#I’m writing this so late

[calmlb]

save me beast skk, my codependent babies

[hay-389]

I’m not a Swan Queen shipper at all, very heavily an Outlaw Queen one, but I’ll give my opinion.

Personally, no. Not at all.

I’ll give you the first season. I think it was written in a way where you have the supposed villain and hero, and with that there does come feelings between them but not on a shipping level. Regina and Emma have a certain pull and tug relationship when it comes to Henry. Regina is the one who raised him and feels threatened by Emma who comes in, and she starts to love Henry and is opposed to many things Regina does. (Which is fair, again, Regina was shown to be a villain.) So between the curse, Henry, and the whole savior business…they completely hate each other that first season. The only thing that ever actually unites them is Henry.

The second season you have Regina still on that cusp of villain, but is in the process of wanting to redeem herself for all the horrible things she’s done, especially for her son. To me Emma and Regina still didn’t really like each other, but they sucked it down for their son.

The third season (my fav) is when we start to see that shift for good. People still question Regina’s intentions, I think that lasts for a while, but here we see Emma and Regina not really have that full blown hatred towards one another. So I think thier friendship starts here really, and even then it’s not a full blown friendship. More so the start of one.

Now this show did come out when I was 9 years old, and I watched every season new, meaning it’s been a while since I’ve done a proper rewatch. So I’ll try to sum up things, without spoilers too just in case.

Like I’ve said before, it took, in my eyes from watching the show, at least 3 seasons for them to be what you would consider friends. And half the time Regina gets the short end of the stick on the show in the later seasons, from things that are done to her, by Emma and other characters, that even wavers that friendship sometimes. But by seasons 6/7 I say yeah, they are friends.

That’s kind of it though. The only thing that really connected them was Henry. Yeah technically Regina was Snow’s step-mother, but that situation within itself is tricky like everything is on that show. I never saw anything that would personally suggest they had feelings for one another, and I don’t see how they would even have time to form a relationship with their history from what I explained.

From things Lana has also stated before/what I’ve heard about how things were supposed to be written until she advocated, I’d say that’s what makes me further believe what I do.

I hope this made sense. 😭

(Also, of course no hate to people who do ship Emma and Regina. I hope that was clear. Everyone has their favorite ship of the show. This is just my opinion/view point after watching it.)

OUAT WATCHERS WHO HAVE WATCHED AT LEAST THE FIRST 5 SEASONS !!

regardless of your status as a swan queen shipper, do you believe that the show was written with the intention of regina and emma having feelings for one another? i have my own answer to this but i want to see what other ppl think, sq shippers AND non-sq shippers alike. pls rb w ur opinion

[hypertechnica]

i’m going to make fiddauthor art with fidds wearing his wedding ring and you are NOT going to like it

big obligatory banner that says “cheating is bad don’t do it i just like stories with relationship drama”

closeted, internally homophobic gay men who are married with kids has to be the trope i’m weakest to. no person involved is escaping the despair brought on by a relationship built on a well intentioned, desperate lie, born out of a desire to be normal and good

he WANTED to love her so fucking badly. he felt no ill will towards her and he loves their son more than words can say. he thought the attraction, the way she felt about him, would come with time. it didn’t. he doesn’t want to hurt her yet was doomed to from the start, and he’s truly, truly sorry. this does not absolve him of anything whatsoever and she has the full right to never want to speak with him again. he lied! he pretended to feel the same when he never once felt anything but platonic affection! he’s been in love with someone else this whole fucking time! and their kid… he’s caught in the middle of it all, too young to understand why his father would hurt his family like this.

and then he disappears and never comes back. imagine you’re 5 and your dad goes to the middle of the woods with his buddy for science shit, all of the sudden your parents are yelling on the phone and signing papers, and then he goes MIA. for years.

imagine your husbands “buddy” was the one he was thinking of all this time, not you, never you. and the first chance he gets to run away from you, he takes, and you should have been suspicious by the rushed frenzy of it all, the phone calls getting shorter and shorter until it fizzles to nothing. he forgot to get you a christmas gift. he hand-made him two. there has to be something wrong with you, it has to be your fault. you wish you married the man he becomes when he’s in his presence.

he folded when you started questioning him directly - he’d been to neurotic to ever be a good liar. you thought he was the one. he thought you were nice.

