronologically.

The Fragile Threads of Power - lord help me, I could do a whole rant. A quick summary of my relationship to this series: loved Shades of Magic when it first came out, did not love/was very annoyed by most of it when I reread them in 2023. Also have not really liked any of Schwab's other work. BUT. I was under the impression that this spinoff would have new main characters, and the old ones would be present but not in the center. If I didn't just make this up, it was LIES. The original MC's still dominate probably at least 60% of the book, and you'd think 7 years in-book and more experience on behalf of the writer would mature them, but a) no, and b) so many goddamn flashbacks. And Kel's assasin-sona was so cringe I wanted to cry. I did actually like the new main character which really is the biggest shame of all. If you see me contemplating the next book please stop me.

The Dream Thieves - I don't know that I have much to add yet to my thoughts about TRB in my Nov post, but I've been having a very strange experience where when I'm actively reading these, I'm having an incredibly good time; when I'm not I completely forget I was reading it. lol?

The September House - this is possibly the closest to my ideal horror book that I've ever found??!!? I have a weird relationship with horror, wherein I am not uninterested, but I almost never enjoy the ones I read (I think it has to do with my irl anxiety, idk). But THIS one. It's such an INCREDIBLE blend of like, mundane horrors and dark humor? I loved it. The "you can live with the horrors if you just follow the rules" is very much my vibe, and the way the author chose to have it integrate with the main character's experiences of domestic abuse was very smart. Deeply enjoyed, but probably won't be a favorite.

A Minor Chorus - this month's book club pick! I really really wish I'd liked this, and I'm torn between "thank god it was short," and "oh I wish this was longer." It's about a queer Indigenous doctoral student in Canada who's somewhat lost his way on his dissertation and is instead writing a novel (maybe), inspired by the stories of people in his community. On one hand, the writing was sometimes very beautiful and the different stories were interesting! On the other, my academic-speak abilities are limited, and the narrator did not hold back. He even explicitly states at one point, oh I can't describe my book this way to [character] because he won't understand my academic language. And...yeah. My brain got a little overwhelmed and I skimmed a lot of those parts. The hopeful part of me thinks if that if the book had been longer maybe I would have had time to "get it," but idk.

An Unexpected Peril - Veronica Speedwell is as Veronica Speedwell does. Had a good time with this even though it's proving to not be the most memorable. Mostly I remember intensely panicking over whether or not V had practiced forging the princess's signature, lol.

The Phantom of the Opera - this was a last minute sub for my classics challenge; I've never seen any of the adaptations, but I happened to see the book on tumblr when I was scrambling for a replacement and thought it might be fun. And it was! Quite ridiculous and dramatic, and I had a good time reading it. I was surprised by the outsider POV on the story, but it was good, just a shame that it didn't allow Christine to tell her own story. If anyone has a Christine-centered retelling I should read, let me know! And are there any adaptations I should watch?

System Collapse - new Murderbot! I was so excited for this, I'm irritated that my brain and work schedule didn't want to cooperate and let me read my nice pretty hardcover; I ended up getting the audiobook from the library instead. I had an incredible time, because it's Murderbot, how could I not? But it's also interesting, because Network Effect felt quite cohesive and contained on its own, but this feels very much like an in-between story (almost like Fugitive Telemetry), rather than a continuation of the same thread. I'll be interested to see where Martha takes us from here.

The Henchmen of Zenda - my last KJ Charles of the year! I did mean to get through all of her books, but things slipped by me these last few months so I still have a couple, but managed to fit this standalone in! It's not the only time she's pulled characters from works of classic fiction, and I admit, I'm now very curious and kind of want to read the original Prisoner of Zenda? Definitely this version had an exciting plot that was fun to read, though I don't think it'll be my favorite of her works (yay for a non-traditional relationship structure tho :)

Hither, Page - I don't think I've read Cat Sebastian before, but I've had this one recommended and it sounds right up my ally - historical/cozy myster/spy shenanigans/gay romance! And it was an incredibly pleasant read, would recommend, but I do think it could have been better as both a mystery and a romance.

The Haunting Season - I almost picked this up in October for spooky season, but put if off for Dec since it's meant to be wintery ghost stories - and only just remembered it in time! I almost wish I hadn't. The first two stories were so meh for me that I almost DNF'd it, I just didn't want the fuss of having to find a new audiobook for work the last day before Christmas break. Luckily Natasha Pulley showed up next with a good story (I really ought to read her books) and there was a good run of 4 stories with another 2 meh to round things out. It wasn't a total loss, but I wouldn't really recommend.

To Shape a Dragon's Breath - If you've seen people singing the praises of this book, they're not wrong! It's a very good if sometimes heavy read, and this is definitely the closest I've gotten to liking a boarding school story since Protector of the Small (I got burned out on them very quickly, lol). It does sometimes read like the debut it is, it's not perfect (lots of infodump speeches, lord save me from the technicalities of alchemy/chemistry, and I would have liked to see more done in her relationship with her dragon), but it's also doing some incredible and unique things that really make me want to see more books in this series and whatever else the author writes.

Chalice - I've read Robin Mckinley before and I've found her work ok, but this one has been repeatedly recommended in the HOTE discord server - I figured it would be a good one to wrap up the year with! And surprise surprise, the fealty-coded discord loves a book about... fealty XD and good stewardship, and magic bees, etc. It's incredibly on brand, and I had a lovely time with this fairy-tale of a book.

Mixed Magics - a collection of Chrestomanci short stories; I actually read one of the stories a few months ago due to the recommended reading order (bleh), and thought it would be fairly simple to finish it off before the end of the year, now that I'd finished the rest of the series. All fun, if not equally interesting, and a nice end to the year. Now I just need to find a new Diana Wynne Jones series to try (not on audiobook, alas, my library is all out of those).

(I did almost consider then binging the Hither, Page sequel on new year's eve, just so I wouldn't split the series, but decided against it :D)

[itsu-saragi]

Devlog #3 - Revisions and Indecisions.

Sjdjfdhs hi. Apologies for letting the “see you in a month” turn into several months. Work got busy, then I caught Covid, after recovering I went on vacation, and then work got busy again… But I did work on this VN all throughout.

I didn’t make as much progress as I wanted, but some progress was made nevertheless.

So what exactly did I do? Let me count the ways.

Story Revisions

Changed the premise from magic academia to magic uhhh small business? Workshop? Something like that, I'm not sure what to call it.

My original story followed the player character and their love interest as they explored their university campus. This came to be because I was tinkering with the concepts of "group partners to lovers" & showing the player character as non-humanoid to allow for reader-insert and immersion, like the Obey Me games and the pink sheep MC. But the story stopped being appealing to me, plus the scope started to become bigger than I had anticipated. Multiple CGs in different locations across a giant campus? Yeah that's a nightmare to draw.

I'd still like to explore the idea of a non-humanoid MC though, so maybe that'll be a future game, or at least another brain dump post!

But anyway, I shrunk the premise. One store, one LI, and the customers that enter the little workshop. I'm still sticking to the idea of mundane modern fantasy though.

Because of the location change from university to workshop, I've had to revise the LI a lot. He's shaping up really well though! His name is Fen, I hope I can introduce him here sometime soon.

Building Frameworks

I'm not sure what to call it, so for now I'm calling it frameworks.

Basically, instead of tackling each aspect of the game separately from drafts to completion (ex: drawing all sprites right now and then moving on to writing the script), I want to create rough versions of everything.

I think this will help me because then I'll have an idea of how much work each aspect will entail, and I can hopefully spot and remedy any holes or glaring skill issues.

This is especially important for coding. I'll be using RenPy, the classic engine for visual novels, but I have very little coding experience. I'd like to gain some before I start creating the writing and assets meant to be incorporated into the platform.

By creating the framework (or I guess prototype is the better word in this case), I'll get some understanding of how RenPy works and once I have the assets complete I can insert those in.

For plot frameworks, I'm trying not to go into too much detail. Lots of bullet points cause I fuck with those.

For character frameworks, I must admit I'm putting a lot of thought and detail into Fen, but I think I should as he's the core of this game. I'm reminding myself though that much of him can still be altered if the story requires it.

There's definitely more frameworks I need to think about, like sprites, backgrounds, and music too.

But to sum it up, I'd like to create a rough draft of the entire game, and then only afterward do I start going in and changing details and adding colors to the big picture. I hope that makes sense.

Next Step: Character & Coding Frameworks

For the rest of April and probably the entirety of May as well, I'll focus on fleshing out Fen and putting together the coding framework.

I think figuring out Fen's character arc will help me get an idea of the overall story, which is incredibly daunting yet exciting lol

I'm not planning on making the coding look pretty, I just want to make something that functions. I have no clue how well that will go so please pray for me or something.

Personal Thoughts: I am Afraid

I think the reason why I didn't make a lot of progress is because lately, I've been afraid of doing so. I've never made a game before, or written an original story. I don't know what I'm doing, and instead of directly addressing things I've kept working around them. And because I haven't made much progress, it stresses me out. And then that stress makes me do less work.

Hellooo feedback loop.

I'm an indecisive person who likes to look for the right or most optimal answer. But in a creative project like this, it's hard to know what the "right" answer is cause it can be subjective.

I'm trying to remind myself to enjoy the process and to take small steps, and everything is still changeable as I'm still in the beginning stages. It's hard, but as I'm writing this update I think I'm feeling better.

I'm sure this gamedev journey will be me enjoying the ride and then immediately hating it, so for anyone reading: thank you for your patience. I appreciate you.

I'm going to try and post an update, no matter how small it is, once a month. So. Cheers to me being able to post this in April.

I'm still trying to figure out what to post and how to get my thoughts across. I've never done anything like this before, so please bear with me. If you have any feedback, please feel free to share!

And again, thank you to whoever's reading this. I hope you have a great timezone :)

[fatuilady]

— 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 - 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. (headcanons)

✦ word count : 2.6𝐤

✦ feat : 𝐆𝐍 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 , [𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭] 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐨, 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭, 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜, 𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚, 𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐫, 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢

✦ context : 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ~

✦ cw : 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 (kaeya lol)

✦ note : apologies this one took so long, work had been swamping me ;-; ! quite long, pretty wordy, almost oneshots, but i hope you all enjoy anyway :)

𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖔 :

✦ This particular chalk prince is all too enthralled with delicacy. His very mantra is all about the fragility of life and creation, surely, you're no exception. He has a unique fascination with life and death, yet seemed to focus little on the precious moments between the cradle and the grave.

✦ Albedo is always gentle, shy and chaste when he embraces you.

✦ At first, he was unfamiliar with the sentiment as social contact had never been his forte, since he was in fact a wall of stone (or chalk?). He'd declined your open offer from his own inexperience, he failed to consider that it may portray him as cold, distant or unwelcoming.

✦ Soon enough, Albedo would begin to ponder how such a simple interaction could bring strong emotion to humankind, yet the more he dwelled upon it, the more he found his arms feeling empty. It was as if his hypothesis was proving itself wrong.

✦ Eventually, he'd come to terms with his growing curiosity, always one to initiate an experiment, he'd offer himself to return the affections - he was very glad he did.

✦ Albedo's coy nature would let him drape one arm around your shoulder, the other taking your hand. He'd wrap his soft hands around your own, placing his head beside your own. His hair would smell soft, newborn and clean, the scent of fresh cotton, baby powder and angel feathers beside your nose as he buried into you.

✦ The chalk prince unfortunately would struggle to find the time for such intimacy on the regular, but when he did find the chance to embrace you, he'd make them last as long as he could.

✦ Perhaps this still lingered from his limited understanding of social cues, but he'd hold onto you for many minutes, more than you could count on one hand. Taking you in his arms, he would touch you as if you were a blooming Cecelia, tenderly and lovingly. You'd return his care, cuddling him and wrapping both arms around his back.

✦ During his hugs, he'd also sometimes find himself tracing over your body with inquisitive hands. Albedo had never had the chance to properly appreciate your anatomy in such a manner before, but he quickly fell in love with your form.

✦ Albedo soon began to realise the adoration behind hugs; his adoration for you also began to grow. Slowly but surely, he actively began to seek out your displays of affection, whether to feel your warmth, play with the fabric of your clothes or caress your shape, he wasn't sure.

'Thank you... deeply, for sharing this moment, you... resemble a statue, I couldn't think of anyone better suited for such an embrace.'

✦ What he was sure of was that he had appreciated the beauty of life in the same way ever before than he did when he was swaddled in your arms.

𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖙 :

✦ The young adventurer is notoriously unlucky, his clumsiness an infamous curse that seems to follow him wherever he goes. It's precisely the reason he's very hesitant to come too close to you, for fear his awful fortune will wipe off on you. No matter how careful he seems to be, there's always something the archons never seem to be on his side.

✦ Instead of his bad luck rubbing off on you, maybe your good luck would rub off on him, at least, that's what you believed.

✦ Bennett was more than surprised when you asked for a hug, your request catching him quite off guard. He'd think on it for a moment, face painted in light pink as he reached for an invisible itch on the back of his neck.

✦ As the leader of Benny's Adventure Team, he'd find it fitting to stand alongside you, carefully tossing one of his arms over your shoulder. He'd snatch you closer with a squeeze, the marigold colour bandana he wore knotted around his upper arm tickling your chin.

✦ The hug itself would be friendly, full of total and mutual trust as you too curled an arm around his front and back. You'd both sway, beaming as laughing as he flashed you an appreciative thumbs up, the sunkiss on his skin making the clumsy boy hold the same warmth as a summer beach.

'I think you're my favourite adventure buddy, I must have been lucky for once to meet someone like you, traveller!'

✦ Bennett would hope to keep moving through Mondstadt with his arm around you. The idea was short lived, to say the least.

✦ As ever, his curse would catch him at the worst moment, a measly loose stone in the plaza floor catching his foot. Bennett tumbled, and so, you tumbled as well.

✦ The active boy would try his best to manoeuvre himself to catch you before you scraped the ground. You'd end up likely crossed over his lap, a compromising position, but it was all in good fun. You loved Bennett's antics, he brought excitement to what could have easily been a mundane life.

✦ Caught up in giggles, Bennett kept his arms crossed over you as he drew his head around to press both yours and his cheeks together. The moment was another perfect instance for a scrapbook, even some of Mondstadt's more grouchier personas sparing a chuckle for you both.

𝖉𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖈 :

✦ For a pyro wielder, Diluc Ragnvindr doesn't present himself warmly. Seemingly tired, uninterested and slightly callous, he concerns himself with practical matters when he is alone: economist by day, vigilante by night. Stuck in his ways, he'd see no purpose in day to day public displays of affection.

✦ This doesn't mean he dislikes contact in private, however.

✦ The common misconception would leave one to believe Diluc was a stone gargoyle, incapable and unwilling to act in any other way. Alone with you, he couldn't be further from it, in fact, in most cases, he's the one to initiate the contact, sometimes without even asking.

✦ When, and only when, perfect conditions are met does Diluc lets go of his tough exterior and ultimately boils down to a lovesick puppy. However, he much prefers to be alone alongside you, of course, in these endeavours.

✦ With nobody else in sight, he would be quick to start loving, his stature still ever strong as he discarded his gloves. The dark side of dawn much preferred to hold you with his bare hands to further lift your caring skinship.

✦ Diluc would wear a sincere smile, one of patience and relief as he drew closer to you. He'd wait for you to signal him with your own charming grin, and only then would he leap into the biggest, most tender bear hug one could conjure.

✦ Strong arms suffocated you as one hand rested on the back of your head, savouring the softness of your hair. The other would cross behind you and after a few compassionate minutes, he'd concentrate his strength to lift you up, up and further into his arms.

✦ If you would like to be put down, he'd place you gentle back onto the floor, releasing you slowly. The flaming hero would notice the mess he had made of your hair, tussling it back to it's usual shape with his fingers.

✦ Otherwise, you could wrap your legs around him, and whilst supporting you, he'd spin around and hold you tightly. Head against his chest, you'd twirl stray strands of his strawberry coloured ponytail in your fingers, relishing in the lingering scent of warm booze, sweet flowers and flecks of ash.

'I apologise for the wait, I'm glad you're still here, you know how dearly I treasure your touch.'

✦ He almost seemed a natural, more so than his love driven brother when it came to private intimacy, but truthfully, he still held small amounts of insecurity. His worry would be holding you too roughly, but the more you insisted you loved his hugs, the more the people of Mondstadt would notice him acting much more chipper during his day shifts at Angel's Share.

𝖐𝖆𝖊𝖞𝖆 :

✦ Smooth talking, smooth moving, smooth loving, there's nothing about the Favonius Cavalry Captain that doesn't radiate utmost self confidence. He acts on his own accord, conducting how he pleases. Still one for manners, he'd clear the water with you far in advance before laying on the next level of his flirtatious affairs.

