#I wrote a fic YEARS ago

[romansleftshoulderpad]

As a writer, I love going back through the comments I've gotten on AO3. I promise that the minute you take of your time has been appreciated for hours/months/years

[lady-shadow-and-darkness]

Hear me out :

Teen Dazai and Chuuya going around finding every single arcade in the entire city and always having the very top two high scores in most of the games to the point where every single teen who has ever lived in Yokohama and has gone to any arcade is like "I don't know who the fuck Mackerel and Slug are but they're annoying."

[sazwritesstuff]

Truth or Dare | bob x reader drabble

synopsis: a night down at the Hard Deck with the Dagger Squad. Drinking, playing pool, trying to stop Rooster from playing Great Balls of Fire one more time, and Bob feeling shy and staying on the sidelines. Until he’s roped into a drunken game of truth or dare. 

word count: 1025

inspired by this post

use of Y/N, dn reader, nervous Bob, alcohol (brief mention), drinking games

It was a fairly typical night down at the Hard Deck. Drinking, playing pool, Rooster trying to get his hands on the piano but being constantly pulled back down into his seat. 

There were only so many times any of you could listen to Great Balls of Fire.

It didn’t take long before the squad began playing drinking games. You weren’t sure who suggested playing a game of truth or dare. But here you were, sipping on your drink and listening to your squadmates playing a classic from your teen years. 

Most of you had been drinking for a few hours now. Well, expect for Bob. 

The poor spectacled man had been strong armed into playing by Phoenix. He’d been quite happy watching the game of pool between Payback, Bagman, Coyote and Fanboy sipping on his water and munching on his snacks. But he couldn’t say no when you joined in, backing up Phoenix to get him to play with the rest of them. 

Setting down a new round of shots you’d picked up from the bar, quickly passing them around, Rooster cleared his throat and called out “So, Y/N?” from where he stood by the pool table, shot in hand.

“Yeah?” you called back standing between Hangman and Coyote.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Alright, alright.” He paused looking around the group as if for inspiration before whipping his back dramatically towards you. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person here.”

Shrugging, trying to act nonchalant, “Hey Hangman?” you asked, turning to the man beside you. Bob felt his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t thought that you’d pick him but it still hurt seeing you chose Jake.

Jake smirked cockliy, “Yeah?”

“Could you move I’m trying to get to Bob?” the smirk dropped instantly from Jake’s face.

“Bob?!” he asked at the same time as Bob choked and spat out the mouthful of water he’d just sipped. “W-What?” he spluttered.

Y/N sighed good-naturedly, patting him on the shoulder, “Now, move out of my way Bagman.”

Jake raised one hand to his chest “You wound me, Y/N! I thought what we had was special.” Stepping aside as he quickly downed the shot in his other hand.

As you stepped closer, Bob gulped nervously and sliding his glasses up his nose to avoid your eyes. 

No way this was real. No way could you think he was the hottest person in the room. This had to be some sort of practical joke… right?

But you were still moving closer to him. One second you were sliding past Hangman and the next you were standing in front of him. “Hi.” You greeted quietly.

“Hi.” Bob breathed, his heart hammering in his chest a mile a minute. Palms sweaty he tried to wipe them on his thighs. Mouth dry, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Everything had turned into a blur. Everything except you.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?” you whispered to him, your own heart hammering, your own palms sweaty and your mouth feeling dry. You licked your lips. Bob followed the motion of your tongue and swallowed loudly. Not sure what to say other than “Yeah.” as he nodded, his voice sounding unsteady to his own ears. Without hesitation you swooped in and kissed him softly on the lips. It was short and sweet. Over before it could truly begin. But that didn’t stop it from being met by a chorus of catcalls and cheers.

You quickly sat yourself down on a stool on Bob’s right side. He didn’t take his eyes off you as you sat and downed the shot still clutched in your hands. You wiped your mouth the back of your hand before setting your shot glass down.

“Right,” you stated, slapping your thighs “Javy; truth or dare?”

“Uh, dare.” He answered quickly.

“I dare you-”

“Hold up, hold up.” Jake interrupted “Are we really going to just gloss over Y/N kissing Bob?”

“Well, if you want to know why you’ll just have to wait your turn.” Turning back to Javy you started again.

The game carried on a few more rounds, until Rooster tried to make a break for the piano again. Everyone seemed to have forgotten you and Bob sitting off to the side, the game now seemingly finished.

Despite your earlier burst of confidence, you had no idea what to do now that you and Bob were alone without the others or the game to act as a buffer. 

Bob cleared his throat breaking the silence that had descended over the two of you. 

“So, um, about earlier…”

“I-I know. Just-Just, um, forgot about it.” Feeling nervous and a little bit worried the reason why Bob hadn’t said a single word since you kissed him was because he didn’t feel comfortable about what had happened. You didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable and were mentally kicking yourself.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” he asked quietly, turning to look intently into your eyes. “Because I know that if I’d been dared the same thing I would’ve kissed you, Y/N.”

“Oh.” You breathed as your face flushed with heat. Then a light bulb went off in your mind and a devious smile spread on your face. “Well then Bob, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” He answered lightning fast.

“Then I dare you to –” you didn’t even get to finished before his lips were on yours.