by the time the divorce is finalized he’s different in a wrong way. confused, angry, forgetful, insane - if the giant homicidal robot pterodactyl you’ve been harassed by is any indication. (he’s had a bad habit of building homicidal robots when he’s mad since they met -engineer things- but it was never directed at her - thankfully it never actually does anything) he’s clearly abusing drugs - you’d feel bad if he hadn’t abandoned you with the burden of explaining why your son can’t see his father anymore.

it’s a rotten bit of your soul, but time heals you. you move on and no longer think of him. trust in your career. find a man who truly loves you with no motives attached. raise your kid to be a good man. and in a fashion not unlike shakespearean dramatic irony, this makes him move to gravity falls to find and take care of his father. you couldn’t care less what hee doing now, but damn it, it’s his father, what is the kid supposed to do? but its futile- he appears to have no remorse, hell, no memory of the incident in the first place. (this isn’t his fault but how are they supposed to know that?) so he grows bitter and cold just like his mother used to be.

imagine that.

all over a mans inability to do anything but live in denial. to force himself to live in a box and pine like a dying man over the right one at the wrong time, destined to crash and burn. to take denial to a new level- a cult, brain damaging radiation, a total ego death - just to take the edge off. take off that damn wedding ring

[shiganshinaslut]

Imagine watching Tengen jerk off OHMYGOD I WENT FERAL >.<

18+||MINORS DNI

You’re on your knees, red-faced and sitting politely with your hands in your lap as you try your best not to drool at the sight in front of you. Tengen’s tall frame towers above your own as you watch his hand slide skillfully up and down his cock.

You seem more embarrassed than he is, even though you’re the one who’s fully clothed and decent, but how could you not be embarrassed when you can see the pre-cum starting to drip from his slit and hear every heavy breath he lets out?

Tengen doesn’t seem embarrassed at all, simply reveling in your admiration of him with his signature grin gracing his handsome features (of course, he needs to be flashy, even at a time like this.)

“Like what you see, sweetheart? Mm, I think you’re enjoying this even more than I am. It’s cute how obedient you are, but the way you’re sitting there so quietly is so un-flashy! Looks like I need to train you a bit.”

[i-like-forcefem]

When browsing through the wares of a newly opened magic shop you passed by an item that caught your interest, a massive mirror

You peaked inside expecting to see yourself, but instead you saw, a girl? About your height, quite pretty, good taste in fashion… Maybe your mom when she was younger?

It feels weird, in a good way, to see this girl follow all your movements, you couldn’t help but smile, and her smile is radiant

You felt an odd sense of relief… until you looked down to see that, you’re you, of course you are

Why do you feel so sad?

…

“Quite the item isn’t it?”, the Witch tending the shop noticed your interest and started talking to you “a magic mirror that shows you what you’d look like if you were born the opposite sex”

You stare into it

Why do you feel this deep dread?

“But that’s not all it does!” The witch continues “want to see a magic trick?” The witch asks laying a hand on your back

You’re curious to see where this is going, so you nod your head

In one swoop the witch pushes you against the mirror and as you brace yourself to slam into it, stumbling on your feet across the floor, you find yourself slamming into the witch face first

She laughs “I probably didn’t need to push that hard”

As you lay on the ground you feel different, you look as you prepare to push yourself up from the ground you notice your hands… are they smaller?

As you get it up and oriented yourself you glance at the mirror, still the same showing girl you, but how did you get turned around did… did you get

“Sorry” the witch says as her laughter days down “that’s the first time I’ve pushed someone through a mirror, should’ve seen that coming”

You look down and see the dress you’re wearing

“Now cutie” the witch claps her hands, and jumps up! She has a grin you don’t trust “I hoped you enjoyed the trick! If you ever want to become a guy again And I hope you have some savings! Gender-bending magic is quite expensive!”

You stumble back, you can’t turn back? The mirror is showing yo- Girl You, not the real Guy You, so… that’s a no go? You’re way to poor for anything

“But don’t worry cutie, we pay quite well here and just so happen have an opening for a maid and I can assure you, you’ll look just adorable in the uniform”

[toovaeloe]

Gojo would fuck you completely boneless with you folded like he’s trying some kind of human origami technique

and then not even a full minute after completely blowing both your brains clear out your heads, while hes lowering your legs down from where your knees practically touch either side of your head,

he’d do some goofy dorky shit like grabbing the undersides of both your calves near your ankles to move them back and forth with some “doo, doo, doo,” sound effect like machine control levers. because this mf cannot be serious to save his life

(kick him)

[crazy-ache]

I’ve been interacting with new fanfic writers and also been seeing some folks share the fact that they care about hits, bookmarks, and comments on their work as if they’re embarrassed by that fact.