✦ Kaeya Alberich is incredibly touchy, his behaviour consistent in public, private, wherever he happens to be in the same space as you. His hugs are amatory; romanced laced in the most teasing way.

✦ You could be communing with citizens of Mondstadt, researching in the library, helping sweep away stray leaves at the cathedral on behalf of a desperate attendee. Kaeya makes a habit of catching a glimpse of you as he patrols the city, making a discreet beeline to catch up to you.

✦ Regardless of if you were courting or merely on mutual acquaintanced basis, he'd know exactly which places to stir up when he hugged you from behind.

✦ The frostbearing swordsman would care little about an outside audience, and would enjoy it in true deriding manner if you grew flustered at simply the thought of being intimate in public.

✦ Kaeya would snake his arms around your waist, hands smoothing over the angles or curves. Afterwards, he'd lean into the crook of your neck to place a gentle kiss on your skin.

'I simply couldn't wait another moment, you're heavenly~'

✦ His hair, much like is brothers, would flow over your shoulder like a rich waterfall, scented with rose oil, glistening jasmine and chai.

✦ In private, Kaeya would be even more adoring, favouring a gentler approach opposed to his more teasing public affections. He'd love for you to sit between his legs on the couch, back rested against his chest.

✦ A master of fine swordmanship, he'd be oh so gentle, his touches feather soft, sometimes even so gentle you wouldn't even notice they were there. Regardless, he loves more than life to make a fuss over you when you hug, he loves to play with your hair, he loves to spin circles into your skin with careful fingertips, he loves to whisper every word you'd like to hear all with the intent of making the moment stretch for as long as it could.

✦ Kaeya knew he was free to share his love with you at any moment, but that didn't keep him from making each hug count, after all, he simply just adores the way you fit perfectly into him.

𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖔𝖗 :

✦ Razor is a curious soul, one of primal roots. Human intimacy is worlds apart from the care he shared with his Lupical, so he craves the best of both worlds. The wolf boy wants to learn, who better to verse him in human affection than you?

✦ When you'd ask him if he would like a hug, he was unsure what it was. He'd tilt his head to the side, clueless, but eager nonetheless. If he had a tail like his canine brother and sisters, it would surely be swaying side to side by now

✦ You'd find it adorable how he'd mimic your movements like a puppet, you raised an arm and he'd do the same.

✦ As you brought yourself closer to him, he'd hesitate slightly, his feral nature urging him to step away, but his human mind knew he trusted you, so he stayed in place and allowed you to cuddle him.

✦ When wolves displayed the same behaviour, it was one of threatening origin, normally the kickstarter of an incoming fight, but with you, he felt no threat at all. Admittedly, he seemed a little stiff when you engulfed him, not quite sure what to do with his limbs, he marvelled in place for a moment.

✦ Razor felt a flurrying heat collect in his face as he gasped, gradually relaxing his shoulders as he melted away into your embrace. He also might have felt his eyes sting a little with joyful tears, it was something new, surely, but the half wolf didn't mind it.

✦ He tried to sneak a glance at how you were holding him so he could do his best to replicate it. Hesitantly, he placed his arms around you in return, though they almost seemed to lag as he moved them. Once they were securely around you, Razor felt himself click into place and squeeze tightly.

✦ Gentle wind breezed over you, catching his distinct scent of earth, fresh rain and crushed berries. He seemed a little cold from the touch, but this was expected from somebody who spent his life outside in the roaming scape of Wolvendom.

✦ His hair, though mildly knotted in some places, truly did feel plush like a wolf's pelt, ideal to pat and stroke.

'You are...warm... Razor likes it, I will... stay, for a while'

✦ Razor had discovered two things: He now loved hugs possibly more than hunting, but what he loved most was your hugs specifically.

✦ He'd be more subtle, yet increasingly obvious in the future. Whenever the overgrown puppy of a boy would crave some attention, he'd shuffle close to you, raising his arms in the same way you did when you introduced the concept to you. Moreover, he'd be seeking you out a lot-

𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎 :

✦ A carefree and free flowing spirit by design, Venti is true to his element when it comes to hugs. He's a very affectionate boy, but in a more innocent sense. Always full of mischievous laughter, he appreciates the silliness and fun behind the little things.

✦ The windborne bard would be very open about hugs and public affections, often asking both if he could receive and give. When accepting his proposal, you'd get to see him close his eyes in delight, cheering to himself in a childish manner.

✦ He'd be all about the performance, being a bard and all gives him this habit. Laughter, singing, general sounds of delight, whatever he can conjure, Venti would beam with happiness from even the smallest contact with you.

✦ Venti would run and spring into you through the long grass strewn across Starsnatch Cliff, gusts of anemo following his excited behaviour.

✦ What's most humouring is the rather short boy propping himself up on the tips of his toes in order to better the hug, draping both of his arms around your neck.

✦ The bard would love to look into your eyes, placing a cheeky kiss on the tip of your nose. Another common practice would be cupping your face with one hand, holding it in his palm with nothing but adoration.

✦ Another curious trick of his involves his elemental skill. Charging it, he'd hold onto you tightly, chirping as you'd both lock into each other.

'Ehe, hold on tightly, I don't want you to fall!'

✦ In one single burst, you'd be launched upwards by a powerful gust, high enough to see all of Mondstadt in the unexpectedly strong arms of your favourite Archon.

✦ Brushing stray hairs that came loose from your hairstyle during the departure, he was something freeing, a breath of fresh air as you drifted contentedly to the delicate grass below.

✦ Everything about the old young bard seemed peaceful as you'd stay warm, knitted together laying down amongst the dandelions.

© 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖞 .

[girls4keigo]

A Bird Whisperer’s Guide to Fighting Villains and Falling in Love | Hawks x Hero!Reader

Summary: Hawks needs help to defeat an upcoming hero attack in Tokyo. What better hero to ask than the one he’s been crushing on for months

Warnings: F!Reader, Hero!Reader, Fluff, Cursing

Reader plays hard to get. Reader has a nature quirk and can control natural elements and talk to animals. Reader is a popular hero

a/n: hi! this is my first post i hope you all enjoy! :)

————

You sighed, trying to keep your composure while talking to a bunch of big name heroes. The fundraiser events that your agency made you go to were unbearable. Standing around for hours listening to the most mundane heroes try to impress you with their line of work. But hey, if it helps boost approval ratings I guess it’s not that bad.

For the past year you’ve slowly been climbing the ranks of the hero world. With a powerful quirk and unique fighting styles it was hard to go unnoticed. By now you were familiar with how the industry treated female heroes. It seemed as if the general public cared about anything but your hero duties.

It was all love, relationships, “Who are you dating?”, “What’s your skincare routine?”

You honestly didn’t expect any different but geez, it sure did piss you off. And now that you were in the top 3, you weren’t expecting any of it to die down. Might as well just get used to it.

You continued to chat when suddenly your ear twitched as you sensed a certain birdie approaching.

Oh God.

“Hey. Mind if I steal ya away for a little?” Hawks’ signature smirk appeared on his face as he approached you.

Hawks seemed to really be latching onto you for quite some time, well since the new hero rankings were announced. You were on your way to surpassing the number 2 hero and had gained a lot of notoriety in the past couple of months. 

He was clingy for sure, always play flirting, inviting you to lunch, showing up at your agency unannounced. It was obvious that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. You’d be surprised if he admitted to actually having feelings for you. Well, not that you cared anyways. Your job was to save civilians, defeat villains, and do things that any other normal hero would. Love was simply not on your agenda.

Holding back a heavy sigh, you complied and stepped off to the side with Hawks.

He seemed delighted by your decision, using his feathers to fetch you a glass of champagne off of one of the caterer’s trays as you two walked over to the bar area.

“So your agency makes you come to these lame things too, huh?”

You didn’t answer, not very interested in the direction that the conversation was going in.

“You look nice.” He bit his lower lip, dragging his eyes vertically across your figure.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking a sip of your champagne.

After you both had made your way over to the bar he instructed his order to the bartender, asking you if you wanted anything and keeping the same dumb smirk on his face when you denied.

“Rarely ever see you in a color other than green. I mean, I guess it’s your entire thing but I really dig this red look you’ve got goin’ on” He mused, as he watched the bartender carefully make his drink.

He wasn’t lying. He’s been eyeing you since you walked in, you look good.

“What do you want, Hawks?” You asked, visibly annoyed.

“Damn.” He chuckled, “Small talk isn’t your thing, noted.”

You side-eyed him, getting impatient with his overly relaxed demeanor.

Catching the hint, he got straight to the point. “There’s some trouble going on in Tokyo.”

Now you were intrigued. You took another sip of your champagne, “Petty villain attacks like always, isn’t it?”

You turned towards him, he got a good look at your face before he answered.

Fucking pretty, he thought to himself.

“That’s what I thought at first but it’s getting harder to believe that as I do more digging.” He looks around before inching closer to you, trying to keep his volume to a minimum. “The League is planning something big next week. The ‘Rain of Terror’, they’re callin’ it. They’re trying to ease the amount of big attacks in the city to let our gaurds down. And frankly, I think it’s working.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know all of this?”

“I’ve got connections,” Was all he said, with a shrug.

Ok, whatever. You’ll confront him about that later. “And this ‘Rain of Terror…’ what does it entail?”

“Bombs.”

“Shit,” You muttered.

“Big ones. Huge ones, actually. I don’t know how the fuckers did it but they found a way to make these huge, bioengineered clouds that ‘rain’ bombs.”

You grew uneasy. Raining bombs? Over the entirety of Tokyo? The amount of destruction it would do to the earth, to civilians, made you panic. Hawks sensed your uneasiness but continued anyways, “I want us to team up. Your quirk would be useful with the entire controlling nature n’ weather thing.”

He loosened up from his serious expression, talking a bit louder and showing a teethy smile, “Plus I think we’d make a pretty good team. I’ve already got a plan so we’ll meet up at yours tomorrow.”

“As in my house? Why not anywhere else?” You questioned.

“Well,” He grabbed his drink and used his free hand to rub the back of his heck, “This isn’t really the typa thing we can talk about in public. Mass hysteria, panic, that type of thing. And my living situation is pretty…complicated right now.”

You felt a small tap on your shoulder, followed by the voice of your high school aged sidekick. You turned to the younger hero. “Uh..Y/N? It’s time to go. I gotta be back by 11.”

You sighed before turning back to Hawks.

“Kids and their curfews, right?” He commented.

“Fine. I’ll have my agency send you my address. Don’t come during the day.” That was the last thing you said before finishing your drink all in one quick sip and making your way to the exit. You could feel his eyes on your backside until you left the venue. And the singular scarlet feather rushing in front of you to open the car door for you was really the cherry on top.

You rolled your eyes.

“Woah.” Your sidekick mused, “He seems to really like you. You should give him a chance, he’s hot.”

You giggled at her comment, “He doesn’t really like me, y’know? He flirts with every female hero.”

—

You heard a slight tap on the window leading up to your balcony. You already sensed him flying towards you when he was about a mile away, but your bedroom? Reluctantly you walked over and opened the sliding door.

“Never heard of a front door?”

“Well that’s no fun, is it?” He said, displaying his signature smirk. You looked cute out of your hero clothes. Hair tied up and messy, and in big comfy clothes.

Adorable, he thought to himself. He walked in as if it was his own befroom, slipping off his shoes, gloves and jacket and placing them in the corner of your room.

“Make yourself comfortable I guess.” You deadpanned at him, “And we’re still going downstairs anyways.” He shrugged.

He couldn’t help but be taken aback by the layout of your room. There were plants in almost every corner, on every shelf. Vines growing on your walls, half read books strewn across your bedside table and dresser, your pet birds of all different shaped and sizes flew freely around your room, chirping every once in a while. “So you’re a bird whisperer, huh?” He said, looking around.

“I’m an animal whisperer.” You said, “That’s kind of like my entire thing.”

He let out a hearty laugh before making his way out of your room.

“Tea?” You asked, heading towards the kitchen as the winged hero made himself comfortable on your couch.

“Sure.” He picked up your remote with one his feathers, flicking through the channels.

He turned his attention to you a couple moments later as you took a seat across from him at your coffee table, setting down two mugs of green tea.

He explained his plan carefully, paying close attention to all details and pausing for any questions you might have. You had to admit, as much as an annoying asshole this guy could be, he knew what he was doing. You could tell he plans his strategies very carefully, as much as he likes to come off as lazy and laid back to the general public. He was a damn good hero. And you hated admitting it but he was right, utlizing his speed and your ability to control weather, it wouldn’t be all that hard to stop villain attacks.

Hawks also couldn’t help but admire you. You seemed attentive, always paying close attention to detail and asking a lot of questions. I mean he already knew you were good at your job, watching some of the viral videos of your fights with villains.

—

When the day finally came, it went as smoothly as planned, of course with a little bumps along the way. Still, the few civilians that were hurt only had minor injuries, and you and hawks made it so only a couple bombs hit the ground.

You, Hawks, and some other minor heroes who had joined mid-battle regrouped to talk about how to resolve the collateral damage.

“It’s not too much to be honest, I’ll have it all repaired by midni-“

“Wow! What an incredible display of courage from Hawks and Mother Nature, currently sitting at number 2 and number 3 of Japan’s Hero BillBoard Chart!” A loud reporter exclaimed, accompanied by a camera crew.

Of course.

You tried your best to ignore and keep talking to fellow heroes until a microphone was shoved in your face. The face of the reporter gleamed as she talked to you. “Tell me Mother Nature, how does it feel working with number 2 hero Hawks?” You winced at the question, but answered nevertheless.

“Hawks is a  diligent hero with a lot of experience under his belt despite being so young. It was great working with him.” You answered, forcing a smile on your face.

“There’s speculation that you two planned this together..is this true? How were you able to predict this attack? More importantly, are you two dating?” Those questions hit you like a truck.

“Um..no comment.” Was all you could answer with.

Nevertheless, the reporter persisted, “Well there has to be something going on. It’s just my opinion but you two seem perfect for each other.” She giggled at the camera, “Please! The public is dying to know!”

Before you could even muster up an answer to the reporter’s overwhelming question, a giant scarlet wing came between you and the reporter, blinding both her and the camera from your view.

“Hey. She said she doesn’t wanna talk about it. Let’s respect personal boundaries, yeah?” Hawks said in a nice but slightly defensive tone.

You blushed, looking up at him. As nice we he was trying to sound, he looked angry. And damn right he was. How dare they talk to you like you’re no more than just some D-list celebrity? You’re a fucking hero, who cares about dating speculation when you just saved Japan’s largest city? And how dare they ask questions about him when you were the one doing most of the work. He was enraged, and it was his natural instinct to protect the thing he cared for.

Before you knew it, he latched his arms around your waist, pushing you into his chest.

You were flustered. “What are you-“

“Let’s go.” Was all he said before flapping his wings, sending you guys soaring through the air.

You held on to him for dear life, damn was he fast.

Hawks smirked to himself, feeling your rapid heartbeat against his chest. You were trying your best to hide your blushing by burying your face in his neck, granted that probably made it worse because he could already tell by how hot your face was.

God, she’s adorable

As soon as you two landed on top of a building, you pushed him away as quickly as possible.

He chuckled, putting both of his hands up in defense, “You’re the one making this awkward y’know? Plus you owe me for saving your ass.”

You were angry. Was it because of the downright rude questions that the reporter asked you not too long ago, was it because you knew tabloids would be posting all about you and Hawks for the next couple of days, was it because you were..warming up to that damned bird?

And then you started. “Just so you know, this..us..is not a thing. It will never be a thing. I wish you’d just stop flirting with me all the damn time. Just move on to the next female hero. I actually don’t care what you do. Just leave me alone. I don’t understand why you have to be so clingy, it’s annoying.”

Hawks did nothing but smile, listening to you ramble.

“You know…I-“ He interjected, only to be interrupted by you.

“And geez, you’re so goddamn entitled. I owe you? I don’t owe you anything. I didn’t even need your help. You’re no different from any other guy, you’re fucking insuffer-“

Hawks shut you up with a gentle kiss on your lips.

Oh.

“You talk too much.” He said in a low whisper, before pulling on your chin to kiss you again. You kissed him back, resting your hands on his chest, completely indulging in the moment.

Fuck. Your knees were weak. As much as you wanted to keep going you pulled away, blushing furiously and refusing to make eye contact with him.

“Oh? So now you’re shy?” He chuckled, pulling you closer to him. He tried to catch your gaze but you just moved your head away from him each time.