Bob’s hands cupping your jaw as his soft lips descended on yours. The kiss started off gentle until you brought your hands up to grab a hold of the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Crushing your chest to his. Your mouth opening with a small gasp and you felt his tongue licking lightly at your bottom lip asking for entry. You open your mouth just a little more, letting Bob slip his tongue inside. His hands had moved to wrap around your waist pulling you practically on to his lap.

Moving away reluctantly from Bob, feeling a little lightheaded. You could feel his lips against your as you whispered “So, your place or mine?”

[lily-onher-grave]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wicked - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland Characters: Glinda the Good, Elphaba Thropp, Galinda Upland Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, (was there ever any doubt), Musical-verse, bookverse, wicked movie spoilers, i don't know how to tag in this fandom anymore wtf, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-it fic, Non-Graphic Violence Summary:

On her best days, Glinda thinks that this is the kind of Oz Elphaba always wanted.

But only on her best days. Because on her worst days, all she feels is the slow drip of all her drive and enthusiasm fading away. Without anger and ferocity, it’s much easier for despair to consume her. On her worst days, she finds herself aching for Elphaba. The smell of parchment and pine and magic start to fade from the hat, and Glinda aches at the thought of what she’ll do when she loses it entirely.

All she’s done means nothing if Elphaba can’t be here to see it. It means nothing if Glinda lost her along the way.

It’s what she deserves. She knows that every day, good and bad. But she yearns for Elphie all the same.

 or, months after the Witch's death, Glinda sets out to look for her again

[birrdies]

dead; by birrdie 14.9k, 1 chapter (complete*)

[lerrryyyyy]

TDDK AU | Each Others' Translator

It was a well-known fact in 1A that Izuku is the Shouto-Whisperer. Shouto wasn't the most talkative person, and even though he was blunt to a fault, his sparse use of words still tends to cause a couple of misunderstandings.

Iida and Yaoyorozu can understand him to some extent, but they aren't as fluent as Izuku, who had the impressive ability to translate a whole sentence even from just one of Shouto's soft hums. They aren't even dating  (much to chagrin of those losing in the betting pool) yet Izuku understood the other boy like a mind-reader.

With that dynamic, everyone should've expected that the ability would go both ways

They find out about Shouto's Izuku-Whispering skills when, during a minor villain attack, Izuku is hit with some kind of silencing quirk. Unfortunately, the quirk's effects cannot be reversed, but fortunately, it would eventually wear off. They just weren't sure when that would happen.

There weren't any initial problems. Izuku was a fast writer and he could mostly reply to everyone by writing it down on a notepad, but it wasn't ideal because he couldn't always bring a notepad and pen everywhere.

They finally face a problem during Heroics.

They're grouped into teams and are tasked to strategize on a way to ambush the enemy stealthily. Izuku realizes that he's out of ink and can't convey his thoughts. Hagakure, one of their teammates, suggests that he try to gesture it out. However, when Izuku does, it looks more like flailing than him acting out a plan.

Their whole group is so confused... until Shouto, who is also part of the group, speaks up and says that yes, he can definitely create a platform to the 2nd floor of the building while propelling Kirishima towards the window.

Everyone stares at him - flabbergasted. Asking if he really just understood what Izuku said, and Shouto now returns the confused look and says yes, of course he does, didn't they?

And that's when they find out that Shouto can pretty much understand Izuku as well. Being unable to speak made Izuku's gestures more expressive, but not always clear. Yet Shouto is able to interpret them with no problem, as if they are having a full conversation.

(The stakes in the TDDK betting pool definitely get higher during this time. Also cue more exasperated friends because PLEASE YOU'RE PRACTICALLY BOYFRIENDS ALREADY JUST MAKE IT OFFICIAL WE CAN'T KEEP WATCHING THIS PINING AND OBLIVIOUSNESS).

[daddyplasmius]

Danny Fenton isn’t dead. And Maddie is grateful for that, as his mother. But, as a scientist, she knows, realistically, he should be dead. Yet here he is, walking around with enough ectoplasmic contamination in his system to kill a grown man ten times, acting like nothing is wrong. What the honest fuck.

Maddie’s first theory is ectocontamination. A severe case. The problem with this theory is that there’s no proof of contamination besides the absurd amount of ectoplasm in Danny’s system. No adverse health effects as far as they can tell. Which is oddーwhen she compares it to her other theories.

Her second theoryーJack’s firstーis possibly low level possession. But, again, Danny shows no signs or symptoms besides his ectoplasmic levels. He can even pass through the Fenton Ghost Shield.

Third? Maybe he isn’t affected as much by ectoplasm and so it just sticks to him without any adverse effects. She did handle samples while pregnant, which wasn’t very good. But, again, the problem here is that the same could be said of Jazz, and she has a perfectly normal level of ectocontamination. And when she had gotten severely contaminated, Jazz fell illーalong with dozens of other students from Casper High.

It is quite literally just Danny.

Danny Fenton is an enigma. Maddie finds herself stuck in this thought loop often. Her son doesn’t even seem to notice the absolutely massive amount of ectoenergy he gives off. Normally, that much would be coming from the deceased victim of contamination or a ghost, not a healthy, living teenager.

And Danny is healthy. Nothing is wrong with him besides that. Which is weird. Well, it’s good that he isn’t dying, but… scientifically impossible. Never before witnessed. An anomaly in the field of paranormal science. A human giving off so much ectoplasmic energy a day, it could fuel a blob ghost, without recharging, for ten years.