I’m just here to say you shouldn’t ever ever ever feel that way.

Writing, in this case fanfiction writing, can be a very lonely journey at times. If you’re brave enough to post online, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to receive validation. Because when you don’t, I think that’s the equivalent of playing or singing a song and nobody claps once you’re done. Imagine the Olympics or local sports arena or little league game with empty stands. Not a single soul cheering at the end of a concert. Nobody shows up to the art gallery. Nobody eats the baked goods you made with love at the party. All of those scenarios undoubtedly hurt.

Yes, you did it for yourself. Because you love this passion of yours. Because you’re working on your skills. Because you’re proving something to yourself.

But there’s a reason so many of humanity’s passions happen in front of a crowd.

Art is meant to be seen, music is meant to be heard, and yes, fanfiction is meant to be read.

We all want to know our art made an echo.

And yes, we all want to know somebody clapped for us. It validates us, it encourages us, it motivates us to keep going when we’re burnt out. It’s also just plain fun. All of these apply to world class musicians or athletes. For fan fiction writers, the audience cheering is as simple as a hit or a comment. It’s someone engaging with our work in a positive manner. So if you’re feeling that way and you feel bad about it—remember you’re human. And your passion and hobby is just as worthy of receiving audience reception as anybody else.

Fanfiction is a communal space, not just a solitary act. Give love back. Engage wherever and whenever you can. Open yourself to viewing this as a two way dialogue with other writers and readers. Give yourself grace and compassion when you’re disappointed. And when it’s your turn—don’t forget to clap.

[bakudekublogblog]

not to be dramatic but hori literally out did my own self indulgent wish-fulfillment fanfic with the whole “rest of our lives speech” like I knew that sounded so romantic, and it is, because I literally wrote that line for bakudeku and I intended for it to be romantic

like hori really is just showing us bakudeku fanfic writers how it’s done

[dingledraw]

i've decided i'm going to live for her instead!

Good! (Just be careful with the woman who hangs around with her👀)

[measurelessdreamer]

One of these scogan Post-X-Men: Days of the Future Past fics where Logan changes things so everyone from the original timeline is alive and he’s back at the school and about to find out somehow that he and Scott are a thing in this new timeline, but first, after Logan is done explaining himself to Charles, Scott is charged with showing him the way to his room and they talk sort of but not really and all of a sudden they both hear a very happy “Dad!” screamed through the hallway and they both turn and there is a little girl of age four (or more), smiling and running towards them and Logan doesn’t get it because he hasn’t seen her before and he had no idea a child so young could even be at this school and someone here is her father but who? Cyke himself? And he’s about tu turn to see if someone else is standing behind them when all of a sudden the girl slams herself against his legs with such force that it wavers his stance for a moment and surely she hurt herself just now because there is adamantium on his skeleton and there isn’t any on hers and she is only a child after all but then he looks at her and not only is she completely okay, she is also staring at him and she is smiling and as much as it doesn’t make sense, it slowly dawns on him and just as he is about to accept it, the girl lets him go and then hugs Scott, more gently but with no less amount of affection and Scott is affectionate right back but he is also trying to send her away. Only for a moment, though, so he can talk with Logan, and the little girl frowns and doesn’t like it but caves in when he promises to get her some ice cream and Logan doesn’t get it yet again and as if it wasn’t already bad enough, the girl finally smiles again and nodds and then she says, “Thanks, papa!” and runs back where she came from, leaving Logan so awestruck it feels as if he’s a mere breeze away from losing his balance.

Part II | Part III

[caustinen]

clegan drabble — chance encounter, first meeting, modern au

By the third time the guy makes his way over to the bar, Gale has to really work on not throwing his Coke bottle to the liquor shelf and start breaking stuff.

”Seriously man, are you sure we don’t-” ”No, we have not met before,” he responds as politely as he can through his teeth, “and no, I do not need company. And no, I will not go home with you. Excuse me.”

The guy’s drunken gaze falls to his lips as he talks, making Gale suspect he has not heard a single word he has said all night despite repeating himself over and over. The glassy eyes eventually turn back to his, and the man licks his lips as his expression morphs into a what he surely thinks is a seductive smirk.