“Someone might see us. This is bad,” You were able to muster out.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He said, making you blush even more. He continued, “I don’t flirt with you for no reason, y’know? Sure, sometimes it’s just to tease..but I think you’re amazing.”

You felt like you were melting in his arms. Unable to find the right words, you panicked. You were gone in seconds, manipulating the wind so it could carry you back home, the same stupid blush unable to leave your face.

“Call me!” He yelled.

That damn bird.

[tomurasprincess]

Hello! Can I get 26 and 15 for the yandere prompts with Shigaraki 💕

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader Rating: Explicit + Quote: I’m trying to help! You had a problem, and I fixed it! Word: Aphrodisiac Warnings: dubcon, forced drugging, overstimulation, yandere

Prompt Masterlist

“The fuck do you mean, you’ve never gotten off before?” Dabi’s too loud voice rang out in the cramped space the League of Villains were currently using as a hideout. 

“Not so loud,” you hiss at the man, glancing around to see if anyone overheard. Toga glances in your direction, but makes no sign of hearing exactly what was said as she turns back to continue her talk with Twice. Shigaraki and Spinner continue to be engrossed in their game as they argue with each other about the current meta. You breathe a sigh of relief that’s quickly interrupted by Dabi chuckling.

“Worried the rest of them will hear your little problem? Or just Shigaraki?” 

Your cheeks become hot as you quickly turn away from Dabi, refusing to answer the question. “Just forget I said anything, Dabi.” 

You really don’t know why you told him anything. You had been drinking all night, trying to calm yourself down after a bad day, when Dabi came over to strike up a conversation. You should have refused, but everyone else was busy and you were bored. Now it’s coming to bite you in the ass.

“Oh, did I guess right? Do you have a crush on the boss? Rather get off with his hands instead of your own?” 

You let out an annoyed huff at Dabi’s prodding, trying not to rise to the bait. He just wants to get under your skin, as per usual. Ever since you joined the League, he didn’t feel like you belonged there and he’s never been shy about wanting to torment you.

Dabi pauses in his questioning for a second before a truly malicious grin comes across his face. “Which set of hands would you prefer? 

“Dabi, shut the fuck up,” you try to sound intimidating, but you know you fail when Dabi’s grin only gets wider. 

“I could always help instead, you know.” His voice has taken on a deep, seductive tone as he leans in just a bit closer to you. “Bet dust boy over there doesn’t even know where a clit is.”   

You slide off the barstool you were sitting on too quickly, stumbling a bit as you turn to walk away before anyone takes notice of this conversation. But as you whirl around, you come face to face with your boss.

“Is there a problem here,” he looks between you and Dabi with an edge in his voice that you can’t quite place.

“No, no problem, just going to my room,” you quickly manage to get out as you move to walk around Shigaraki. But the man grabs your arm, roughly enough that you feel sure you’ll find finger shaped bruises on your arm by the morning. You feel a sudden prick of pain as he pulls away, but when you glance down, you see no wound and no blood. You must have just brushed against something as he was pulling away, you think to yourself. 

But as you enter the hallway leading to your room. You hear Dabi’s laughter rising above the din of the room as he makes some comment to Shigaraki that you can’t hear, and Shigaraki’s eyes follow your every movement until you disappear from view.

By the time you get to your room, you feel horribly sick. Your skin is hot to the touch, sweat dripping down your body.  The room seems to spin and jerk around, leaving you feeling off balance. And even worse, the throbbing of your pussy won’t seem to stop. You can feel wetness running down your leg as you rub your legs together to try and get some friction against the ache.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you do know that you need to get inside your room and lock the door for a bit. To not come out until whatever this is passes. You strip out of your shirt and pants on the way to the bed, and are about to lie down when you hear knocking on your bedroom door. 

“Open this door.” A commanding voice rings out from the other side.

Shigaraki. Of course it’s Shigaraki. At the worst possible time, too. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling great! Can you come back later?”

“You can open this door right now or I can decay it. Your choice.”

You suck in a sharp breath as a shot of fear runs up your spine. You know his words are serious. Shigaraki doesn’t make threats that he won’t follow up on. You quickly step into your pants, sliding into your shirt as you make your way to the door and unlock it.

The door instantly flies open as your boss steps into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it. You feel another flash of fear as you wonder why he’s locking the door.

“What were you talking about with Dabi, earlier?” His tone seems casual, but you hear the underlying menace in his tone, although you can’t figure out why he sounds like that over such a mundane question.

“I mean, we were just talking,” you stammer as he begins to stalk towards you, resembling every bit the predator he truly is. You’ve seen him on a battlefield and know what he’s capable of. It makes your aching pussy gush even more, your panties uncomfortably wet as you barely stop yourself from moaning and grinding yourself against something. “Please, I really don’t feel great, can’t you just - “

“Oh, I think I can make you feel so much better.” His voice has gotten lower, more seductive as he looks at you as if he already knows exactly what your problem is. Before you can even make a noise, he grabs you and pushes you down on the bed as his hands work at your clothes. You let out a strangled noise in the back of your throat as you try to scoot away from him.

“Stand still and let me help you,” he growls at you, decaying your pants when they prove too difficult to maneuver you out of. He shoves your legs apart with one hand before diving down in between your legs, nose prodding at your heat as a wave of arousal hits you. He breathes in your scent, moaning loudly as he slips your panties aside to get a taste of you. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” He slides a finger easily inside you, adding in another one when he realizes that he’s able to. Fuck, the stimulation feels amazing and you don’t want him to ever quit. Your hips push back against his fingers as you seek more of the sensations overwhelming you, sensations you’ve never really felt before.

You had experimented with touching yourself, of course. But nothing ever really felt good enough to get you off like you’ve heard other people doing. You had accepted it as simply a fact of life, yet another thing that you could never have. But then he sucks your clit into his mouth, massaging the aching bead with his tongue, and you realize how wrong you were. You cum so suddenly that you all you can manage is a squeak from the back of your throat, body seizing up as waves of pleasure overtake you. 

But Shigaraki doesn’t stop there. He continues to work his fingers inside of you, extending and intensifying your orgasm as his tongue lashes against your throbbing clit. Your second orgasm follows quickly after, and finally Shigaraki pulls away. You flush with embarrassment as you see his chin is glistening with your juices, and then get even more heated when you see him wipe them off with a finger before licking his finger clean.

“I - I don’t know what’s happening,” you whine, arousal continuing to burn through your veins.  You have never felt like this before and you just know something must be wrong. “Something is - “

“There’s nothing wrong,” he whispers, his cock prodding gently at your entrance. “That hormone shot is working perfectly.” You don’t even remember when he took his pants off, but he did. The fog in your mind is doing a good job of making it hard for you to think, but you’re trying to find the words to ask the question in your mind when it hits you. The pinch you felt in your arm when you walked past him.

“You - you bastard! You drugged me, didn’t you?” You accuse him in a loud tone, but the anger in your voice is diminished somewhat by the fact that you keep trying to impale yourself on his cock. Your body is still so keyed up, so hot and needy, that you can barely form coherent words.

“I heard what you talked about with Dabi. I know what he said to you,” Shigaraki’s voice comes out in a harsh snarl. “I’m trying to help! You had a problem, and I fixed it!” As he finishes his sentence, he impales you on his cock with one sharp thrust. You let out a sharp gasp as your walls clench down around his length, throwing you into another orgasm because of how sensitive everything feels.

“Ohh - fuck,” you whimper as you throw your head back, toes curling as you ride out the wave of your third orgasm ever. “Please, don’t stop,” you plead with him, realizing that you don’t care at the moment that he drugged you. “It feels so good, Shigaraki.”

He chuckles as he grips your hips and begins to move. “Tomura,” he whispers as he covers your mouth with his own, giving you a passionate kiss that leaves your head spinning. “Call me Tomura.”

He shifts his angle a bit as he finds a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. Your pussy won’t stop clenching down on the cock that’s pounding into you. Your other orgasms have made you so sensitive, so tight, that you can feel every ridge and vein as his cock drags against your walls. “Tomura,” you manage to shout, “I’m going to - “

“Then do it,” he growls at you, picking up his pace as the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin fill the room. “Cum all over my cock.” 

You let out a wail as you reach your peak for the last time, seeing white as waves and waves of ecstasy flood your body.  Tomura groans as his pace stutters inside of you, ropes of cum filling up your still pulsing pussy. You go completely limp in his arms, too exhausted to even care that he just came inside of you with no protection. 

He moves a bit, intending to shift himself into a more comfortable position, but he freezes when he hears you let out a soft whimper. You settle yourself firmly into his side, nuzzling your face against his chest as you shiver and try to come down from your high.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your sudden submissiveness, grinning when your breathing evens out and he realizes that you passed out in his arms. Whether it was from exhaustion or the after-effects of what was racing through your system, he really didn’t care. The drug had worked perfectly, and you were exactly where you belonged.

He gives a long-suffering sigh. He supposes he really will have to thank Dabi for it later. 

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Tags: @thewheezingwyvern, @animewh0re, @dee-madwriter, @lildreamer93, @yaoyorozuwrites, @ichor-and-symbiosis, @redbeanteax, @kittygonyan, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @daedaep69, @heyybrittannia, @groovydreamertrash, @hisoknen, @chou-maitresse, @shoutogepi, @togasknifes, @kingtamakimurder, @1-800-callmekatsuki, @league-of-thots

[weirdcor3]

how to make weirdcore on photoshop!! :D

i got a great ask from @demonic-screeching about how i do my shit, so i thought id make a more detailed post here! ive been making wierdcore on this blog since january 2021, so ive learnt a lot! more under the cut.

1. find a base image!! i use imgur and pinterest. imgur is especially great because its full of old ass images of the most random shit. you dont even need an account, just hop in and search for mundane stuff like 'hallway', 'field', 'house', etc! explore! screenshot/save any images you think would be cool in an edit- make your own personal archive!! they could even be stills from videos, memes, etc!

2. cropping! this is important. cropping determines the amount of context an image has, as well as focusing on a main point. weirdcore is about removing context, which makes images seem familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. it also adds to the amateur quality of the aesthetic- "why has this person taken this weirdly specific photo?" 99% of the time they didnt! i just cropped the shit out of it!

lets use an example of one of my old edits :) cool concept, cool base image. but it seems like its missing something.... what if we........

cropped it all out????

it is now....... free of context! where are we? where are we going???? who fuckin knows man...... we just gotta gtfo real quick by the sounds of it. the cropping has also compressed the image, which makes it feel even more weird and nostalgic! which brings me to my next point:

3. compression. make sure ur edits are lookin cRUNCHY! weirdcore is about amateurism and nostalgia, so use any means to make ur photos look like theyre from 2003! my personal method is zooming out of the image on photoshop so it gets smaller, then screensotting just the image, then opening the screenshot up in another document and zooming in again to reveal the compression.

4. fonts and captions! these are not necessary, but add to an edit a great deal! common fonts in weirdcore are Helvetica, Arial, and Times New Roman because theyre Normal And Boring, which really adds to the amateur aspect of weirdcore. i like to experiment with gothic and 3D fonts which can give a more webcore-y feel. this site is great for making free 3D text that you can download and add to your edits in photoshop!

as for captions, experiment! use random phrases that are stuck in your head, the more abstract the better! weirdcore is a surprisingly good way to express weird and abstract feelings. keep things vague and intriguing. ask questions!

5. editing. again, experiment! i normally fiddle with the saturation, brightness, and contrast. don't max out every setting- try and think about how you want the image to look! light or dark? bright or dull? you dont always have to tweak things if you think theyre fine as they are. other good tools include liquify, bevel/emboss, smart sharpen, gaussian blur, and warp! liquify is my favourite because you can squish and stretch the image! you can also try warping your captions too! the blemish tool is also rlly good! it can give u some weird trippy blurred out effects.

clone stamping can also help you to morph and duplicate parts of the image too! its very cool

6. go insane!!!!!!!! throw all basic design principles out the window. ignore the rule of thirds. stretch things. make them crunchy ass jpgs. use horrible colours. think about what youd do if you were a child with access to photoshop in 1997, or a middle aged conspiracy theorist making images for their cryptid blog. or like idk some weirdo on myspace.

7. orbs. use the brush tool to make orbs! theyre really good for blocking parts of an image, adding an ominous presence, making shadows, or adding bright lights! shape them, stretch them, make them funny colours. you could also use rectangles, circles, stars, etc... any shapes are cool!

8. inspiration! follow weirdcore blogs on tumblr! ask questions! learn! other resources include the weirdcore wiki and the weirdcord discord server! its where i learned a lot of what i know now, its very active, and has tons more resources there!!

overall, just experiment. you never know until you try, and its fun to develop your personal weirdcore style! its a very broad aesthetic that everyone can contribute to, and a cool outlet!

and lastly, dont worry about followers and likes! online, weirdcore is very random. some of my edits i spent 4378294 years on get like 5 notes, while i can shit something out in 5 minutes that ends up becoming my top post. popularity is pretty irrelevant here. just have fun and do things your own way!

[sabraeal]

All I Ever Wanted, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs‘s birthday; her request was for more of the Swan Princess AU I wrote for last bingo, and of course...I had to start at the beginning. Because truly, how else do you start a story full of MAGIC and POLITICAL INTRIGUE and GEESE

The scene in the royal gardens would be enough to make any artist’s hand twitch. Giggles chased sighs around the fountain, water splashing up with mellifluous squeals to follow. What lover of beauty would not ache to capture such youthful bacchanalia, to put in oils the primal hedonism so well displayed by these young nymphs? One hardly needed to change a single stroke when such lithe bodies prance around the pool, only their soaked chemises to cover them. It would take but a single shaft of sunlight to defeat muslin, and then--

Well, then they would all know whether Count Roital’s most modest daughter truly was as naturally fair as she claimed.

And at the center of this scene was the prince himself, as golden and glittering as any god painted on Wistal’s walls. There were no shortage of young creatives who would have given more than a finger for the opportunity to turn muslin diaphanous and the rumpled linen of the royal shirtsleeves to skin itself. A god in truth they would make him, illuminated in holy light, body honed to immortal proportions. Certainly they would not waste their oils on limbs not quite adult in length, or on a chest that has not quite resigned itself to the muscle that clings to it. A vanity piece, breaths away from a divine orgy; the sort of thing any young man would wish to have gracing the walls of their bedchambers.

And here Haruto stands, a specter at the edge of their paradise. A shade shaped of black taffeta, left to lust after lost youth.

At least, that is what an artist would make of her. It certainly would not befit a widow to look upon this in her weeds and not long for times past, or perhaps, more excitingly, curse them for their dissolution. And a dowager queen-- well, one did not dare to think she might have experience enough in this sort of debauchery.

What was it her nanny used to say? Every generation believes they invented sex, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Ah, but she did not come here to linger at the garden’s edge, watching what the world believes a young man should want. No, the parchment scraping against her sleeve gives her a different purpose entirely; even now the ink burns into her skin, its message flaring behind her eyelids. The annals talked of magic like this; spells that could make words to dazzle the eyes or befuddle the senses, but this-- this is merely the mundanity of excitement, the completely mortal experience of anticipation.

And her son senses it, just as a hunter might sight a bird in the bush: with lethal ease.

“Mother,” Izana says. Or rather, from his distance, mouths, but she knows the shape of it in his voice, even if it changes every day. He might have worn an idle smile surrounded by his nymphs, but now it twitches toward truth, a spark catching in his eyes.

That is the thing about her son; he plays his part well, but even so, he cannot kindle interest where there is none. Not convincingly, at least. Still, there are few who dare look so closely in a prince’s eyes to find him out.

And today, she is finally allowed. Their eyes meet with no tulle, no lace to separate them, a matching pair of midnights making one sky across the garden. It’s a pleasure to see the revelation ripple across his expression, disturbing each carefully constructed emotion until only awe remains.

It’s been a year. And oh, do they have much to discuss.

She watches that thought ripple as well, leaving a face as placid as any pond. As resigned.

“Mother,” he repeats, weariness dragging at the buoyancy of his greeting. “What brings you to our garden of delights?”

His nymphs hush, nearly crashing together as they cease their frolic. This close she can see their faces; just there she makes out the high cheekbones of House Liuka, over there the glossy fall of curls that marks Viscount Baraten’s middle daughter, and of course, Count Roital’s toe-headed eldest. And behind her--

Haruto grimaces. If she does not mistake the beauty mark of that dark-haired naiad, it seems that Izana has found some very choice playmates indeed.

“Your Highness.” It is not in her son to slouch or shirk; instead his shoulders set, bracing for a blow. An act adopted with the ease of practice, far too much for her heart. “We must make preparations for the coronation.”