Another mystery. How did Danny discover blob ghosts before she or Jack did? Why didn’t he tell them before one wandered out of his room? And why on Earth would he give them such a ridiculous, albeit accurate, name?

Maddie feels like her head is going to explode. She wishes she could justーask. But her son thoroughly avoids any mention of ghosts. Add it to the list. Because that’s what this is becoming. Just a list of odd things about her son that she can’t solve. Her son that should be dead, but against all odds isn’t.

[the-sun-is-also-a-star]

microfic: touch

| drarry | sfw | 741 words |

Touch was special to Harry.

At first it was terrible, coming from a household where every touch was violent and love was rare. 

Hogwarts changed that.

Ron would throw his arm over his shoulder after a quidditch match and Hermione would fall asleep on his shoulder while they studied late. It was odd, but soon it became as easy as breathing.

Soon touch became the way Harry would communicate. He'd lightly shove Seamus with his shoulder and press his knee to Luna's when he'd sit on the floor with her to listen to her daily rants. He'd kiss Hermione's forehead before she left a room and tug on Ron's clothes to get his attention. He'd make sure that he was always touching someone at some point. 

Harry Potter was not a boy who was shown a lot of love through touch, but he expressed it oh so generously. 

When Draco and Harry became hesitant friends in 8th year, Harry was nervous. 

The war had not ruined his affinity for physical touch as a means of comfort, in fact, it may have exacerbated it. 

But Harry did not know if Draco liked to be touched and with a friendship so rocky, he wasn't willing to risk it. 

But like all things with Draco, everything just sort of clicked. 

When they sat together for lunch in the great hall (a fact that made Harry giddy with joy for some reason?) he found Draco sitting close enough that their arms pressed together. 

When they sat next to each other in class, Draco's leg would be close enough to brush against his every now and then. 

When they sat on the couches in the 8th year common room, all of their friends sitting together, squashed up on the couches, Draco and him would sprawl all over each other, limbs entangled and unbearably comfortable. 

All in all, Harry loved it. 

It was when they started dating that it all came to a crux. 

It was their first year out of Hogwarts, and with Draco beginning his time consuming journey of training to become a potions master, a relationship was the last thing that you would assume could work out. 

But they made it work, they always do. 

Harry didn't care that Draco had odd hours because he had to sometimes check on potions at weird times in the night, he didn't care that sometimes Draco would spend entire afternoons reading on potions textbook or the other, he didn't care that sometimes Draco had to cancel plans last minute because his mentor was an utter ass and had Draco running at his beck and call. 

It should have bothered him, especially as early as it was into their relationship as it was, but it didn't. 

He didn't care because when Draco got back from his odd hours he would always kiss the crown of Harry's head, and get back into bed, going back to spooning him like he never left.

He didn't care because when Draco spent entire afternoons reading, he always did it on the couch next to Harry, his legs curled up next to him and his body leaning into his, and afterwards he would kiss Harry and thank him for being so patient with him. He didn't care because everytime before he got back from his mentor he would kiss Harry on the cheek, and hug him, tightly, promising that as soon as his internship was done he would never cancel plans again because he knew how important stability was for Harry. 

Harry was never that good with expressing how he felt, but he loved Draco Malfoy, and he expressed that very clearly. He expressed it in the way he linked their pinkys together. He expressed it the way he hugged Draco from behind when he made coffee in the morning. He expressed it in the way he swung their hands when they walked anywhere. 

And Draco loved him, oh how Draco loved him. 

Draco loved him in the way he let Harry bury his face in his neck when he was cold. Draco loved him in the way he put his arm around Harry's chair when they went to pub nights with their friends. Draco love him in the way he pulled him close when they were dancing. Draco loved him.

Touch was everything to Harry, it was how he loved and how he wanted to be loved.

And oh, how he was loved.

[dollsvampi]

Echoes of the Tide

Frank Castle x Reader

Description: Haunted by emotional wounds, only to seek solace in Frank's arms longing for a path to healing. [Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Life, Emotional Vulnerability] (Pet names used: Baby, Darlin') [No use of Y/N]

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Familial Dysfunction & Guilt, Emotional Distress. (3.2K words)

A/N: First post ever lol bare with me. I didn't like this sitting in my notes on my phone so why not share

Every once in a while, you reach that breaking point—a moment where everything feels too heavy to bear. A dull, residual numbness settles in, aching deep in your chest. It feels unbearable, as though your mind is trapped in an endless cycle—spinning aimlessly before crashing into an invisible wall, only to start again. You're stuck, caught in a loop with no way out.

Is this what shutting down is?

Only a few words passed between you and those around you it was hard to connect when you didn’t feel like yourself. It was as if you were caught in plunging, rushing water, one foot forward and the other behind, your body twisted mid-motion with arms outstretched, grasping for something to hold onto. You couldn’t take another step; your hips frozen, your body trying but failing to move forward. Instead, you were drowning in an endless tide of swimming thoughts, unable to tear your gaze away from the weight of the past.

No, it wasn't often you felt like this, but it was inevitable feeling overwhelmed and hollow, from the weight of the trauma of it all. Just thinking about or seeing your family can bring on a wave of triggers. Most of the time you check on them and it simply brings dread.