”Come on, baby. Humor me a bit. Let my buy you a drink.” Gale exhales in frustration. The ick he gets from this man is ridiculous. ”I told you already, I don’t need a drink, I’d really just like to-”

He stops abruptly when the man takes a tight hold of his bicep. ”Hey, could you-” ”This hard-to-get act is getting old now, gorgeous.” ”I’m not-” The grip gets tighter, another hand reaches for his thigh, and Gale is about to get violent despite not wanting to get in trouble at their frequent spot when-

”Hi Buck, there you are! I’m real sorry I left you here all by yourself for so long, the queue to the toilet was insane.” A pleasant, carefree voice comes up from behind him. He turns to find a gorgeous smile on a gorgeous face he doesn’t recognize. The man’s smile is tense on a futher look, though, and his eyes are questioning as he lays a careful hand on Gale’s shoulder, clearly ready to pull back immediately if he gets any indication that the action is unwanted.

Gale exhales quietly again before covering the hand now on his shoulder with his own, immediately catching on. ”It’s okay.” It’s easy to slide away from the icky man’s grasp now, his surprise making him loosen his hold on Gale. Gale tries to avoid looking at him and accidentally leans closer towards the other man, his aura calming despite towering over Gale’s propotions in every direction. The man doesn’t seem to mind, still smiling from under his curls. ”Ready to go home, doll?”

Gale nods immediately. The drunk dude has been looking between them for a bit before his eyes land on the taller man. ”I’m real sorry mate, I didn’t realize he was-” The man’s face changes immediately when he looks away from Gale to the other guy, the youthful happiness turning into coldness that makes him look mature and strick. ”Yeah, whatever. Go home, sober up and learn some fucking manners, you fucking jackass.” With that, he’s gently leading Gale to the door.

He doesn’t let go until they are out of the other guy’s view, but he does drop his hand immediately as the door closes behind them. It’s probably the chill of the autumn evening and not the departure of the solid body against him that’s making Gale feel cold suddenly but it’s still unpleasent. ”Sorry,” the man says almost frantically, ”I didn’t mean to intrude but you were looking pretty miserable before he even showed up and when he got his hands on you-” The man sighs and shakes his head. ”Didn’t look like you were happy with it, somehow, so I just wanted to check on you. No clue where the fake boyfriend thing came from though, I’m so sorry if I-”

”Don’t be,” Gale says firmly, and the man immediately relaxes again, ”I don’t know why I froze like that, it was nice someone else de-escalated it like that. My friend went to argue with his boyfriend on the phone like 30 minutes ago and never showed up again so I was pretty pissed anyway.” The man nods, and the warmth Gale feels under his intense gaze shouldn’t feel this exciting, surely.

”Well then…” The guy lifts his arm and scratches the back of his neck, ”I don’t wanna take more of you’re time, I hope you’re oka-” Gale doesn’t think, in an unusual manner to him, when he interrupts him. ”I, eh, actually… I’d love to thank you somehow? Maybe buy you some late night dinner?” The man’s face lights up again, and Gale feels silly in a way he doesn’t often do.

”I’d love that. I’ll go tell my friends I’m leaving and meet you up here after?” ”Sounds good.” They stare at each other for a beat despite the words, and Gale swears he’s not blushing when he sticks his hand out jerkily. ”Gale Cleven.” The man smirks, his eyes turning to lines as it overcomes his face. ”John Egan,” he introduces himself as he reaches to shake his hand, ”but you can call me Bucky.”

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 a.anderson

Rough padded fingers trace the pattern of your face. From the slope of your nose, the cupids bow of your lips, slowly trailing up and over your cheeks, where they rest for a few seconds, blue eyes watching your sleeping figure. A soft smile appears on her face at how your hand grips tighter on her shirt, your face snuggling more into her side, and she’s at peace because she has you, has you in her arms yet again. 

The soft patter of the snow hitting the glass tears her attention from you to the window that was above the small desk you had put together on one of the many habits you picked up when Abby was away on patrol. Those blue eyes watched. She watched every trickle of snow that hit the windowsill outside, and her brain was slowly waking up from a good night’s sleep that it had only occurred to her that this was the first time you both had been witnessing snow, together, as a couple. She had seen it once, but the memory was so far back that it was almost a blur, but right now, standing under there, with you in her arms was something she needed.