It is an artless declaration, one that leaves his nymphs gasping. Almost as one, their kohl-lined eyes dart about the garden, searching for the most likely exit. Ah, so his darlings may set their sights high, but none of them truly have the persistence for a hunt. Not for a prince at least.

“Ladies.” His head tilts back, showing the long column of his throat to its best advantage, but his eyes never leave her. “If you would excuse us. My mother wishes to speak with me.” His smile tugs tightly at his lips, what little humor he has spread thin. “I suppose I have been naughty again.”

More seasoned flirts would simper, but these girls are too green; with his permission given, they scurry, picking up their discarded shoes and gowns as they sprint across the lawn. As an afterthought, a few sketch a hasty curtsy, only to realize of insufficient a skirt a sopping chemise makes.

When the last inch of muslin disappears around the hedges, Izana clucks his tongue, chastening. “Would you look at that, mother? You’ve spooked them.”

She hums, annoyance catching its claws on the sound. “One of those girl’s is duke’s daughter.”

“That she is.”

“Yolen,” she observes tightly. “Unless there is another lady of this court with that mark.”

His silence dismisses her thoughts more thoroughly than his words ever could. It rankles-- for them to have endured so long, to have risked so much, only for him to spend this conversation staring at a fountain, pretending he is deaf to her voice.

She is too well mannered to clench her hands to fists; instead she clasps them before her, wishing that she could clutch them in her skirts, that she could rend taffeta as easily as paper. “Have you not played this game long enough? A prince is expect to have a few peccadilloes, but those girls are ladies of the court in good standing. If anything were to happen-- to a duke’s daughter, no less--”

His hand raises, as if he can sweep her worries away with but a wave. “Nothing will. Pretty as they are, not a single one thinks of anything other than how to outdo her competition. A poor trait in a princess, and an even less tenable one in a queen.”

How easily he dashes hopes, as if they were no more than a trifle. “Then perhaps a betrothal would--”

“Mother,” he admonishes, his mouth slanting into a soft smile. “For a prince so freshly out from beneath his father’s thumb, it is far too soon to settle down.”

“Then maybe,” she breathes, the words rushing through her teeth, “he might settle into being a king.”

Izana recoils, as if struck. “That was...bold suggestion, Mother.”

Bald, he means, obvious. Not the subtlety expected of Clarines court, and even less its queen. “It seems those are the only ones you hear these days.”

He shifts, smoothing a hand down the open front of his shirt, tugging it straight. Composure grooming, Haruka had called it once, a reasonable stall for time. And how natural Izana made it look, as if he were not considering her words at all.

“Truly,” he murmurs, hoarse. “You used to be better at this.”

“Of course.” Her hand reaches out, hesitant, before settling on the silk of his hair. It’s soft beneath her palm, almost the way it had been when he was but a babe, held tight in her arms. “I had to be.”

He sighs, and for a moment, she thinks he might lean away, that he might turn from her touch. That all this, finally, has broken the last of the bond between them.

Instead, he leans in; a subtle movement that weaves her fingers through his hair. Just the way she she used to when he came to her with scraped knees or sleepless nights. “Any crown put on my head now would hold up as well as paper. And if I seem too eager to wear it...”

Kings die all the time, the royal physician said, his apprentice’s gaze boring into them over the sheet that obscured the body beneath. But very few die of poison.

“Someone must,” she presses. “If you won’t, then a regent must be named.”

He plucks her hand from his head, holding it between both of his own. They’re cold to the touch, like marble, but the look he fixes her with chills her far more. “Why not you, then?”

In all this garden, there is no air for her to breath. At least, none that her lungs will allow her to take. “Me?”

“The mother of the crown prince often hold the throne until his maturity, does she not?” He settles back against the fountain, her hand still caught in his. “You’d do it well, Mother. You were always a far better queen than father was a king.”

He expects her to be happy. After all, what man wouldn’t want to be given the keys to the kingdom, to be told that his vision could all be real, if only he just took what was offered? But she is no man; ahead of her lies endless council meetings, the relentless dance of public opinion that calls into question her competence, the restless nights where the weight of a hundred thousand lives press upon her, choking her in her sleep.

But that is not the arrangement he means. She can see it in that sharp glint in his eye.

“Ah,” she laughs, humorless. “You mean that you would do it well through me.”

There is little reason for her to say no. After all, she has already traded the place of parent for partner; she can hardly go back now. And yet still, still...

Izana shrugs, not so careless as he would like to seem. “Who else?”

Her fingers tense between his, the only show of nerves she gives before suggesting, “Perhaps the marquis might serve.”

“Haruka?” he coughs, wide eyed. Her hand drops, forgotten. “Father would roll in his grave.”

Haruto lets her mouth cant, the barest hint of pleasure. “I was of the impression that it would make the idea all the more enticing for you.”

It pleases her even more to watch his own mouth curl, a mirror to her own. But still he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he asks, “What did you really come here for?”

“Whatever do you mean?” She blinks, but it’s too late; her play of innocence only makes his brows raise, suspicion in every inch. “Is this not important enough?”

“Ah, but no, mother, that is the problem. It is too important.” He settles back against the ledge, arms sprawling wide, taking up the space denied him for so long. “You did not come all the way down here to ruin my fun when a council could be called instead.”

“Oh,” she hums, arching a brow. “Were you having fun?”

He shifts, just the slightest round to his shoulders, defensive. “A boy my age should when he is surrounded by so many beautiful women.”

She looks at him then: seventeen, hardly at the cusp of manhood, and trying to lie to his mother. For a moment, it seems almost...normal. “But you don’t.”

His mouth pulls petulantly thin. “Do you ever mean to come around to your point, Mother, or are you going to insist on distracting me all afternoon?”

“As you wish.” She comes beside him, perching on the marble ledge. He peers up, eyes already narrowed and suspicious. “I wanted to talk to you about Zen.”

He frowns. “Zen?”

Mages would write spells onto their bodies, the histories said, ink burning clauses and contingencies into their skin. Haruto had always assumed that was a bit of theatrics, a hint of grotesquerie to titillate bloodthirsty children, but now, feeling the way each word burns through the parchment to brand her, to leave its sprawl against her wrist--

She believes it.  As much as any grown woman could believe a fantasy. “I want to get him out of the palace, just for a little while.

“He is my heir,” Izana informs her, strangely stubborn. “You cannot simply take him away.”

“I am not taking him away, not forever. Just for a summer.” She sighs, letting her hand rest on his. “Every inch of Wistal is a reflection of his father, and he...”

Doesn’t know who he was. In a castle full or mourners, only Zen truly grieves. It will not be long until he is old enough to wonder why.

“Still.” It’s mulish, the way he speaks, so unlike himself. “It is his duty to be by my side.”

Haruto clucks her tongue softly. “What good could that do him, or you? He is hardly eleven--”

“And he belongs here, in the castle!” With me rings through the garden, even if it was never said, and her son, the man due to become King Izana, first of his name--

He blushes. Ah, misery loves company, and there is no one more miserable than a younger brother hitched to the elder’s wagon.

“He is a child,” she tells him, stern. “It would do him a world of good to get him away from here. Somewhere where he can be not a prince but...”

A boy with a dead father. Or better, just a boy. “Haruka has a natural son near his age. He would make a good traveling companion. And I have just recently received a letter from and old friend, one I knew long before...”

Before she was married. Before her mother wrapped her up and bundled her toward the capital to catch the First Prince’s eyes. When she was merely the toast of Fortissia, and her whole life spread like a banner before her.

Izana pinches the parchment from her fingers, opening it as if it might catch fire rather than carry a message. “Entaepode?” he murmurs, thoughtful as he scans the admittedly sloppy script. That man never had learned to form his letters the proper way, the way a lord’s son would. “That is in Tanbarun.”

“It is,” she minces carefully, picking around the history casually strewn behind those words. “Just at the border.”

“Mukaze,” he hums, squinting at the signature. “Isn’t that the margrave’s heir?”

“Yes.” Her gloves twist between her fingers, lace slipping over their tips. “He has a daughter, just a year younger than Zen.”

She has taught her son too much, too well, for him to miss the implication. “You want a foreign marriage for him, then.”

“You won’t have the luxury.” Not with the way the north still rattles their sabers, discontent with their adversary dying out from under them. The years would see them settle, or they would not, but in either case, its from those young ladies that Izana would pick his bride.

He huffs, folding the parchment back into a square. “To a girl than may have no title at all?” 

“Mukaze may be the heir in name, but he and his uncle are of an age.” She shrugs her shoulder, far more careless than she feels. “It is common knowledge that his daughter is the one the margrave is raising to take his place.”

Izana frowns, glowering at the letter in his hands. “And at any time he may take a bride himself, and then she will have nothing more than his charity.”

Haruto smiles softly; in her mind’s eye she sees narrow shoulder set high like pickets, an imperious hand waving her off. Leave me, he growls, I’m studying. “Such a thing is doubtful at best. The margrave was never one for company. And besides,” she wheedles, plucking the letter from his grasp, “nothing is set in stone. It is only a visit.” 

Izana may be but a crown away from king, but he has never looked so much like a child as he does now, closing his eyes as his chin tilts toward the sun.

“If she does become the margravine,” she reminds him, too weary for subtlety, “it would be a good match.”

“I would,” he allows, the skin around his eyes squeezing tight before he opens them. “Fine. You may take Zen to Entaepode. And if they like each other...” His lips press together, a thin wrinkle across the youthfulness of his face. “We will see.”

“Oh.” She smiles, heart lifting as she stands. “I’m sure they will.”

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 16: Quench

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

“You know what amazes me,” Scully says as they walk along the waterfront. “That day we first met… I never would have guessed we’d end up like this. More than partners, more than friends.”

“I didn’t expect you to last three months with me,” Mulder admits, hands in his pockets. “Part of me wanted to drive you away, make you request reassignment.”

“And the other part of you?” she prompts, gently taking ahold of his wrist and drawing his hand out. She laces their fingers together, and their entwined hands swing between them as they walk. He likes it.

“I came to admire you,” he admits. “I read your thesis, for starters, but getting to know you personally was a transformative experience. I saw your strength, your dedication to your principles, your loyalty. I came to depend on your perspective; you were always matching me, challenging me.”

“I thought you hated that,” Scully points out.

“I definitely did on occasion,” he agrees. “But I needed it. I still do. I need your rationality and clarity and willingness to listen, even when you disagree with me. Especially when you disagree,” he amends.

“Respecting the journey,” Scully concurs.

“Exactly.” He glances down at her. “What did you think of me when we first met?”

“Hmm… I’d heard a lot about you, so that definitely colored my view in the beginning,” she says. “But walking into the basement office for the first time, I thought… well, for one, you were much more attractive than I was expecting,” she confesses. “I was actually a little awestruck; that is, until you started talking.”

“Why until I started talking?” he asks, voice amused and defensive in equal measure.

“You were really laying it on thick, playing up the ‘Spooky Mulder’ image. It seemed like you’d been alone down there for a little too long,” she says cheekily.

“I’d argue with you, Scully, but I think this time you’re actually right,” he concedes. He stops walking, gives her hand a gentle tug to guide her closer.

“Are you glad they sent me to spy on you?” she asks softly, taking his free hand into her other one.

He nods and leans down, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. “Best thing the Bureau’s ever done for me.”

“We should head back to the car,” Scully says. “My feet are starting to hurt.”

“It’s impressive, the things you manage to do in heels,” Mulder notes.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says with a sly grin.

“Scully, please, be gentle with me,” he pleads. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hm,” Scully presses her lips together, stifling a smile. “I like when you beg.”

Jesus H Christ.

The drive back to Scully’s apartment is short, and before he knows it, he’s pulling over in front of her building, not ready to say goodnight.

Scully must sense this, because she turns to him with hopeful eyes. “Would you like to come in?” she asks. “I’ll make some tea.”

Mulder bites his lip, considering. “Are you inviting me up for a drink or are you ‘inviting me up for a drink’?” he asks.

She shrugs, smiling. “Only one way to find out,” she replies.

He has to at least walk her to her door, right? It’s the chivalrous thing to do. He might as well stay for tea…

Scully seems far more relaxed than she had at the start of the evening. She undoes the straps of her little heeled sandals and kicks them off by the door, tossing her bag and shawl onto the couch.

“What kind of tea would you like?” Scully asks, going into the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

“Uh... you have any black tea?” Mulder asks, sitting on the couch. He knows he should probably be more specific, but the majority of his tea experiences are iced and made by someone else, and he frankly doesn’t know what to ask for.

“Several, actually,” Scully answers, rearranging cartons in the cupboard. “I’m making an executive decision,” she announces, pulling out a box of Constant Comment. “Missy and I liked this one best.”

He watches her over the back of the couch as she starts the kettle, takes two mugs out of the cupboard, drops a teabag into each one. Her hair is a little mussed, and the hem of her dress is dragging on the floor without the added height of her heels. He decides that seeing her all put together at the beginning of the night is no match for watching her come undone at the end.

If only every night could be like this; them sitting on her squishy striped couch, cups of spicy tea in hand, talking about the profound and the mundane. Maybe, somehow, we can have this, he thinks. Pore over case notes on the sofa, kiss each other goodnight, wake up in each other’s arms.

He decides that Constant Comment is, in fact, a very good tea.

Cup empty, Scully sighs contentedly as she rests her head on his shoulder. “This is nice,” she says. “I wish we hadn’t waited so long to do this.”

“What, sit on your coach and drink tea?”

“Well, yes, but more than that. I meant just being together, without holding things back.”

“Maybe we weren’t ready,” Mulder muses. “We needed to grow into what we wanted and needed from each other. I know it took me a long time to figure it out, and even longer to get the courage to tell you.”

“Well, I suppose not knowing how I felt didn’t help; I was too subtle. I took what I considered a big swing in Florida,” she admits, “And when you didn’t respond I decided to back off.”

“A big swing? What are you talking about?” Mulder asks.

Scully covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing now,” she groans. “Remember when they tried to send us to that team-building conference? And I came to your room with wine and cheese?”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Wait, was that a come-on?”

“Yes!” she exclaims. “I came in with this stupid plate of cheese and minibar wine, trying to… to telegraph that I was interested, and you just kept talking about culling techniques all the way out the door.”

“What were you hoping would happen?” Mulder asks.

“I don’t know,” Scully muses. “I was newly cancer-free, and we had just been through that whole ordeal together... I wanted to take a chance and see where it went. Maybe make out a little bit, at least? I’m not sure if... if I would have been ready for more, even if you expressed an interest. But I definitely wanted it.”

“I had no idea,” he says.

They sit silently for a moment.

“I don’t suppose... we should make up for lost time?” he suggests, looking down at her.

She licks her lips, and his eyes follow the movement of her tongue.

She tilts her chin up to him, and he places his hands on either side of her jaw. He leans in, their noses brushing as he tilts his head and presses his mouth to hers. She sighs into the kiss, bringing her hands to his shoulders.

Her lips are so soft and warm, faintly flavored with spices and orange rind from the tea, and he parts his lips reflexively. Hers follow, and the sensation of their mouths slotting together makes his head spin.

Suddenly he feels the slip of her tongue again his bottom lip and he’s in a free fall. They part with a gasp.

“Too much?” Scully asks.

“No, not at all,” Mulder says quickly. “Just surprised me. It was good,” he assures her.

“Good,” she replies, taking a deep breath. “Sorry… I feel like a clueless teenager,” she says with a huff of a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared this much. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling out of my depth all of a sudden.”

“I’ve never cared this much for anybody either,” he admits. “But like you said. We’ll go slow.”

She licks her lips. “Okay,” she whispers.

He angles himself towards her, sliding a hand around the back of her neck to draw her closer. “Try again?” he whispers, lips brushing hers.

“Yes,” she breathes.

He’s been holding back from this for years, he realizes; all those times his eyes caught on her lips, watching her mouth shape his name. Occupying his tongue with sunflower seeds to distract himself from what he really wanted. Leaning close, furtively whispering, convincing himself that he really needed to be in her personal space. It was all an elaborate buildup for this moment.

He has a hand in her hair, the other tentatively resting on her waist. Emboldened by her previous eagerness, he opens his mouth, inviting her in with a soft lick. She responds by looping her arms around his neck, one leg hitched across his kneecap as their tongues meet.

They kiss like kites dancing on air, ribbons twisting and tangling in the wind, all silk and cotton and hot breath. He’s not sure if he pulled her onto his lap, or if she slid across his knees of her own volition; but she’s there now, her compact body bundled against his chest. She cards her fingers through his hair, sucking his lower lip, grazing his tongue with her teeth.

Mulder wants this so badly it aches. He might die if they stop, but something below the belt is bound to make itself known, and he needs to regain control before his body gets ahead of his mind.