Sitting on one of the kitchen island stools to prep a few things for dinner, your brows are slightly furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Frank is polishing and cleaning his guns. He had a direct line of sight of you, studying you cautiously. He noticed each and every little thing about you. "Baby, you alright?" Frank didn't want to push—testing the waters. He didn't want to outright inquire; How come you weren't yourself? How come you didn't strike up a conversation? How come you aren't laughing? How come you aren't playing music?

The poor man thought back to his own actions—had he possibly done something wrong or forgot to do something? Glancing up from the scattered ingredients, you manage a faint smile, "Yeah." He didn’t believe you, but then again, neither did you. Your family, though—they would have, without question.

"I was thinking..." the vigilante, sharp and observant, piqued your curiosity. You hummed in acknowledgment as he went on, "We should eat outside and finally test out that hammock we got."

You thought some fresh air might be nice as you cleaned up the kitchen island, "Sounds good." Frank rose from his seat, heading off to store his guns, but paused. He walked over to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his free hand lightly squeezing your hip, "Alright, I’ll go get started outside."

Once the food was prepared—delicious and fresh—it was carefully arranged in its respective containers and plates, ready for the little backyard feast. Frank quickly cleaned off the table and chairs before setting up the hammock. Propping it up was effortless—it was a sizable design made for two. The framed canvas, adorned with pastel blue stripes, even came with a matching pillow.

It took several trips to retrieve the food, beverages, and utensils. Frank assisted with the final touches of setup, including bringing out the speaker you have. He handed you his phone almost immediately after turning it on and connecting it, "Go on, play music."

You'd shared your playlists with Frank long ago; he knew exactly what music helped you unwind and relax. He needed you to be at ease. With a few taps on his phone, music began to play softly through the speaker, loud enough to fill the atmosphere but quiet enough for conversation. Frank wanted to bring up the subject, but he held back. He knew you well—when you were upset, your appetite was the first to go, which he didn't want. Patience came naturally to him when it came to you, so he decided to wait for now.

Sitting down and fixing each other's plates, you look around the backyard. The hammock was a nice addition, "Hey that hammock is not bad." He hums, as he glances where you are looking, "Easy to install too." Your eyes don't stray from the space as Frank begins to eat, "We really should get some shade, some trees would be nice."

The man was going to town on the food, which brought a smile to your face. "I wanted to put up the canopy tent, but some trees would be nice darlin'," he was subtle in his reasoning. You could definitely use some sunlight with the way things have been. He gestured with his hand, "We can get some smaller ones, and add on to the garden."

Frank is a man who resolved your words were law. As the both of you continue eating, you give it a good thought to how plans should be. "Yeah, maybe a decent-sized one, right at the edge where the small field begins." He followed your eyeliner yet again, "Perfect, anything my baby wants."

Lowering your gaze slightly you shook your head. Whatever he was doing was working, the sweet-talking, the way he had said it with conviction fulling meaning what he had said. The music in the background is a way to ground you. What had been circulating in your mind is distilling. You were now able to talk about what had been going on, you aren't completely shut.

Maybe you caught on—it was a sweet gesture. Yet, your thoughts still lingered on your family… how something so simple could never be accomplished with them.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in comfortable silence. Your gaze wandered, taking in the surroundings—the chirping of distant birds, the slow drift of fluffy white clouds across the sky. As you closed the lid on the bowl, your focus shifted, flitting between the patches of grass and the outhouse door, until your eyes began to glaze over.

"You haven't said much all day darlin', what's on your mind?" Frank's eyes were steady on you, and you had to get it off your chest. You couldn't tell him that it was nothing. It would be wrong not to. How was he supposed to understand if I kept holding back?

'Secrecy has a way of evolving—sometimes into something different, and other times into something far worse.' Frank had told you, almost in passing, as if it were a lesson learned from his own experiences. He’d seen how secrets, no matter how small or harmless they seemed at first, could twist into something darker over time. He spoke from a place of understanding, the kind born from years of keeping things buried—things he’d witnessed, things he’d done, and the weight it left on him. You knew he wasn’t just talking about others; he was speaking from his own scars.

Taking a deep breath, after so long being submerged you've breached the surface. "It's just- I don't know what to do... or feel with my family," you couldn't settle your eyes on him just yet. "With these people, it's this guilt, the sense of loss and not belonging. The exclusion they do or just the pure disfunction... it's a lot of things Frank."

He could see how it took you a lot to get to voice this, "That's a lot to carry and even worry about." There were brief mentions of what you had endured, and it really did anger Frank because you didn't deserve that.

"I know I've mentioned but all this stress is inevitable especially how they live out their life. At times I do believe I'm the burden. It's-" You do gesture you often make to stop yourself from crying. Frank knew what you were about to say and immediately cut you off. "It's not your fault, baby. Look at me... look at me." He moves his chair to sit closer to you placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's not your fault." You meet his eyes as tears begin to form in yours. "There you are, breath okay."

Frank grounded you as you focused on your breathing, steadying yourself. Finally, you continued, "Every time I check in or see their posts, I just feel like such an outcast. It’s a reminder that I can never truly be myself around them, and if they ever found out, it’d turn into a whole mess." You can practically hear the comments and insensitive remarks.

"Forget about what they might say, baby. Just be yourself." His voice was steady, resolute. He would defend you without hesitation, daring anyone in the world to challenge you or your worth.