The feeling of soft lips pressing against your temple had you humming, your eyes remaining shut the longer she trailed them all over your face, “Wake up” Her voice was still raspy from sleep but it always sounded like heaven to you. “I know you’re still tired, baby but there’s something i wanna do with you”

“Which is?”

“It’s snowing—”

Her eyes widened in surprise when your once comfortable body had sprung out of the small bed, almost stumbling over your clothes that were trashed on the floor, at the mere mention of it snowing. Abby didn’t know whether to laugh, ask if you were okay, or tell you to slow down as you picked up random pieces of clothing, because you looked so happy that she didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Baby, you know it’s still going to be there after you get dressed, you know that right?” She chuckles, sitting up in the bed, and watches you continue to rush around, dressing in those same random pieces of clothing. Including one of her fuckin socks.

“That’s not the point” You huff, turning around to look at her with a pout on your face. “The point is, it’s snowing, and it barely snows”

“At least wear something that—” She pauses, looking you up and down slowly with a raised eyebrow. Not happy with the fact you’re wearing the thinnest fuckin’ t-shirt possible. “Babe, you’re going to get a cold if you wear that outside”

“If only my girlfriend would get out of bed quicker and help me. oh, whatever will i do?” You sigh dramatically, throwing on a random hoodie which was in fact Abby’s. It was obvious with the way she chuckled under her breath with a soft ‘of course you steal mine’ that followed.

Reluctantly stumbling out of bed, Abby watches you closely. She watches the way you press your forehead onto the glass. The way your fingers trace shapes and patterns on the condensation upon the window. Especially how your smile brights at the sight of a snowflake. “you’re so damn pretty” She murmurs, eyes locked onto you.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Anderson”

“Flattery my ass, i was just sayin—”

She barely realized you were in distance of her and she heaved a breathless chuckle when your lips landed on her cheek, the soft sound of your giggle filling her ears. “i know, Handsome. you’re prettier though”

“Fuckin— let’s just go” She mumbled, breathlessly with flushed cheeks. 

Certainly didn’t have to tell you twice, but not before giving her a final kiss on the cheek.

The minute you’re both outside, and your feet are hitting the snow-covered floor, you’re shivering, teeth chattering as you quickly slip one of your hands into Abby’s jacket pocket, the warmth of her instantly warming up your now cold fingertips. “Told you to wear something warmer, baby” she mumbles, but rubs your hand nonetheless.

“I wasn’t cold then”

“That’s—” she pauses to look over at you, you’re already looking at all the snow but she’s scoffing softly under her breath. “—that’s beside the point. The point is, you’re going to get cold, and then you’re going to get sic—”

“Then it’s a good job i have you” Your eyes are flicking up to meet hers and they twinkle in a way that Abby almost loses her breath, and balance. “My favorite nurse”

“You’re going to be the death of me” Abby chuckles.

“Besides, if seeing snow makes me get a little ill, it’s so fuckin’ worth it”

You’re already ripping your hand from her pocket and slumping into the snow before she can even get a word out. It’s not that she hates snow, she would rather just watch you enjoy it this time. It’s always raining or it’s way too sunny usually, but this change is a nice one, it’s a good change and she’s just glad it’s making you happy. “Abby think fast!”

“Think fast for— ow!” she scowls, stumbling back a few steps when the cold snow hits her square in the face. “You’re such a brat”

Throwing your head back, you howl out laughter that has her heart melting and lips curling up into a smile. “Oh my god— your face is priceless!”

“yeah yeah, laugh it up” Abby grumbles, crouching down to scoop up some of the snow in her hands, her eyes trained on you and how you were oblivious to see what she was doing. “i’ll get you back, don’t even worry baby”

“Oh, what are you going to do? Smother my face with snow until i profess my undying love for you?” you giggled, the tips of your fingers freezing as you drew random patterns in the snow.

“I mean, that is a start” Abby smiles brightly, snow falling into the loops of her braid. “You do love me don’t you, baby?” her hands behind her back, snowball protected from your view.

Her cold breath grazed the tips of your ears, and you just hummed with a soft smile. “Course i do Abs”

“Okay good because—”

“Because what?” you quipped back with interest. Head turning and scrunching up your nose cutely as her blue eyes stare into your soft ones. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a woman around here— Abigail!” you shriek the second you feel her drop the ball of snow on your head, mushing it around with a giggle.