“Scully,” he pants, pulling back. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his hunger intensifies. “Scully, if we’re not going to take this further tonight we need to stop now.”

She nods, lips parted as she catches her breath. One strap of her dress has fallen down her shoulder, and he tenderly replaces it with the slip of a finger.

“Don’t touch me like that,” she whispers. “It’s too dangerous.���

“I know,” he confesses. “But… sometimes I want dangerous.”

“So do I,” she says. “But you were right. We should stop.” She slips off of his lap, standing. “It’s getting late,” she say, glancing at the clock. “I have mass in the morning.”

“I hope I gave you a few things to confess,” he says, rising.

“I may add some to the list myself,” she murmurs, and his knees threaten to give way.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he warns her, picking up his jacket and walking to the door. “The more you talk, the harder it is to leave.”

“Then my lips are sealed,” she says. “Goodnight, Mulder.” She opens the door for him, rising onto her tiptoes to receive one more kiss.

It’s brief, but sweet, and Mulder impulsively pulls her into a hug after their lips part. “Goodnight, Scully,” he mumbles into her hair.

He's ascended; gotten high on her lips, floating through the cosmos.

[theartofdreaming1]

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay 

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious  [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch! 

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete 

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit  has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’ 

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

[spicyizuku]

mha boys & cooking headcanons

hi ❤️ heres my thoughts on the boys and if they'd cook for u!! enjoy -🌶

Includes: Todoroki Shoto, Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, & Iida Tenya

warnings: mentions of food

genre: general, fluff, opinion piece

01.04.21

Todoroki Shoto

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

hmm he does sometimes!! he usually makes lunch for you when he has time off, but it's mostly stuff you can make without using an oven. he makes a GREAT sandwich

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

yes! and by yes i mean he watches as you cook. he'll probably prep the kitchen for you- he cleans up the kitchen and helps chop vegetables so you dont take extra prep time

𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤?

hmm i think he'd like baking more! he's not much of a sweet tooth but its easier to mess up when you cook rather than just sticking something in the oven and waiting for it to rise

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥?

he's decent!! he doesnt like handling hot liquids for reasons (except soba duh) but anything other than that hes fine! it might take two tries to get a recipe right. he doesnt really make anything fancy

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

absolutely!! he loves finally being able to sit down with you after a long day. the first words that come out of his mouth is usually "how was your day?" nd you two easily fall into a pattern. he almost NEVER misses dinner

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞?

you already know!! baby loves his cold soba!!

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬?

if you had a claim on a room in his house it would be the kitchen. yea he lives there but thats YOUR kitchen.

Bakugou Katsuki

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

Everyday!! He strongly believes providing and cooking for you is one of the easiest ways to show you how much he loves you. his food speaks for him. He loves trying out new recipes for u!! nd theres no snark if you ever request something for dinner. When you two first got together he'd make breakfast and then say he "accidentally made too much" so you can have some. It gradually evolved to "What do you want to eat?"

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

rarely. he doesnt want u anywhere near the kitchen. On rare occasions when he's done cooking u make desert, but usually you bake in advance bc he doesn't want anything in his way when he's ready to make something

𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤?

hes the cook and ur the baker!! He doesnt see the joy in baking and thinks it's useless to him since he doesnt really enjoy sweets. that is- until you make KILLER Shu kurimu. he cant get enough of the cream puffs you make and does not know when to stop. u usually only make them once a month. he gets mad if you make them more bc he knows hes going to ignore his meal plan and inhale them lol

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥?

You already know Bakugou is Gordon Ramsey 2.0!! man can make anything. every time you see him head to the kitchen you get excited. you KNOW he's abt to go hard and make the best food you've probably ever tasted

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

hmm not much- You know bakugou is an overachieving perfectionist. He works and works and works until he drops. He doesn't have time to sit down and eat, he's always on patrol. That doesn't mean he leaves you with nothing to eat, though! He'll get up early to make you both bentos and makes sure to prep for dinner if he isnt cooking in advance. On off days (rare) he'll make you American styled breakfast in bed 🥰

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞?

Tantanmen! its the japanese take on Sichuan Dan Dan noodles. u know baby loves his spices

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬?

HIS. dont even THINK about trying to get in that kitchen while he's cooking. he needs his space and cooking is his time to shine!! he'll get irritated if ur in the way. he likes when you sit at the bar top of his kitchen and talk to him while he cooks. even distracted he cooks perfectly. he doesnt add much to the conversation since he's still focused, but he loves hearing ur voice and knowing you enjoy being around him enough to just sit and watch

Midoriya Izuku

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

ummm- he tries?? He makes you two a lot of no-cook dinners since hes not good with cooking yet. But babyboy definitely tries!!

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

all the time!! izuku is usually watching you cook. whenever you're in the kitchen, hes there. He watches and takes notes so he can get better. He helps with all the non cooking parts- chops up everything and preheats the oven. He'll help clean up your mess as you go!!

𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤?

hmm both! he's a decent baker but he wants to learn more about both. baby never gives up on learning something new

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥?

hh at first? NO. You're surprised he's survived this long. You have no idea how he follows meal plans to stay in shape for hero work when the man barely knows how to boil water. He's admitted he used to go to Bakugous and annoy him until he was kicked out with a full stomach. but!! Once a week, you'll give him a lesson and watch over as he cooks, you know he'd rather die than give up trying to perfect something. He's a really fast learner and is actually starting to get good!! Next thing you know you'll be coming home from work and finding that dinner was already made- maybe a bit dry, okay. But its not that bad!!

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

He tries- he really really tries. He loves eating dinner with you, but being the #1 hero takes sacrifice and dinner with his loved ones is exactly that. He's too busy for his own good; completing patrols and missions, attending events, making appearances, writing reports??? Its all a LOT. He'll probably come home to eat dinner with you once (twice, if hes lucky) a month.

You know how hard it is on him. He would always sit down and eat dinner with his mom when he was younger and not being able to sit down and relax was stressful. One day you decided to surprise him! You two share your locations so you made dinner and went out to bring him food. You two ate on this agency's fire escape- He was so happy!! You remember that scene when spiderman ate a churro while sitting on the ledge of a building? thats yall. After that, he makes sure these midnight picnics are a daily thing- he wouldnt miss patrol dinners for the world

he always wraps an arm around you when you two eat during a patrol. He gets grumpy because you never bring a jacket and he doesn't have one on him to give you since hes in his hero suit ): you sit side by side, arms brushing against eachother as you two eat whatever you made

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞?

Tonkatsu!! its one of his favorite foods and it doesn't take that mich effort or time to make

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬?

Yours!! you're usually in charge of food- he's too busy and if he rushes cooking the food will turn out inedible. He doesnt have time to clean up after you- so he hires someone to clean the kitchen daily. A hero's salary has its perks!

Tenya Iida

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

not usually- its not because he doesnt want to. It just doesn't cross his mind. Cooking for him is more of a chore- He'd rather take you out someplace nice

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

All the time!! You two work around the kitchen with eachother effortlessly- never getting in eachothers way. He'll stop to watch you work your magic sometimes. Cooking with you is such a mundane yet enjoyable experience

𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤?

baker!! he mostly makes rolls and baked goods that arent too sweet. I strongly believe Iida likes to bake bread

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥?

He's decent- he follows all recipes to a T so if its a bad recipe the food will turn out a little bland. u know when you see a recipe and it has little to no spices so you add some? Iida doesn't do that- a recipe is made to be followed

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?

Yes!! You two try to eat together at least three times a week. On fridays his brother comes over for dinner- its always a grand time! The dining room booms with laughter and chatter

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞?

beef stew!! thats one of the meals he makes thats really really good!

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬?

shared! you both cook and bake equally and u never kick eachother out the kitchen. He loves being in the kitchen with you!! He'll press up against your back, resting his head on your shoulder and wrapping an arm around your waist as he watches you cook

he's tried being romantic and dance with you in the kitchen. poor baby just doesnt know how to dance. but humor him!! he loves dancing with you! Theres a speaker in the kitchen just for when you want to hold eachother in the kitchen and listen to music

Thanks for reading 🥺 If you wanna leave constructive criticism i'd really appreciate that ❤️ I take requests btw! lemme know if i should do a pt 2 w the other boys & shinsou! hope u enjoy ur day

- chili 🌶

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Unabridged: 109 (1978)

The X-Men, those plant-loving mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 109) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne

Ororo not noticing Moira casually drowning Banshee or Wolverine being punted around by some poutine-roided idiot because she’s too busy eating the Piotr-shaped eye candy is such a mood.

I wonder what my ethnic curse would be. Perhaps: ‘By Mata Hari’s bedazled bikini!’

Plot-wise, issue 109 is not that dense. Half the issue deals with the X-Men coming home from their space-adventures, the other half has Wolverine dealing with the Canadian government coming to claim their lost asset. I mean, Claremont uses three pages to tie up some loose Shi’ar ends through flashback because the last issue couldn’t fit it all in. It’s by its very definition a breather issue.

Doesn’t mean it’s not awesome.

WHERE TO START?! Why not with plant mommy Ororo?

Storm’s secondary mutation has to be that her hair always looks like a fabulous follicular cascade, even during an indoor spring shower.

Look, if I had weather powers, I’d probably be using it for mundane shit like watering my plants and ensuring nice weather at my friend’s weddings too. (Okay, maybe sometimes I’d zap dudes who tell random girls in bars to smile more.)

While Storm talks to plants and takes all her clothes off, Kurt does the other thing I do after a rough day at the office: he calls someone for some nookie.

I love that Amanda is so extra that she gives out signed photos of herself.

Kurt just looks so fucking cute here. Look at those little fangs! Yeah, Amanda, get it.

Like a lot of people to whom communication comes as easily as breathing, Piotr is defeated when faced with a blank letter. Look at that trash can: he’s tried this waaaaay too many times.

Anyway, I think “Sorry I haven’t been writing, was busy saving the universe. Weather’s lovely” has a nice ring to it.

Star Wars had been out for around half a year when this comic was published, and it’s safe to say Claremont was a huge fan. You can tell by the direction these comics are taken: the whole Shi’Ar space opera is obliquely inspired by Star Wars and Star Trek and their aesthetics. I mean, Corsair asks to be beamed up and there’s even references to a captain “Spo’ock”.

It was the end of the 70s. Everybody wanted to be a Skywalker: space was big, y’all. Nightcrawler loving the movies is not a coincidence - I wonder if Claremont was also a fan of Errol Flynn.

Anyway, we follow Kurt one more floor down, where he spooks Scott, brooding at the window. The result is an unintentionally hilarious interaction, where Scott and Kurt discuss Real Issues Like Men while Jean comes out to her parents outside.

“Mom and dad, I’m… the Phoenix.”

“Honey, we figured you might be when you introduced us to Misty Kn… Wait, what?”

To be fair, being possessed by a cosmic force for rebirth is almost the same as being gay: it imbues you with fabulous new insights, you start experimenting with your wardrobe and ever so often, you want to burn down the galaxy because some bitches in a gay club have slighted you.

But all that will come later.

Anyway, Jean’s kinda silly coming out leads to a pretty honest heart-to-heart between Nightcrawler and Cyclops. Scott tries to give Kurt grief because of his happy-go-lucky attitude, and Kurt gives him a deserved put-down.

Life can be unkind, Scotty, so embrace the kindness provided to you by a wise little devil.

Scott prefers to brood and Kurt is hanging with Amanda, so it’s a foursome - maybe even a double date? Moira and Sean, Piotr and Ororo. Logan asks for a ride - not because he wants to eat cheese and crackers among ants, no, he wants to blow off steam.

The X-Men’s chicken or egg: did Logan’s sideburns decide the shape of his headpiece, or did the headpiece shape his haircut?

I started reading the X-Men just when the Marvel Universe was starting to reach the height of Wolverine saturation: he was simply everywhere. Like, at some point, he was in X-Force and the Avengers while also being a Headmaster of the Jean Grey school. Add to that him being the face of the Fox X-Men universe… Listen, it was easy to get sick of him. I kind of did.

But this? Original flavor Wolverine, who’s still kinda short, kinda ugly and kinda stuck being a loner? He works as a character. Chris Claremont is beginning to explore his duality: the wild animal who has been experimented on vs. the honorable man who would do anything for his found family. He gives me major Granny Weatherwax vibes: he’s the kind of person who doesn’t need people, but he does need people to know that he doesn’t need people.

So yeah, he's still cool.

Also, his healing factor hasn’t been kicked to superhuman levels yet - you know, being able to regenerate from a single cell or whatever - so he actually feels kind of anxious when he’s about to toss himself off cliffs etc.

Not happy about that red belt, though.

Anyway, Wolverine is out doing the noble hunting-without-killing-thing, and then this motherfucker wrapped in a flag shows up. Look, I know I have something against dudes who brandish their nationality as their superhero identity, but this fool is just… ugh.

James MacDonald = the worst. Trust me on this.

Major MacMapleleaf then punts Wolverine across the forest, right into the other X-Men’s picnic, and now we’re all caught up.

Out of all the X-Men in this issue, Sean gets the least amount of screen time but, hey, at least I can steal a joke from him.

Don’t worry, despite the martyr/pièta pose, Moira will turn out just fine!

You weren’t worried?

Anyone?

Look, is there anyone who genuinely likes Moira as a character?

James Hudson, being the worst, doesn’t give a fuck that he just cross-fired an innocent woman - er, innocent as far as he knows, at least - and just nopes out of there, too outnumbered to fight the X-Men.

Yeah, you better run.

He vows to return with Alpha Flight, which… Eh, he’ll at least bring some more interesting characters with him. (Snowbird!) Now that he has sown enough seeds for a future plot to pick up on, Claremont calls it a day. I will also call it a day, after a little fashion watch. Out of all of these character, who has chosen the worst outfit?

Scott. It’s Scott. Look, I get that those ruby quartz glasses make the world a different color for you, but you’re wearing a mustard suit and a bespeckled yellow shirt underneath. Even when considering Moira’s attitude, it’s still the most stank thing in the doorway.

Sean, just what do you see in her?

[charnamefic]

Kevin Can F*** Himself and The Sitcom

I am fascinated by this canon's universe, by the implications of living in a sitcom reality where there’s a non-sitcom reality when the sitcom isn’t running.

I’m taking as a given that Kevin Can F*ck Himself takes place in what truly is a sitcom-universe. I know some people consider the sitcom-style parts of the show to be Allison’s way of thinking about her life while she really lives in a more mundane universe, but frankly that’s not a theory that interests me. I have no beef with those who believe it, but I find Kevin Can F*ck Himself to be a much richer viewing experience personally if read as the off-screen adventures of an actual sitcom wife, and that’s the only reading I’m going to get invested in and theorize about.

At the beginning of the first episode I thought Allison was, on some level, aware that she was a TV character – I thought that her fantasies about living the 50's housewife advertising dream were the expression of a desire for a genre shift (that could never come) – but by the end of the episode I’d concluded that she doesn't know. I don’t think any of the characters know that they’re sitcom characters, and, as an extension of that, I don’t think any of them are aware that there are differences between the on-screen and off-screen existences they live. So what does it mean to be that one-dimensional, sitcom type of character and live under that universe’s rules for parts of your life, and transition into a rounded-out person with an active inner life at other times? What does it mean when you can’t comprehend that transition, and when the more rounded version of yourself has to tackle with who you are and what happens to you in that sitcom reality? What power of self do you have, both to be a person in your own right and to act as one free of the constraints of what the rules of a sitcom universe would demand?

What are the rules of the Kevin Can F*ck Himself universe as a sitcom?

Here's what we have to work with:

The universe is a status quo is god universe. Kevin and Allison can never move away, never not be Neil’s neighbours. We as viewers of Kevin Can F*ck Himself see what that means for the characters, how painful that stagnation is to Allison and the horrible things that have led to that consequence, but Kevin Can F*ck Himself takes place off-screen of the sitcom – on-screen, that’s just typical status-quo maintenance. Kevin and Allison can’t keep a pet, can’t add new characters to the cast or kick off old ones; at the end of the episode, nothing will have happened that will keep the sitcom from being something you can tune-in to irregularly without missing a plot-important episode.

The sitcom caters to the man-child id. Kevin can be rude and outright cruel to his wife, and he’ll never have to worry about her responding in equal kind. Kevin can accuse and humiliate and banish his best female friend, and she’ll come crawling back for re-entry into the gang, feeding him and making up for her failure to prioritize him. Kevin can fight with his best male friend, and the girls will sort it out without Kevin or Neil’s egos having to take a serious blow; it’s just a special episode where Kevin learns to express appreciation for his sidekick (at least until next episode). Kevin may be an everyman, but he will never be outshone.