"I know, Frank. With the way my family obsesses over their image, it’s almost impossible not to absorb some of it. All they ever do is critique others. Minding their own business is the last thing they’d consider. They love to nitpick, always searching for the smallest reason to argue or stir up drama." As you spoke you could feel the way he was gently squeezing your shoulder, his thumb moving soothingly.

"That’s not on you, though. You don’t have to carry their baggage or let it shape who you are. Let them exhaust themselves with their nonsense—none of it changes the fact that you’re better than that." He shifted slightly, his hand still on your shoulder, and his gaze softened. His movements were slow and deliberate, with a sense of calm assurance.

Culture played an important role, with traditions deeply ingrained across generations, creating an even greater sense of immersion. The idea that some individuals were unwilling to embrace new perspectives, choosing instead to cast others out, was a harsh reality.

You sigh, placing your hand gently over his. "This is why I feel bad. I mean, it's not entirely their fault either. I see how they choose to live their lives. It makes me feel like I should be doing something to help. But their world just revolves around their beliefs."

He says nothing at first, but his hand moves to hold yours, as if he is carefully considering your words. Finally, he speaks in his consistent, no-nonsense tone, "You cannot bear their burdens for 'em. All you can do is make your own decisions, ones that will keep you standing. If they can’t see that, that’s on them, not you." Frank leans in slightly, realizing that you're still torn. "I get it. You're worried about what they'll say or do if you stand your ground. But you cannot continue to live in fear of their judgment. You've already carried enough for them. You have to put yourself first."

His words hit harder than you had expected, sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. There is natural hesitation, your chest tightening, as if you were in cold harsh water. You try to push down the gnawing feeling of guilt. That fear still lingers, like a shadow you can't outrun.

You glance down at your intertwined hands, resting on your thigh, as if they can offer some relief, and in the rhythm of the music that envelopes the both of you.

You couldn’t help but think about how they’d always handled things—like when your boundaries were crossed, or when your choices didn’t align with theirs. It was never about understanding or compromise, but about control and making sure you fell in line with their beliefs. The idea of standing up to them felt like a storm waiting to break.

"It still eats at me. Every time I see them, it’s like the facade falls into place. We all act like nothing was ever left unsaid—thanks to my parents, I guess. They’re the biggest hypocrites I know." You squeeze Frank’s hand gently. "I was made to believe my problems didn’t matter, that my family had enough on their plate, so why add more? There are things I still don’t know about my own family, things they’ve kept from me. And it makes me wonder—am I even worthy of knowing? Am I not family?"

Frank scoffs, shaking his head. "Christ." He knew that tactic all too well the 'don't say anything to protect either party.' It was a way of keeping everything buried, even if it meant pushing the pain aside. He got an even clearer picture of your constant restraint that kept you from truly speaking your mind. The aftermath of emotional scarring has left its mark, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Uncertain if Frank would say more, you felt the urge to continue. "I have to force myself into a certain mindset whenever I visit... and prepare for the possible worst, just in case. That's what has been eating at me most of the time, even taking sleep away. It certainly was worse when I was younger."

Frank acted without hesitancy as usual. He was all too familiar with bracing for the impact of something that never felt safe. "You shouldn’t have to do that. No one should have to armor up just to face their own family." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes hardening in his seriousness. "But no matter how hard it gets, you don’t have to face it alone. You’ve got me. What did you do to keep your head straight, huh?"

The question brought a faint smile to your face—a real one, the kind that had been absent for far too long. You nodded toward the speaker playing your favorite tunes. "Listening to music. I had to distract myself however I could. Sometimes, I’d read or write down the things I wanted to say but—" You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, your chest tightening at the way he's so close to you, and outright providing you with unwavering warmth.

Frank reached up, cupping your face gently with his free hand. "It’s okay, baby. Let it out if you need." His voice was steady, but his gaze searched yours, piecing together what you’d shared. He could see how writing had been more than a distraction—it was survival. A way to give your thoughts a voice when no one else would listen.

You huffed a bitter laugh. "And that’s when I think—if I could just open my mouth and defend myself... but I never know how to say it right. I wish I really knew how to articulate what I feel to them." Your hand tightened around his wrist, grounding yourself in the comfort of Frank’s steady touch. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, a silent reassurance that he was there.

You lowered your gaze to your lap, the words catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. Frank’s jaw tightened, his heart sinking at the pain etched across your face. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would put you through this, why they’d leave you carrying such a heavy burden. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

The silence was pierced as you dropped your hand from his. "And to be real honest with you, Frank..." your voice trembled, and your lip quivered as you tried to keep it together.

His heart breaking at your vulnerability.

"I—I wouldn’t want you to go through that... to see it happen," your voice cracking under the weight of the admission. Tears welled up, and before you could stop them, a helpless cry escaped your lips. You turned away, trying to hide your face in your hands, but it was too late.

Frank exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as if willing himself to take your pain away. Then, with the utmost care, he let go of your hand only to pull you into a firm, grounding embrace. "C'mere," he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

You buried your face in his shoulder as the sobs overtook you, his presence the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely. One of his hands moved soothingly up and down your back, the occasional pat adding a silent rhythm of comfort. "Let it out, baby," he whispered, pressing the side of his head to yours.

Frank held you as though shielding you from the weight of the world, his jaw tightening as he listened to your cries. It hit him hard—how selfless you were, even in your pain. You’d been so considerate, worrying about how your situation might affect him when you were the one left battered by it all. The thought of you constantly lying, draining yourself to keep the peace, or worse—standing up for yourself only to be torn down again—cut him deeply. "

"'S okay," he said softly, his voice a firm anchor. "I've gotcha baby. 'S okay."