The sitcom universe is simple and insular. “It seemed harmless.” It is harmless. All pain can be brushed off, all suffering passes quickly. Kevin can promise a bunch of people money he doesn’t have and trap them in his basement and not need to fear any lawsuits. Kevin can set his neighbour’s lawn on fire, and that’s fine, it really is. He can get a mailwoman deported, and once the episode’s over it’s no-one’s problem and it doesn’t indicate anything about what kind of person someone who would do that is or what values they hold. Kevin can get his wife fired, and she can’t nurse a grudge over that, can’t mention it again or have it shape their future interactions; it’s one and done. Dreams can be dashed, and by the next scene break it’s back to basics not simply because the status quo is god but because when your hopes die you get up and move on and keep acting like the paint-by-numbers character tropes you embody. The people are no more complicated than the actions. The caretaking wife can’t be truly hurt by the daily derogation she suffers from everyone who interacts with her. The next-door neighbour can’t have a fulfilling life outside of Kevin’s orbit, he can’t even complete fairly simple tasks without a leader to follow. Kevin’s dad can’t be anyone outside of being Kevin’s dad. The girl in the group cannot show an inner life or opinions or desires that conflict with her designated role. What you see is what you get, and there’s nothing you have to consider under the surface.

Kevin Can F*ck Himself has shown us that these rules only hold true on-screen in the sitcom; once the sitcom cameras aren’t on the characters anymore, the entire world shifts into something different. If we consider the on-sitcom-screen and off-sitcom-screen worlds to be like two intersecting realities, I think we have to assume that the sitcom reality is the dominant one. Events happen in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality that are necessarily related to the sitcom reality (Allison reacting to how she’s treated when off-screen; Allison and Patty discussing events that have happened on-screen while off-screen) whereas the events in the sitcom reality occur regardless of the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality (Allison’s damaged clothes and injuries that occur off-screen aren’t noticeable on-screen; when Kevin confronts Allison and Patty, that confrontation makes sense in the sitcom universe even without the context given in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality). If the sitcom reality is the dominant reality, that necessitates that the Kevin Can F*ck Himself reality is still influenced by the rules of the sitcom reality even when the cameras are off – if the influence can only have significant consequences in one direction, then the universe that can’t significantly influence the other can’t have anything happen in it that would have to have a notable impact on the other.

To put this to a concrete example, the marriage Allison has on-screen can affect her contentment with her life off-screen and make her want to have an affair off-screen, but – given the premise expressed above – her off-screen affair can’t unduly affect her on-screen marriage. It can’t influence her think she might be able to find a safe way to get a divorce because that would affect the status quo of the sitcom. It can’t be reflected in her on-screen interactions with Kevin because that would complicate their marriage in a manner the sitcom universe can’t bear.  

I don’t think Allison’s affair with Sam can come out on-screen in the sitcom. The sitcom everyman’s wife cheating on him isn’t what the target demographic wants. The dream of the hot wife who’ll let you get away with anything, who puts out and cleans up and cooks and boosts and takes her lumps with a smile and stands by you no matter how many times things don’t go as desired – yes! The culturally ingrained fear that your woman is cuckolding you, that you’re inadequate instead of all that she wants and needs, that you’re a fool and didn’t actually land that dream catch – no, absolutely not! It breaks the rule of catering to the man-child id, it breaks the rules of simplicity, and it breaks the rule of status quo. I think Allison will face problems with the affair – we know she will in some way from the ep 6 preview – but I suspect the issues surrounding it will be more along the lines of getting to know Jenn and discovering that she’s actually awkward but sincere and the “who really gets the hot guy” competition is way less fun when you empathize with the opposition, or having to face that the reasons she and Sam didn’t end up together back when they were teens still apply and that doing this with him now won’t make her happy. Whatever happens, I don’t think Allison’s marriage will be affected in a way that will show up in the sitcom at all. So there’s a front on which Allison’s behaviour is safe – the affair can never come out in a way Kevin and the sitcom viewers will believe in it, so she will never have to face consequences along the lines of suffering a broken-marriage for which everyone considers her at fault because she committed adultery – and a way in which it’s not – Allison basically said that she knew it was a shitty thing to do but she had fun enabling Sam in cheating on his girlfriend back in high school because she didn’t know the other girl and didn’t really think about her, but now that the relationships those involved are in are even more serious and the other woman is an actual acquaintance there’s no way that this won’t at least lead to drama guaranteed to have a significant influence and consequences in her off-sitcom-screen life. My point with this is that (if my theory is correct) Kevin Can F*ck Himself will show consequences, but Kevin’s sitcom can’t, and that inherently affects the dangers Allison faces for her behaviour and what can come of it in both worlds.  

Leading off from that, we have the whole dealing drugs and assaulting a trucker thing. Necessarily, none of what we’re seeing in Kevin Can F*ck Himself about that can be reflected in the sitcom. We can have the dramatic irony of Kevin confronting Allison the night she started having an affair, we can watch Kevin confront her and Patty over the horrible acts they committed off-screen, but due to the nature of the universe, that cannot be anything but dramatic irony which sitcom viewers wouldn’t be able to pick up on. Simply put, Patty can’t be sent off to jail for dealing because she’s a regular. Allison will never be convicted for what they did to that trucker – even though you’d expect her to be in serious trouble given that surely there would have been security cameras all over any gas station – because that cannot flow back to the sitcom reality in any recognizable way.

Can the sitcom wife spend more than one episode under on-screen police scrutiny? There could probably be a plotline where she spends a night in jail, but according to sitcom logic that has to be sorted out before the episode is over. There has to be some sort of misunderstanding revealed, some piece of evidence come to light that exonerates her. She has to get back to her husband and the dirty laundry and the meals she needs to make. This is why I think it’s not possible that Allison and Patty mugging that guy for his oxy can come back to bite them in a way that would be reflected on-screen in the sitcom. The sitcom wife doesn’t beat people up for their drugs, not like that at least. The rules of a sitcom will not allow it.

The rules of a sitcom also don’t allow the star to die. I fully believe that Patty was right; if Allison had filled that burger with drugs, Kevin would have been back up and running by the next scene. So, given that truly bad things can’t happen to Kevin, and given that things can’t significantly change, what can Allison’s plans be building toward? Literally, is it possible for Kevin to end his life in jail for drug-related crimes? If the premise I’ve laid out above is correct, then no. Is it possible for Kevin to die in allegedly drug-related gang violence? No. It’s more likely that Marcus talks a big game, but is actually a small enough fish he could be taken out of the equation by Patty telling his aunt he was bothering her. I don’t think anything Allison and Patty can do in the Kevin Can F*ck Himself universe to get Kevin done for drug-related crimes can lead to anything more than a Very Special Episode about drugs on the sitcom.

So what does that mean for the show? I have no idea, and I’m really interested in finding out.

Can the rules of the universe be changed? Allison broke a glass on-screen, in a way which probably wouldn’t have been written into a sitcom, so maybe. But that didn’t really break any of the proposed rules of the universe, so maybe not.

And what happens if Allison succeeds? Characters in a sitcom have backstories, but can they have futures after the show is cancelled?

I’ve heard from a lot of people that they don’t enjoy the sitcom scenes, but (for the most part) I think those are depicted to establish and convey something important. I might be completely off-base with my analysis of how realities are portrayed in the show and what we can glean from that, but even without that I think we’ve been offered a compelling deconstruction of on-screen sitcom hijinks.  

Also, I just really love how they’ve worked within the boundaries of the intersection of sitcom and non-sitcom presentation. How can the “just getting by” family afford all the fun things that make the sitcom life aspirational without making the characters too well-off for the everyman to see himself and his own struggles in them? Simple – drain those off-screen savings. It’s perfect. It’s so beautifully indicative of Kevin Can F*ck Himself’s premise.

Any way you look at it and whatever theories you prefer, the world presented in Kevin Can F*ck Himself offers up a lot of interesting possibilities and I can’t wait to see them explored.

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Hey Roman, Logan! Side note: we just found out you guys are Fate Touched. So. That explains quite a bit. Ask her radiance if you wanna know more :) - 🗡

      ”So I can assume you already know about Virgil's situation?" Logan asks, frowning slightly as he tries to puzzle out what all he should say in this situation. Goddess or not, he's not sure if it's safe to tell her the extent of what he's seen…

      Eilistraee nods, "I know about his Sorcery. —Do not worry, Logan. I wouldn't tell the Sisters or their cults unless I had to. If I was planning on handing him over to be executed by the Gods, I would not have helped you save him."

      Logan finds himself believing her. But, before he can let the existential dread of what they’re discussing — Which amounts, most probably, to interplanar treason — settle in, he has to comment,

      "I don't remember telling you my name."

      Eilistraee smiles at that, like she knows something he doesn't. Which, Logan will reluctantly admit, is possible in this specific circumstance.

      "Virgil has told me about each of you. —And, of course, you and I are already acquainted." She smiles at Roman, who nods. 

      "I hope you aren't insulted that I haven't visited in… over a century?"

      "We were both busy~" She teases, as if a century is anything to a Goddess. 

      "I'm not sure what is going on." Logan admits, getting them back on track once he's come to terms with the fact that he is, in fact, doing this.

      "By all means, almost everything I've seen him do over these past few days should be impossible. He's wielded Mythal magic, changed the flow of time, and experienced more frequent Wild Surges than any wild magic Sorcerer I have ever heard of. I thought, initially, that he had been born with the power... But, if those spell-scars are any indication, he was not. Still, I've never seen spellscars of that shape or size."

      "And they're angrier than before!" Roman cuts in, "I had seen his arm under those bandages a few nights ago, and they didn't look nearly that bad. But we didn't encounter any wild magic between then and now, so I don't know how they could have gotten worse…?"

      "Virgil's current power is not something he was born with, that much is true." Eilistraee nods, "He was born with magic latent within him, but he purposefully pushed it down and ignored it. What he can do now stemmed from a disastrous encounter with Nethermancy, in which he was mutated by the Far Realm."

      Roman and Logan gasp, and Patton is hopelessly confused. He looks between the three spellcasters in the room, hoping one of them remembers that he is but a regular, mundane person.

      "...Ne...cro...mancy?"

      "No, Nether. Dark Magic." Roman stage-whispers, looking frightened. 

      Well, that clarifies nothing at all, Patton frowns, then turns to Logan,

      "Lo, you didn't mention that one the other day. I thought you said there were only eight?"

      “That is because Nethermancy no longer exists." Logan frowns. Eilistraee sighs and shakes her head,

      "As most things you will find tend to be… That is not entirely true. You know your magic comes from the Weave, yes?"

      All three of them nod at that, and Patton knows the beginning of a lecture when he hears one. He tries his best to keep listening as Eilistraee continues,

      "You can visualize the Weave as a spiderweb. Many threads tangle together to form it, more densely interconnected in some areas and more sparse in others. When you cast a spell, you are plucking on the web. Lesser tricks only jostle one string, while great feats of magic pull on the points where many threads are connected.” 

      "So, the less strings we pull, the lower the spell's level?" Roman muses. She nods.

      “Mystra is the spider who sits at the center, building and repairing the web, feeling the vibrations of all those who touch it and biting away those who pull too hard. After all, if you pull too harshly, the web will unravel… But the web is not the source of magic in the Universe. It is just where you mortals can syphon it from. Magic is something that has always existed, long before the gods, and will continue long after us.”

      Logan nods, "The early humanoids who tried to hone magic before the Weave was woven were all destroyed, and turned into the first liches."

      "So Mystra, with some help from my Father, created the Weave as a blanket." Eilistraee smiles, "A safety net, that holds raw power back and converts it into something manageable -- something mortals can access."

      Logan smirks, “Which is why Elves were the first humanoids to master magic. They had an insider.” 

      "So like a sieve? For flour?" Patton asks, and the goddess grins at the visual. Logan nods, almost impulsively taking over the lesson,

      "Sure. Now, imagine pulling a wire on that sieve out of place. There is a hole for more coarse clumps to fall through, yes?” Patton nods, and Logan smiles at him, “That is what we are doing when we cast spells. When you pull on a thread, a bit of this raw power seeps through, but the gap only releases as much as that thread once covered. The less you ask for, the less you will receive. And if you don’t cast a spell correctly, the thread isn’t pulled at all, and no magic happens.”

      ...Now Logan frowns, beginning to catch on to Eilistraee’s point.

      "But, Nethermancy was not like that.” Logan muses aloud, “It stemmed from the Shadow Weave; the warped copy of the Weave Mystra's sister Shar invented, by mixing magic with corruption from the Far Realm."

      "The Shadow Weave is the space in-between the windows in the spiderweb. The darkness between the threads. Hence, it's name." Eilistraee explains, "When you reach into it, there is nothing to decide how much you take out. And, since you have not disturbed the strings, Mystra cannot even sense that you’re there. It is lethal to reach your hand into raw magic like this, in the same way it was lethal to cast before the Weave was constructed."

      "Which is why it was never active." Logan adds, cautiously, waiting for her to correct him. "Supposedly, the Blue Flame burned it out during the Spellplague, before it's creator ever used it. Or, so everyone was led to believe…?"

      Eilistraee nods, "The Shadow Weave was never destroyed. Shar lost control of it, but it still exists alongside the original. A spiderweb without a spider... And, by now, you are aware that my brother's kin do not follow the same rules when it comes to the lethality of raw magic."

      "So, he was exposed to this Shadow Weave somehow, and now he keeps tapping into it on accident?" Roman frowns.

      "Yes. Without either Sister Goddess's influence to limit him, Virgil has tethered himself to the spaces between. Now he pulls at it without trying, weakening the weave around him and accessing magic Mystra outlawed decades ago."

      Eilistraee turns to Logan, suddenly very serious, 

      "You've done well to teach him control, but it is still something he will have to learn. He is the only thing moderating his contact with raw magic. He has no safety net to protect him if he takes too much, and no way to stop himself from doing it. This is not your usual pupil whose spell will fizzle out if they fail, his will combust. He must learn to hone his ability."

      "I can teach him." Logan nods resolutely, already determined to see this through to the end. Eilistraee frowns. 

      "There are already many in your world who know about his mutation. Many wish to use him as a weapon on a scale you cannot imagine, and many more wish to destroy him altogether. People who will show no mercy when they come for him, and anyone who would protect him.” 

      Eilistraee turns to address all three of them, making an imposing figure where she towers in the middle of the room, 

      “You will face more peril at his side than you have ever read about in your history books, and his powers will bring untold destruction if you fail. Are you so sure you wish to involve yourself in this?"

      "You'll find I already have." Logan stares her down, hoping he is more stubborn than she is, "I am not going to give up on him now. I knew it was going to be difficult when I first asked him to join me."

      (So, that might be a little white lie. He didn’t know it would be so difficult that a literal Goddess would warn him to pack up and go home, but… Well, no one is going to tear him away from a project he’s already started, nor a friend who needs his help. And, after all, Logan doesn’t know anyone more qualified than himself to teach Virgil how to use magic.)

      Eilistraee seems to mull over his words for a moment. Roman and Patton are keeping quiet, either letting Logan speak for them as the group’s leader or too exhausted/shocked to say anything.

      ...And, after an excruciating several minutes, the Goddess smiles.

      "Very well then. I entrust his safety to you, Professor Logan." Eilistraee — the Goddess. What is today?! — smiles, as if as amused by the situation as Logan is winded by it. 

      "Don't fail him."

      "We won't!" Patton cheers, elbowing Logan's thigh to shake him out of his surprised stupor. Eilistraee grins.

      "We?"

      "Yep! We're a bit of a package deal~" Roman nods, smiling at the other two. "And, I mean... if Logan goes on some sort of super perilous adventure and doesn't invite his resident literal Celestial, I don't even know what I would have to do! The sheer disrespect? I would throw a fit." 

      "You are both cordially invited to the 'super perilous adventure.'” Logan rolls his eyes, “Not that either of you ever need an invitation to insert yourselves into my travels..." 

      Logan tries his best not to smile, ignoring their laughter at either side of him.

      "You will need more than just the three of you, I'm afraid." Eilistraee smiles, 

      "I have full confidence in you, but the fact remains that Virgil will also need a mentor who is, themselves, a Sorcerer. There are some skills that can only be taught from experience."

      "Where are we supposed to find another Sorcerer?! It's rare enough that we found the one!" Roman whines, making Eilistraee grins.

      "You are willing to aid a man you just met last week in a plot against the natural order, but you don’t think you can find one measly sorcerer?”

      “Those are two totally different tasks! —Protecting people is my very specific skillset!! Finding them is not my job!” Roman blushes and pouts, and Eilistraee downright laughs. She shakes her head,

      “Oh, I was just teasing, d'anthe~ Don't worry: I think he will find you, soon enough." 

      Eilistrae lays a hand on Roman’s cheek, “And speaking of you... I sense something is troubling you?”

      Roman frowns for a moment. He sends an uneasy look at Logan and Patton...then sighs. 

      (If they’re all getting involved in Virgil’s surprise cosmic destiny, he supposes he might as well let them in on his…)

      “It’s my Mother.” Roman sighs, 

      “I know she’s been ailing for a long while now, but… Something’s happened to her while I was gone, I can feel it. Something’s wrong. But my powers don’t seem to have changed at all, so...I can’t really tell.”

      Eilistraee frowns, and Roman hops in again before she can speak, “I-I would contact her, but she still can’t speak to me! I don’t know how I’m supposed to help! I assume Mama has more information once we get to town, but it’s been killing me to wait in the dark. I know there are rules about how much you can meddle, but… Throw me a bone here?”

      That gives the Goddess pause. She seems to debate something for a moment… Then nods.

      “I can lend my aid to you for tonight, so long as you remain on land under my blessing. But, Sune is still in a very weakened state... Expect one of your Dreams tonight, little Prince.”

      Roman smiles softly, trying to mask his spark of disappointment.

      “...Thank you. Anything is better than no contact! But… I was never very good at deciphering those things.”

      “If you need help deciphering your visions, you can always ask one of my Dark Ladies, or one of your Heartwarders. But, your Mother is a goddess of emotion; It is unlikely any of them will be able to help you more than yourself…” 

      Eilistraee gives him a sympathetic smile, “...Or, maybe, your usual companion in that place?”

      “I doubt that.” Roman smiles back, more amused than he is dejected. 

      “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a dream with my brother. I’m starting to think he’s purposefully ignoring them… And, to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past him.”

      “That may be so, but you two must reunite soon.” Eilistraee warns him with an unexpected sincerity, “Your Mother needs you both, now more than ever. You are aware that your Fate is joined with these three, but he has a part to play in all of this, too. He always has.”

      “My conversations with the whispers always seem to stem back to him, that much is for sure!” Roman grumbles, to himself more than anything. Eilistraee pats his shoulder.

      “The guards will lead you back to House De’anonen. The road ahead of you is long and perilous, and I don’t expect to be the last to tell you so… Now, get some rest!” 

      Roman nods, much too tired to argue on that point. Some young women in silver robes come to lead them out of the temple, and Roman and Patton meander after them out of the room. Logan follows behind them slowly... But, he pauses at the door. 

      He turns back to Eilistraee, and asks lowly, 

      “Nethermancy from the Far Realm…” he hums, still not quite sure what he’s trying to remember when he asks,

      “That he encountered here? Outside of the Underdark?”

      ...Eilistrae doesn’t answer right away. 

      A sour look crosses her face for a moment. She sighs,

      “Your curiosity is your greatest strength, Logan. It always has been.” She smiles, turning her back to him to exit the room through the farther door, “But you, of all people, should know that poking at what writhes in the grass is a dangerous game.”

      She walks out of the room, her voice echoing behind her as she disappears down a long, shadowy hallway, 

      “Be sure you are prepared for what’s hiding there.”

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Ask 97     ( @sjrose1217 , @snowydragon10 , @amazonprimebox )

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Available for questions: Logan, Roman, and Patton! (Virgil is asleep)

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Eilistraee makes her exit as the party gets ready to sleep for the night, with few hours of night remaining and little energy to keep their eyes open any longer.

Now they have some hints for what is to come, but will they be able to put the pieces together? Or will the dangers she warned them about get the better of them...?

[bluejayblueskies]

agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

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Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

 (Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

 It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

 And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is. 

 Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

 “Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

 “Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

 It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly. 

 “Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

 “Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

 A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

 Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

 The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

 Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges. 

 “Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

 Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

 It’s almost enough to convince him.

 Almost.

 “Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

 It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

 God, he feels like shit.

 As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

 Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

 He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

 Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

 “Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered. 

 Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

 “Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

 The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones. 

 It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

 So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

 Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion. 

 So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

 “No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

 Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

 There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

 Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

 Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on. 

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

[burnedbyshoto]

seven minutes

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: smut 18+, cursing, temp play, oral sex, bratty behavior, slight degradation

word count: 6,533

a/n: I got carried away, and this was supposed to be up two hours ago, but I suck, anyways this Is for the bnharem server collaboration, and well idk if I did the prompt correctly cuz I was mad confused. seven minutes in masterlist found here!

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Shouto stared at the box in his hands, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

What the absolute hell was he supposed to put in this? It was supposed to be unique, something that he and only he could recognize and claim as his own, but he wasn’t one with many possessions.

He had possessions, sure. He was a successful Pro Hero after all with a trust fund from his father, but his belongings were ordinary, mundane, and universal. Nothing he owned was solely his, except, of course, his hero costume. But to give a part of that away was not going to happen.

“Do I have to put something in? If I’m the only one who doesn’t give anything, then they’ll know it was me.”

Midoriya, who had placed his favorite pen into his own box, looked up at his friend with a look of horror.

“Todoroki-kun, you can’t do that!”

“Well, I don’t have anything that I can give,” Shouto raised, his hands running through his hair. This was supposed to be shipped out by tonight to get it to the girl he was matched with. Some girl by the name of y/n. 

“You can…” Midoriya trailed off, his fingers scratching the back of his neck in thought. 

He had no idea, it seemed. 

“Well, if these are going out by tonight, I guess I can do this,” Shouto contemplated, his right hand forming a block of ice, and his left hand coming to melt a structure in the ice.

It was a simple heart. 

“Should be fine, right?” Shouto asked while placing the heart into the box and sealing it. 

Midoriya, whose jaw has opened in complete disbelief of his friend let out a strained laugh, his head dropping. 

“I-I guess…”

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You had opened your box that same night, your heart hammering in your throat, finger shaking when you peeled the top off. Would you be able to recognize just who you would have? In all honesty, you probably couldn’t, but still, you hoped. 

Throwing the top of the box off, you stared down at the containment, and confusion and incredulity flooded your veins. 

There was nothing there, not a single drop of anything, just a lot of water stains that proved at one point held something that had long ago melted. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, dropping onto your seat, hands rubbing your face. 

Unbelievable. What idiot would send something that was made of water to you?!

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Knock. Knock. 

With your toothbrush in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched together. It was late, so incredibly so that you had no idea who that could be. Finishing up, you pulled away from the sink and looked at your outfit in the mirror. 

Leggings and a tank top, perfectly acceptable to open a door in. 

Jogging towards the door, you swung it open without checking to see who it was. A smile rose to your face, a prayer that this wouldn’t take too long, and you looked at the person.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Your eyes only found a cotton-covered chest, and you faltered, your eyes rising higher to meet their face instead. Now, you would never in a million years admit that people could take your breath away. First, just how tacky was that?! No one could be that distinctive or attractive enough that you would forget everything, including how to breathe. Second, well, how could you?! This was a stranger — well technically, you recognized this man before you — his heterochromatic eyes were staring down at you intently, curiously. 

“Y/l/n y/n?” He asked immediately, his head tilting to the side and you nodded your head dumbly. “I’m—”

“Todoroki Shouto,” you interrupted. Heat began to build on your face, what in the actual fuck was a top Pro-Hero doing at your door. “Oh fuck, am I in trouble?!”

Shouto’s eyes widened when you began to panic, your arms flying around animatedly while you explained the various reasons as to why someone would want to hurt you. None of them were particularly good reasons, especially not good enough to warrant a lowkey dead in the night meeting with a Pro Hero who had saved you only when you were in high school. 

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Shouto interrupted your telling of how you could have potentially annoyed some super villain by not shutting up while singing when you were drunk. His hand rakes through his hair and again you’re stunned into silence on just how attractive he is. “You got the ice heart, right?”

Your eyebrows scrunched, your head tilting while you looked at Shouto. He looked the slightest bit stiff, his hands fisted in his jacket pockets, the slightest blush on his cheeks and ears, and of course, the constant lip licking. 

“... you’re sure I’m not in trouble; that sounds like a threat to me,” you whisper, cupping your hands around your mouth to make sure those words stayed between the two of you. 

Shouto rolled his eyes, but a small snort of laughter eliminated any theory that he was annoyed by you. His lips curled into a smile, and you blinked quickly, stop beating so fast, stupid heart. 

“No,” he shook his head, his feet shifting beneath him, “I sent it.”

Then it hit you. 

“Ohhh,” you nodded, walking into the house finally, letting in the Pro Hero who followed in after you. You walked towards your recycling bin and pulled out the water-stained box. “That’s what it was supposed to be!”

You presented the foiled box to Shouto, your lips quirking into a smirk at the way he froze behind you. 

“I thought it was going to make it,” he apologized, and you laughed loudly, “hold on.” 

It took a matter of seconds, but you watched in fascination when he brought his hands together to shape a block of ice into a flawless heart. Your chest filled with warmth despite the fact, your hands taking the ice structure from his outstretched hands. How he thought something like this was going to survive the heat of the day was beyond you, so when you were ready to make fun of him, it hit you. 

“OH FUCK,” you screeched, throwing the box down like it was made of lava, shoving the ice heart into his arms, and jumping meters away from Shouto. 

His eyes were wide while he stared at you, confusion inking his face, unsure how to handle the fact that you were seconds from being consumed by some extreme panic. 

He was from the company?! Why didn’t you put that shit together before walking into your apartment?

Your eyes continued to awkwardly dip down from his eyes to his body, the body that you knew was most likely perfection. Your breathing was hard and fast, your head spinning at the thought that in seconds, his dick could very much be in you. 

Would he have a small dick? You shuddered at that thought, you couldn’t imagine this unit of a man with a small dick, but again there was absolutely no way of knowing. Not without actually fucking him. 

“Are you okay?” Shouto asks, his face full of concerns, taking a step towards you, and like the well put together girl you were, you stumbled backward. Your blood felt so hot in your veins, your breathing erratic, and the most whining voice escaped your lips. 

“You’re from the— oh my god, I didn’t think that?! I thought this was for prostitution or something?! If anything, a look-alike, not the real deal!” you point out, your fingers fisting in your hair, your chest heaving. “This was an ad I found online?! How the fuck?! What are you— you don’t have to do this!”

Shouto’s eyes widened, he knew what was going on now. 

“Do you not want to do this?” he asked, taking a step towards you. 

You took a step backward with his advancement, “It’s not about what I want! I just assumed that this was a hoax and that I wasn’t going to really get anything but some horrid cosplay attempt of someone famous!”

He takes more steps forward, and you receive an equal amount backward, but his legs are much longer than yours, and he’s gaining on you. 

“Tell me that you don’t want to have sex, and I’ll leave,” he whispered, “no one is holding this accountable. You also have the right to refuse, and I won’t make you say yes.”

You shivered when your back connected with your counter, the fresh counter doing little to calm your nerves when he stood before you. His scent immediately drafted into your nose, warm and clean, it made your eyes close while you took him in. 

“Do you want this?” you croak, your fingers digging into the counter, trying your all to keep from pouncing on your celebrity crush. “I’m not going to say yes to someone who doesn’t want this either.”

“I do,” he affirms, and your eyes peel back open to see Shouto so close to you. His hands are by yours on the counter now. The heat emitting from both sides was sending goosebumps down your body and a chill down your spine. “I want this.”

Swallowing roughly, your spine straightened, and your hands reached out to latch onto the collar of his shirt. Your eyes met his, his pupils growing larger by the second while he drew in. Your fingers trembled when his hands met your waist, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your hips. 

“I want this, too,” you confess and seal it with a kiss. 

Kisses were everything. It was such a human and mundane sign of affection, a gentle and passionate display of emotions on so many different levels. Ever since you were young, you’ve always read about how, when characters kissed the character they were meant for, electricity shot through their body. How a single and straightforward first kiss was enough to draw out if they were meant to be or not. Sparks, that’s what they were, were deadly essential and not to be taken as a joke. 

But as a person, you knew this was a lie. The only electric shock you’d ever get was a static shock. No kiss in your life made you experience that game-changing electricity shooting down your body from your first kiss. But why was it that chills were running through your body the second his lips danced with yours? 

Your lips moved with his in almost a delirious fashion. His mouth intoxicating to you. The warmth and smoothness of his lips that were gliding effortlessly against yours were proving to be a lot. His fingers pressed against the small of your back before sliding underneath your shirt moving so that his hands were pressed against your bare back, eliciting low groans. 

But it’s when his hands move to grab onto your waist, pulling you in dangerously, mind-numbingly close, does the essence of your makeout change. 

Your lips slammed against his. Your lips coming to meet in hot and heavy movements as you pressed further into him. You were now uncaring and unconcerned about your initial doubts, you only wanted to make the best of these seven minutes.

Shouto groaned lowly, his lips moving to keep up with yours. His fingers digging into your hips as the two of you felt dizzy, leaning against the counter while your lips continued this passion-filled battle.

His lips are fervent against yours; your mind spins from having his mouth against yours. Were you really making out with one of the world’s best Pro Hero? Ready to take him stumbling to your bedroom in this passionate affair to sleep with him as if you were lovers? Shouto’s hands move from your hips to pressing against the counter; your eyes barely manage to open during his search. His eyes are dark with lust, and growing desire as your lips part. Thankfully, your counter is already clean for the most part, just some unopened letters that get shoved to the side. Shouto’s warm hands return to your waist, but only that they feel like fire against your heated skin, and you pull him in closer for another impassioned kiss. 

His lips are massive against yours, pushing and pulling you in with every movement of his lips. The magnetizing effect he has on you was genuinely unbelievable, how someone you didn’t know could have this effect on you was beyond you. He continues pulling you closer, and soon enough, you’re clambering on top of the counter. Pants leaving your mouth from the high position of the founder as you open your legs for the man who was making your heart beat faster than any strenuous activity. As he moves closer between your legs, his hand runs from your waist to rest against your ass. His hands are strong against your ass, and he pulls you nearer so that you’re resting on the edge of the counter, his body between your open legs.

The friction of your now connected bodies leaves you gasping, sharp breathing while you try to calm your nerves. This man set your body on fire, and you were without a sign of struggle drowning in his lips. His mouth was quick to dissipate all the uncertainty and nerves you held in mere seconds. Your mouth opens, and your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, pleading for entry. Shouto moves his hands from your ass, trailing down your legs to pull you closer to him, making your legs wrap around his waist, and his mouth opens, granting you entry. 

Tongues crash together in the middle. Dominance riding high on both of your parts, neither one of you want to let the other into each others mouth, him because he thought it was right, and you because you wanted to prove that you were no pushover in bed. But lord, is his tongue working magic against yours. Your body shuddering when your legs wrap tighter against his waist, your crotch pushing forward to grind into his pelvis. His bulge is prominent against your clothed core, and both of your keen moans tumble out of your mouths.

His hands trail under your shirt, and you arch against his chest. In this moment of serenity, his tongue can push into your mouth. You shudder in his hold, his tongue tracing around your mouth in a way that makes your eyes roll back. His tongue runs against yours, swirling around it before outlining the roof of your mouth. A moan expels from your mouth as his other hand slips under your shirt. Shouto chuckles, vibrations falling on his tongue, and you tremble softly.

What the fuck were you actually doing? Making out with the Todoroki Shouto in your home? One step from then fucking Shouto in your bedroom should the two of you even manage to get there?! There must be something in the air, or this had to be the biggest prank in the world.

Shouto’s mouth then left yours ultimately. His hot mouth trailing down your neck; teeth nipping at your skin; lips sucking against your skin. Your head tosses back in increasing pleasure, your hips pressing against his bulge again. His mouth stays on the same spot, sucking harshly against your skin, biting down sinfully against your skin until you were whimpering his name.

Your arms wrap around his body, pulling him desperately closer to you. The friction is not enough, these actions are not strong enough for you. “Don’t be a pussy about fucking me,” you can’t keep yourself from challenging when Shouto pulls away from your neck. Your skin throbs and burns in the best way from the hickey that has for sure formed.

“Don’t worry,” Shouto smirks when he lifts your shirt over your head, “I’ll make sure this is the best seven minutes you’ll ever have.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as the cold air hits your exposed body. You feel delirious at the thought that Shouto wanted to fuck you, ardent, and shy at the idea that you want him to claim you right on your kitchen counter before trying to stumble to your bedroom. You don’t have time to think anymore as his lips come back to claim your lips. This time, you’re not going to give in as your teeth sink into his bruised lower lip.