You cried into his arms until the tears subsided, leaving you drained but calmer. Slowly, you regained your composure, sniffling softly as you leaned back to meet his gaze. Frank’s hand was already there, gently wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks.

"I love you so much," you murmured, your voice still shaky but full of gratitude. You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the comfort of having someone like Frank by your side.

"I love you," Frank's tone filled with conviction. His arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the world. "I’ll always be here for you," he added, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to your cheek.

The tenderness of his words made your chest ache in the best way, and you fought the urge to cry again—this time out of happiness. Tilting your head back a bit, you let your gaze drift to the yard.

"Ah, shit," you muttered suddenly, catching sight of something.

Frank raised an eyebrow, already poised to ask what was on your mind.

"We really should try out that hammock," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Frank burst into a deep, genuine laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest and catching you off guard. You turned to him, grinning as you joined in his laughter. Before the moment could pass, he leaned in, closing the space between you and placing soft, lingering kisses all over your face, his affection as natural as breathing.

The weight you’d been carrying felt just a little lighter. You couldn’t help but lean into him, letting the laughter fade into a quiet peace. "Let’s go," Frank said softly, his lips brushing your temple before he pulled back, his hand still resting at the small of your back.

Together, you rose, the promise of something simple yet meaningful—like testing out that hammock—feeling like exactly what you needed.

The hammock swayed gently beneath you, cradling you like a soft ripple on calm swift waters. It was steady, unlike the turbulent currents that had once consumed you. Where your mind had felt like it was drowning in endless waves, here was something solid yet pliable—a quiet buoy against the storm.

Frank beside you, his presence like the anchor that helped you beach. The two of you settled into the rhythm of the hammock's sway, the soft creak of its frame blending with the distant chirp of birds. The past felt far away here, as if it couldn’t touch you in this cocoon of stillness and warmth.

For the first time in a long while, the tide in your chest seemed to ebb, leaving behind a strange but welcome calmness.

[takaraphoenix]

Having bad memory as a writer is honestly so great 🥰

You'll get an enthusiastic comment on a fic and the title just does not ring any particular bell so you click on the fic and you read the premise and go:

But the premise sounds good and it's a ship you love so you can just read this "new" fic that you wrote at some point, apparently!

[zirkkun]

i have been working on one singular fanfic, which is going on 50k+ words atm, since like the beginning of December and this is all i have to show of the plot atm please take my offering

[rafyki]

(Lil snippet of the Goth!Nico/Surfer!Percy fic inspired by the beautiful amazing incredible art by @neo-kid-funk !! It's definitely going to be much longer, but I hope you enjoy this for now!!)