The harsh motion of your teeth sinking into his plump and bruised lips makes him growl, the sound melodious to your ears. Your tongue slides back out to smooth over his throbbing mouth, your grin spreading across your face when Shouto picks you up from the table. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms around his neck. Your body shudders when your aroused sex brushes up against his hard cock. His hips thrusting up against your own, and you cry out in his mouth. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and Shouto’s mouth trails down your chin, an unmistakable grin printed on his face. His teeth scrape against your jaw, sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine, causing your hips to roll out against him.

Your hands fist into his hair, you pull onto his hair until he’s no longer attached to you and then you bring your mouth against his neck. Your mouth trails peppering kisses against his strained neck, his warm and smooth skin slightly salty with his sweat, but it’s a taste you find intoxicating. Your hips grind down against his bulge, relishing in the snaps of his hips to increase the friction. 

“Take off your shirt, Todoroki,” you moan, your fingers dragging against his muscular back. The muscles are delicious against the pads of your fingers, every bulge of his flesh, every dip of a scar makes you almost vibrate with excitement, yet you feel denied, you feel teased at the fact you can feel him better.

Shouto moans as your heavy and hot breathing, makes his mind reel against the cold saliva on his neck. “Call me Shouto, I think we’re past this last name business.” He growls. 

“But I—.”

“Then pretend it’s my hero name, y/n.”

The simple use of your name sends a massive and electrifying shiver down your spine. You never thought you’d hear him call you by your name, much less be in your house seconds from fucking you and Shouto — outside of using it as his hero name — felt like a stranger on your tongue, but you feel heat exploding in your core as you nod. 

You push away, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you stare at his blue and gray eyes. You watch his pupils that are blown wide stare into you as you lean in close, the sweat building slowly on his temple as your mouth pressed against his ear softly.

“Of course, Shouto,” you accentuate his name, and he groans. 

His hands grip tighter against you as his lips come back against yours.

Your hands reach down for the hem of his shirt, and you waste no time in tearing it up over his head. The action making him place you back onto the counter. His toned body is now open for your desiring eyes as you breathe shakily, you wanted to drag your hands against his body is interrupted by your desire to strip too. 

Your shirt soon joins his on the floor, and you grin when he freezes. 

You look at him, and a proud blush spreads across your face as he stares at your breasts. You were not at all wearing a cute set at all, you were getting ready for bed after all! The bra was simple, black, and not revealing. But the way Shouto was looking at you, the way his finger trailed up to your covered bra made you believe that you were wearing the best lingerie set in existence.

“Do you like them?” you tease, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip as you look into his eyes under your eyelashes. Your hands press onto his, making the contact between your breasts and his hands firmer, more in tack. 

“I think I’d be a fucking idiot if I didn’t,” Shouto groans as his face pushes forward to kiss the valley between your breasts. You feel like you’re melting in his arms as his lips and fingers ravish your tender breasts. 

“Why wouldn’t — fuck do that — why wouldn’t you want me?” you pant as his mouth continues trailing sweet and hot kisses against your skin. “I’m a pretty amazing woman, you know.”

“That was pretty obvious,” Shouto grunts his lips curving into a smile while his large hands envelop your breasts, groping them. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to be mine as well. Besides, who looks for a fuck on an ad?”

You don’t have the chance to respond back as Shouto’s right-hand moves behind your back and removes your bra with one hand. The smooth action somehow turns you further on. The bra is thrown off your body, and your breasts bounce as they’re entirely exposed. You don’t know how to feel bashful or to feel confident in the way that Shouto stares at your exposed chest. His eyes locked on your breasts, his tongue dragging against his lips as he looks back up at you. 

“You’re fucking hot,” Shouto groans as his mouth slips your nipple into his mouth. You cry out at the way his tongue rolls against your nipple, his tongue alternating from heat to cold, it fogs up your mind at the sensation and the pure delirium of his actions. Your hips roll against his crotch again, and you feel him pressing forward.

Your fingers shift all over his body. Digging into his shoulder, pressing into his hair, trying to reach the tent in his pants. But your pants heighten when he slips off your leggings, the cold air hitting your heated legs, causing you to shudder at the temperature difference.

His finger rolls your free nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sensations on your nipples are overwhelming as your hips thrash against his hand. Moans, gasps, and his name pour out of your mouth as he continues ravishing your breasts. His teeth nipping and pulling on the sensitive skin. Your head throws back as he pulls away, a resonating pop filling your ears as he lets go of your nipple. Harsh heaves leave your mouth as you look down, your breasts shine with his saliva, and you moan again.

“I’m going to fucking eat you out, and you’re going to watch me the entire fucking time.” Shouto commands you, his fingers hooking around your panties. “Do you understand?”

Breathlessly you nod your head, your eyes locking onto his bi-colored ones as your panties join the rest of your clothes on the floor. Shouto chuckles as his finger drag against your soaked slit, “You’re so fucking wet,” he remarks, and your body shudders against his actions. Your eyes flutter close before you force them back open to peer down at Shouto, “Good girl,” he praises, and you feel your pussy throbs at those two words.

Shouto presses a hand against your waist, and you watch as he sinks two fingers into your blazing heat. You cry out in pleasure as his heated fingers plunge in and out of you. Your eyes struggle to keep themselves onto his proud form. Your hand slaps across your mouth as his fingers curl within you, their curve adding even more stimulating pleasure within your body. Melodious moans are now muffled underneath your hands, and Shouto smirks at that. 

“Don’t hide what I’m making you feel, y/n.” Shouto warns, his fingers increasing in their roughness as they pound against your soaked pussy. His steady hand pushes you down against your counter, and you scream at the cold surface, pressing against your heated skin. Your hips snapping against the sensation making Shouto chuckle. “Don’t you want the world to know that I’m the one making you feel this way?”

Your hand trembles as you move it away from your mouth, but your teeth subconsciously clamp down onto your bottom lip. You’re embarrassed at being caught fucking on your kitchen counter, and even though you were attracted to Shouto, you didn’t want to be found in this state.

By a window, legs wide open, and Shouto’s fingers and tongue deep into your pussy.

Shouto, unsatisfied with your quiet affirmations of his actions, slips another finger into your aching pussy. A silent shriek leaves your mouth as you push up off the table, the additional width of his thrusting fingers overwhelming. But it doesn’t end there. No. His fingers warm-up against your inner walls, eliciting the wildest bucking your hips can muster. The most prolonged pleas escaping your mouth for more heat.

“Oh,” Shouto laughs smugly, his smile stretching wide across his face. “Did you like that?”

“Yes, Shouto, fuck!” you thrash against his fingers, your head falling back in your distracting pleasure. The sensations are numbing your mind, your rationale slipping away as his fingernails drag against your inner walls, slowly stimulating your g-spot. Your cunt feels like it’s pulsating faster than your heart as he continues going. 

“Aren’t you just a fucking sweetheart,” Shouto purrs, and his hand reaches out to lock in your hair. Your head is roughly brought back up, and a low groan of pain rumbles in your throat as you stare at his slightly furious eyes. “Didn’t I say to fucking look at me?”

Your chest heaves in embarrassment and excitement. You wanted to be dominated by this man, wholly and entirely, you wanted to be black and blue at the end of this night, and like a brat,  you readied to do more. 

Before you could try wrestling him for dominance, his mouth lowers towards your dripping cunt, and his tongue takes a languid lick. His tongue slipping in between your slit, and you fall back onto the table, your eyes fluttering in their battle to stay open. Your eyes are still locking onto his victorious face.

Your legs tremble as he thrusts his tongue within your drenched walls, his tongue swirling in circles and pushing further in. His hooked fingers still thrusting into you as you fall apart on the table, he’s long since stimulated your g-spot and your body trembled for him. Your screams loud and pitched for him to do more. On one particular lick, one measly irresistibly mind-numbing lick, your legs come snapping against his head. Shouto’s free hand moves to grip onto your trembling thighs, his tongue coaxing your orgasm closer to the edge. 

“S-Shouto!” you curse, your hips snapping desperately against his mouth. Your hips twisting against his merciless tongue. 

Your eyes struggle to remain locked on his eyes, your body twitching with the building pleasure. The electricity igniting in your flesh and bloodstream. You can hear the sounds of your squelching pussy against his moving fingers, and your jaw drops. You’re under his absolute control, and you’re no longer able to hold back anymore as your orgasm is right on edge, but then he pulls away. His fingers and tongue disappearing from within you, causing you to whimper in pain, in lust, and in denied orgasm. 

“Suck yourself off my fingers.” Shouto pants as his arousal covered fingers press against your mouth. You take his fingers without a second thought. Your teeth scraping softly against his fingers as you suck your juices off of him. Your eyes remain on his as your tongue slips between each finger. You suck onto his fingers as he pulls away, and Shouto growls as he pulls his hand away from you.

“Get up,” Shouto snaps, his hands moving to remove the belt around his waist, and you are quick to slide off the counter. Your knees buckling under your weight as Shouto removes his pants. You watch in an almost lusting glee as his cock springs out from under his underwear. He was by far the biggest guy you’ve ever seen, and your throat feels dry as he gasps when your fingers brush the beading head of his cock. His dick must be hypersensitive already. 

Steeling yourself over, you drop to your knees, uncaring that he wasn’t quite ready as Shouto struggles to step out of his pants. 

As soon as his feet are free, your hands immediately grab onto his length. His girth wide enough, you struggled to hold it with one hand. You smirked at the fact that he had two protruding veins on both sides of his cock. 

“Y-Y/n…” Shouto stutters as your hand fists up and down his length in pretense, you spread the pre-cum as for as it can go, your nails teasing his sensitive and heated flesh. Your eyes snapping up to meet his lust covered ones. 

“Now,” you grin as your thumb rolls over the pre-cum that slips from the tip of his head. “I better not catch you, not looking at me, understood?”

Shouto licks his lips, his eyebrow quirking, “Is this payback?” You smile softly, but there’s a robust sadistic tone to it as your hands twist his skin. Shouto curses as he nods, “I understand!”

“Good boy,” you tease as your mouth opens and you press his cock all the way into your mouth. His girth is wide enough that you had to open more extensive than you were used to, the stretch already making you groan. You gasp as you push him further down your throat, your eyes flashing up to see Shouto struggling to keep his head down and eyes alert. 

Good god, you hope you were wet enough to take him in without lube.

Your mouth sinks down as far as you can go while not straining your neck or jaw. Your fingers trailing up and down his toned thighs as you move your head up and down his length. You’re now in a consistent rhythm, sucking his cock with enough vigor to make Shouto curse your name. The sounds of his cock ramming down your throat rang within the kitchen, making Shouto’s skin flare with goosebumps while you face fucked him. 

Your movements signal to Shouto that he can move as well. Shouto groans, and his hips move forward. You relax against his slowly rocking hips, you’re focused on your breathing as his cock moves up and down your throat. Deeper and deeper, you feel his cock move within you. His hand pressing against the back of your throat, and you gag softly against his length. 

Your eyes look back up to see Shouto���s eyes closed, slapping the side of his thigh, his eyes snap back open, the embarrassment of being caught evident along with the apparent likeness of the slap. Moans and pants spilling out with every thrust, and your cheeks hollow out, creating a vacuum sensation against his length.

“Fucking shit!” Shouto snaps, his hands tangling within your locks as he overtakes your dominance and begins fucking your throat. “Taking my cock like the dirty slut you are, of course, you would be good at this,” he hisses as his cock only goes further down your throat.

“Only sluts look for sex online.”

You struggle to breathe with his thrusting, his snapping hips overwhelming you with their speed and depth. He’s barbarous against your throat, uncaring about the burning sensation erupting through your airway as he continues at his strength and pace. Your tongue swirls around his thrusting cock, trailing against his veins as his hips stutter.

You moan against his length, the action allowing you to gain more air and sending a snarl from Shouto’s mouth as his pace increases.

His hips abuse your throat, and you’re delighted in the fact that you’re keeping up. The soft gags that occasionally slip from your mouth, stirring him on. The hum on your throat allows him to further his strength and speed as your actions overwhelm him. He’s sinful yet heavenly in your mouth, and you want him in your dripping cunt. Your thighs shaking with the mere thought of him having his way with you.

He pulls his length away from your mouth, your saliva stringing between your mouth and his still erect cock. You cough as you try taking in the air again, the lack of oxygen had been ignored as your pleasure was so high. 

However, you don’t have the time to adjust to your new air as Shouto pulls you up from the floor. His mouth once again attacking yours as you find your back pressed against the counter. His lips are intoxicating, and you can still taste yourself in his mouth, and you moan as he lifts you up on the counter again. 

“Fuck you’re amazing.” Shouto grunts as his mouth trails down your neck, and you shudder. How you craved a man you were ready to beat the shit out of earlier was beyond you. Maybe attraction and hatred ran on a fine line.

“I know I am,” you gasp as he spreads your legs, the tip of his cock stroking your wet folds. 

“I’ll get you to say it when my cock is in you,” Shouto chuckles, and you moan at the feeling of the tip of his head sinking into your trembling cunt. “Are you ready?”

Your head nods nevertheless, and you still as he chuckles.

“Say it.”

“Shouto--” 

“I want to hear you say it,” he interrupts, and you stare into his bi-colored eyes and feel as if you’re drowning in his them. They’re desperate, needy, and full of want. It’s enough to steal your breath away as you nod again.

“Please fuck me.” you whisper, and Shouto smiles.

A shriek crashes through your mouth as he pushes his cock all the way into your awaiting cunt without hesitation. His girth stretches you out in an unimaginable way, your walls fluttering as they attempt to relax and grow used to his size. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so huge!” you cry, your body trembling when Shouto leans forward. His own breathing a quiet hiss as your walls clench around him.

“I bet I’m the biggest you’ve e-ever had.” Shouto cockily rasps, but his words feel powerless as he is affected by your pulsating walls. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

You whimper as the painful throb in your pussy lulls, and you wiggle your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret signing up,” you gasp as his eyes lock on yours.

Shouto smiles, small and sweet, yet terribly contrasting as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle, and you can only watch with fluttering eyes as he begins ramming into you. Your hips move in time with him. Both of you desperate under your denied orgasm and this heightened state of pleasure. Shouto’s hands grip your waist, for sure leaving bruised marks as he slams your body faster against his huge cock, stretching you out deliciously. His hands drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this barely different position stretches you out in a mind-numbing way.

His hips crashing into yours is transcending, and your cries only fuel Shouto on. Your body feels as if it is on fire as he drags a single leg up onto his shoulder. His cock bottoming out into you, making your back arch off the counter as you wail out his name. Shouto’s heated fingers press against your throbbing clit, they alternate from scorching heat to blistering cold. It spins your mind, and your eyes cross. You sputter as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights into your puffy nerves, his movements insistent, deliberate, with the intention of getting you to come. It’s too much, the pure temperature play making you feel like you were dissociating from your body, and drool pooled from your mouth from his deliberate actions. Your pussy is clamping down on his moving cock, slowing him down slightly before he grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure become silent screams as his cock hits the back of your walls, your legs thrashing around as he drilled into you the same way. 

Again and again.

More and more.

His cock smashing against your walls until he tilts his angle and comes down hard against your g-spot.

“SHOUTO!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot. His name a prayer on your lips as he keeps fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the table, your screams sounding in his ear as you wrap your arms around him. Even though your leg was on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allowing Shouto to drive his cock against your g-spot over and over again. Your screams drowning out as his mouth covered yours. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Shouto moan and curse. 

“I needa — fuck, Sho do that again — I needa come!” you squeak as your body rocks against his own. 

“Come for me, baby,” Shouto sighs into your mouth. “Come on my cock.”

The pleasure in your belly is overwhelming, it's building up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your vision turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Shouto’s mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm.

His hips continue slamming into you, they’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt keeps clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow limp in his arms, although your hips still continue to roll against his. His breathing is short and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” you whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed expelling within you. 

His cock stretches you out in a new way as he presses you back onto the counter, his arm lifting your second leg over his shoulder. The twin bulging veins on his cock, rubbing a fire against your walls. Shouto fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Shouto, unable to keep a controlled mind on his shoulder, loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time. A heavy load shooting into your throbbing cunt.

Shaky breathing fills the air as he pulls out of you.

You whine at the lack of him within you, and your body relaxes as he steps back. Your hands pressed against the counter as you heave, desperate to find your air again. A whimper on your tongue as you feel your combine cum seeping from your clenching pussy.

“You were amazing.” Shouto chuckles as he helps you down.

“If you want,” you pant, your legs shaking when you stand. “You’re welcome to stay.”

His eyes lock on yours, dark and knowing and already accepting. 

“Why should I?”

You grin in response, “I have a few toys I’ve meant to try out.”