(under read more bc it's more than 1k words lol)

~~~

“He's here again”.

Jason didn't even turn around to see what Nico was referring to with those words - at that point it was such a common occurrence that it wasn't really necessary. Still, Nico felt a little offended at his friends' dismissal.

“Jason”, he said, almost in a whine. “He's here again”.

Now finally (though with a smile and a roll of his eyes) Jason did turn around to look at the current source of all of Nico's troubles and the main character of many of his dreams.

Dark hair, tall, all tan skin and toned muscles, swim trunks hanging way too low on his hips - all in all, the most handsome man Nico had ever seen, and he couldn't keep his eyes off him.

Nico looked at him coming out of the water holding onto his surfing board as if it weighted nothing (and Nico knew that wasn't true, he had almost collapsed under the weight of one once), a hand going up to card through his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He looked so beautiful and at home in the water Nico couldn't help but feel like he was some sort of sea god.

He was too far away to see it now, but he knew that even his eyes were the color of the sea.

What is he even so hot for?

As ridiculous as it sounded, Nico could feel himself blush just looking at him. Yet there was something (everything really) about him that was so magnetic it made it impossible to tear his eyes away - really, at this point Nico spent most of his shifts at the beach kiosk looking at him; he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that that man came to the beach so often.

Percy.

He only knew the name because he had heard a girl calling him (was that his girlfriend? God, Nico really hoped she wasn't), and obviously not because he had had the courage of talking to him outside of the small exchanges whenever Percy came to buy something.

He kept following him with his eyes, teeth absentmindedly biting his lips, playing with the rings there.

He was so busy thinking and trying to stare without making it too obvious that he almost missed it when Jason said: “Looks like he's coming here”.

Nico jumped out of his skin. “What!? No, Jason, please please, you take his order, please”.

Another roll of his eyes and another fond smile that Nico had seen all too many times. “Nico”, Jason said. “It's your chance. Talk to him!”

Nico shook his head vehemently. He could already feel his heart starting to pound in his chest and his cheeks grow hot. “No way. He's going to smile at me! I'm a weak man Jason, don't do this to me”.

An obnoxious laugh reminded Nico that Leo was there too - he was so caught up in thinking about Percy that he had completely forgotten about him; but of course there he was, sprawled on the counter as if he belonged there (and with how much time he spent there even without working with them, it might as well have been). “Goth-boy, you're on a beach wearing a black t-shirt under the august scorching sun - you're anything but weak, man, you can do it”.

“Oh shut up Leo, we all know you're no better than me - remind me how long it took you to talk to Jason?”, Nico shot back.

He wasn't looking at his friends though, his eyes still drawn to where Percy was - and yes, Jason was right and he was definitely coming there.

Nico's heart was beating absurdly fast; it really was ridiculous how much he liked a boy he barely knew. But he did - oh god, he really did. Percy was handsome and bright and had the most beautiful smile Nico had ever seen.

And Nico was just a boy who looked very out of place on a beach.

Still playing nervously with his lip rings, he took off his hair tie and fixed his ponytail. Did his hair look good? He hoped so at least.

What did Percy think about him? Did he even have an opinion on him? Or was he just the weird kid working at the kiosk? Probably.

“Don't deflect Nico, Leo is right”, Jason said, cutting through his line of thought. “And don't worry you look good”.

“As cute and charming as always, man!”, Leo added, and maybe from someone who didn't know him it could have sounded teasing but at this point Nico knew him well enough to recognize the honesty in his smile as he did a thumbs up to show his support. “Just smile and he'll fall for you in a second”.

Nico scoffed at that, but appreciated the sentiment.

It was probably too much hoping that Percy would even look his way, let alone anything more than that.

Jason nudged his shoulder, once again taking him away from his thoughts. “Really, you're all good”, he said. “Now get ready to take his order”.

The next second, Nico found himself staring into a pair of sea-green eyes so deep and mesmerizing he was sure he was drowning in them, could almost feel the water filling up his lungs; and if that wasn't enough, a smile so bright it could rival the sun came with them, effectively cutting off the last bit of breath. Oh it was so unfair.

And he wasn't wearing a shirt - of course he wasn't, they were on a beach and he had just come out of the water five minutes ago. His tanned skin seemed to shine under the sun, water was still dripping from his hair and Nico had to use all of his willpower to not follow with his eyes the little droplets' way down his neck and collarbone.

It was more than unfair, and it was definitely a curse.

“Hi, can I get you anything?”

Thank god he was so used to his job that he could sound natural enough saying that even while panicking on the inside.

Even without looking at them, Nico could feel his friends almost laughing at him; he would have been offended if he weren’t so busy trying to survive the moment. Percy really was way too handsome and hot for Nico’s sanity.

Don’t stare at him, he berated himself, it’s not polite to stare at customers. He’ll think you’re weird.

Oh god, he needed a smoke as soon as possible. If he kept biting on his lip like that he would end up biting his lip ring away.

“Huh”, Percy seemed to think about it for a second. “Can I have the same blue drink from last time? You remember?”

Nico did remember. It had been the longest conversation he had ever had with Percy (the longest and most intense five minutes of his life until now), with the surfer asking for some kind of blue drink, and Nico trying his best to understand and make it for him - he had managed to, in the end, and then had proceeded to think non stop for days about the happy smile Percy had gifted him.

For some reason, the way Percy said “you remember?” made Nico’s insides melt, a swarm of frantic screaming butterflies flying in chaos in his stomach. Like it was something between the two of them, something they shared.

Nico had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

“Yeah, I remember”, he managed to say, and in a way it was a relief to turn around and get to work. Part of him wanted to drag it out as long as possible just to make Percy stay a little longer; at the same time, though, part of him wanted this to be over as soon as possible just so he could finally go back to breathing.

“Great!”, Percy said with a smile, like Nico had just told him the best news of the day.

It was such a peculiar request, “can i get a blue drink” - no flavor or anything, just a blue drink. It was weird and endearing at the same time, and it left Nico wanting to know more about it, more about Percy. He wondered how many other weird and endearing things like that Percy did.

“You like it that much?”, he found himself asking, his mouth moving before his brain even registered it.

Another blinding smile. Nico was so weak.

“Everything tastes better if it’s blue”, Percy said with such conviction that he almost made it sound like that made any sense.

It made Nico stop, and then he couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his lips.

“Does it?”, he asked, smiling back, as he handed Percy his drink.

Percy nodded. “Of course. You should try it sometimes”.

The butterflies were going absolutely crazy in Nico’s stomach, so much he almost forgot to take the money Percy was giving him. “Maybe I will”, he said.

“Thanks for the drink, Nico”.

For an instant, Nico’s brain went blank except for a mantra of he knows my name, oh god he knows my name. Then he remembered he was wearing a nametag, so of course he did.

Idiot.

“Have a nice day”, he said through the lump in his throat.

“You too!”, Percy said and went to leave. He seemed to think back on it though, because he turned toward Nico again, holding out his right hand to him. “I’m Percy, by the way”.

It felt like looking at himself from the outside, like it was happening to someone else, as Nico shook his hand. It was warm and big, and Nico wanted to hold onto it. “Nice to meet you”.

Percy smiled, big and bright and happy, and Nico smiled back.

“See you next time, Nico”.

Nico stared at him as he left and went back to his friends, pretty sure everything that had just happened must have been a dream.

[wanderingcas]

godddd writing canon dean is such a FLAVOR i almost have to remember every time i revisit him. he's just so messy and contradictory and CRUNCHY. chef's kiss so fun to write.

[evilasiangenius]

He didn't so much hear Armand come in as he felt Armand come in. Like a moment of nullity moving through the room, a presence that was not a presence. A ghost.

“Daniel...” Armand sat down on the bed, his weight depressing the mattress lightly.

“No...go away.” Daniel tried to turn away but he was sweating and shivering, too cold, too hot.

“It's all right, Daniel. I'm here.” Armand shifted, bringing his legs up and lying down beside Daniel, moving into Daniel's arms. “I'm here.”

“You feel good.” Daniel pressed his cheek against Armand's cool forehead, sighing. He wrapped his arms tight around Armand and it was as though he could feel the heat melt away from him, soaking into Armand.

“My poor Daniel.” Armand stroked Daniel's pale hair. Daniel had only the faintest roughness of stubble clinging to his jaw, and his mussed hair had been cut and clipped in a slick modern style that suited him. Even his ruined clothes were new. That man had taken good care of him.

Daniel shifted, so he could move closer to Armand, so he could press his entire body against Armand. The fever was burning up inside Daniel, and Armand felt the twinge of that old fear, the fear of sickness and the death it brought. So often over the years he had seen Daniel shrug off coughs and chills that it had made him wonder at the strength of these modern mortals.

Death. His fingers brushed through Daniel's hair and Daniel sighed, turning so Armand's hand moved against his cheek. Just hiding under the skin, just beyond the bones. He wondered if he pressed his ear to Daniel's chest, if he could hear the little cells inside of him slowly dying, bursting and floating away.

“I won't let you.” Armand kissed his eyelids, speaking so softly that it was more for his own sake than Daniel's. “Not right now.” And he made that little cut on his throat and guided Daniel to to it. Daniel's dry lips moved against him, at first sluggish, but then he caught the taste of it and his mouth moved hungry.

more

[godsfavoritescientist]

A ciphord drabble:

There is beauty in the grotesque. Sit in it with me. Admire the deep glistening red of your blood. Marvel at the way your limbs are capable of moving, and how widely the skin on your face can stretch to accommodate a grin. Your body is mine and yours at the same time. I wear you like an old familiar sweater. I like hearing your voice when I speak. I like piloting all the muscles in your body at once. I like holding you in my immortal hands like I’m gently cupping my hands around a lightning bug. You’re a little bit incomprehensible to me. For a while, you weren’t scared of me at all. I still wonder why, because even though catching you took patience and a dash of sheer luck, I know that humans fear demons the same way insects fear humans: because they should be afraid. Seeing you trust me more than thousands of years of human instincts was miraculous. It was precious to me. So you must understand, I don’t take your body lightly. I carve shapes into your body for a reason. I use your meat and blood and bones and skin like a canvas for a reason. It’s as sacred to me as it was to you. Merging our bodies together like this is an artform, and I want to study my instrument as closely as possible before you fulfill your final purpose to me. You back away now, like an animal with its leg stuck in a trap, snarling as I try to set you free. I shouldn’t blame you for your instincts, but losing your trust was like startling away a ladybug that landed on your fingertip to rest for a while. You’re making this harder for both of us. Breaking and shaping your body for my purposes is the greatest gift I could have ever given you, and the greatest purpose you will ever have. You’re a beautiful tool, when wielded in my hands.

(read the full trio of drabbles on ao3 here)

[intheticklecloset]

🎄and🤎 for Tododeku please.Luv you friend!

❄️ Peppermint Mocha Special Order ❄️

@giggly-squiggily (Don't mind me just tagging you in all the relevant things lol 💖)

~~~

“It’s your tree,” Todoroki told Deku for what felt like the millionth time. “You put the star on top. I already did it for you once, and you’re taller now.”

Deku pouted, fighting off a smile. “But I’m still not as tall as you are.”

“I believe in you, babe,” the half-and-half hero said with a smirk, wrapping his hands around his partner’s waist. “I’ll even hold onto you so you don’t fall off the stepstool.”

“Rude,” Deku muttered, but he chuckled as he stepped up to reach and place his favorite All Might star at the top of the tree. When he felt it was secure enough, he pressed the button on the back.

“Christmas is here!” All Might’s voice said from the tinny speaker, making both boys smile.

“I still think that’s the nerdiest Christmas star I’ve ever seen,” Todoroki said as Deku got down from the stool and turned to face him.

“Well, you’re dating the nerdiest guy in the hero course, so what did you expect?”

The icy-hot boy squeezed his sides. “Ugh, you’re adorable.”

Deku bit back a giggle, sticking his nose in the air imperiously. “No, you!”

“Uh-huh.” Todoroki suddenly went for it, tickling his sides and waist even as his boyfriend began to struggle, giggles spilling out of him uncontrollably. “Pretty sure I can get you to admit it, Midoriya.”

“Nohohohohohoho!” Deku squealed, grasping Todoroki’s wrists in his hands but making no move to pry him away. “You’re cuhuhuhuhuhuter than mehehehehehehehe!”

“Oh, that does it!” Todoroki grabbed him around his waist and hauled him to the couch, pushing him down onto it and squeezing his hips. “Take it back!”

“NEHEHEHEHEHEVER!!” Deku cried through hysterical, happy laughter. “IT’S THE TRUHUHUHUHUHUTH!!”

Todoroki felt himself blushing despite everything, and it only made him want to tickle his adorable boyfriend more. “I’ll make you see the light one way or another, you know. I have my ways.”

Deku’s face was bright pink with mirth and excitement, his eyes shining even as he struggled to keep them open for how hard he was laughing now. “BEHEHEHEHEHEHET!!”

It was a while before they got back to their decorating.