Abby, who was laughing loudly at your annoyed face, falls back into the pile of snow behind her. Groaning with a huff when you turn around and slump right on top of her, pouting involuntarily above her. “That was mean”

“Hey, you started it, may i remind you”  she grumbled. her cold fingers, just like yours, stroke the droplets of snow off your cheek, smiling as you lean into her touch, lips pressing against her palm. “still look pretty though”

“you’re prettier” you whispered. fingers moving on their own accord, tucking the loose strands of her hair back under her beanie, and dusting off the snow that was collected on her braid. “there”

“thank you, baby, even though i’m laying in a pile of snow, i’m sure my hair is protected now” she snorts playfully, stroking the side of your face with her fingers. “cold yet?”

“nah, you’re pretty warm right now”

chuckling under her breath, abby’s hand cups the back of your head, pressing it down gently against her chest, giving you the chance to listen to the sound of her steady heartbeat. being in her arms was always your safe space. to feel her strong arms wrapped around you, shielding your face in her chest, keeping the outside world, far away from you. her blue eyes wide, watching the droplets of snow falling from the sky, dropping onto your back, melting into the thin fabric of her hoodie.

“i like being here with you, like this” she mumbled. fingers dancing across your back with a soft smile on her lips. “just us and nothing in the way” she continued, not caring if the snow pile under her ass was slowly melting through the pants she was wearing. “s’perfect”

“you’re perfect, abs” you mumbled. head now lifted and chin resting on her chest, eyes soft and looking up at her like she was genuinely the only person left in the cruel, cruel world. “i wouldn’t want to be here, right now, with anyone else but you”

the confession had abby’s cheeks turning red, although she was slightly sure it was also due to the coldness of the weather and snow, but your words were buried deep in her chest, her heart melting as she looked up at you.

“i love you” she whispered. Her fingers trace your cheekbones and down your jaw where she cupped your face, smiling softly. “prettiest girl” 

Leaning down slowly, you press your lips to her forehead, your fingers absentmindedly tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear. “i love you most” you smiled. Your gentle kisses feathering to between the crease of her eyebrows, to the slope of her nose, and finally to the apples of her cheeks. “handsome” 

Locking your lips into a soft and gentle kiss when you get closer to the corner of her mouth, abby’s hand cups the back of your neck. your own resting on her shoulders. Droplets of rain and fragile snowflakes build a home in the small ridges of your beanie, melting as more fall. “wouldn’t wanna be here with anyone else either” She admitted against your lips, cold fingers grazing the skin on your neck. “you’re my home, and that's all i need” 

“good, because you’re stuck with me now” 

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou loves you, he really does, but he can’t help but be a little prickly sometimes. it’s not because he’s mad at you or anything that’s actively your fault, no. Sometimes he just likes to pick and be an ass to you because he finds your reactions funny, likes how your lip pouts, and how you huff at him whenever he pokes at you.

But it always irks you whenever he rejects your physical affection. It’s playful, the way he softly taps your fingers away from him when you wrap your arms around his middle while he cooks. You bite at his shoulder blade and he wiggles in your grasp, grumbles for you to stop fucking with him while he makes your damn soup.

And that irks you to no end, more than usual, for some reason. Chalk it up to pms or the weather or whatever the fuck, but you’re sick of it. You step beside him, turning until your butt hits the counter, folding your arms as you glare up at him.

“Well, if I can’t touch you, then you can’t touch me.” You declare childishly, and it makes Bakugou smirk at your petulance. He stirs the soup a few more times in silence, adding in more seasoning with a shake of his head while you stare him down.

After what feels like forever, he lays the spoon beside the pot and faces you with a hand resting on the counter and the other on his hip. He cocks his head at you, grinning now when he meets your frowning face.

“My poor baby,” he coos to you condescendingly, reaching out to grip your hip but you lightly smack his fingers away, same as he did you earlier. He expects that, and the next one, and the next. However, he doesn’t expect for it to last for the rest of the night, being unable to touch you.

At this point, he thinks he might be going stir crazy. He’s so used to the casual touches; squeezing your butt when you walk past, patting your cheek when you eat, rubbing your shoulders, massaging your calf on the couch. But he’s been rejected every time, and goddamn you, it’s not funny anymore.

So he blocks you in where you stand trying to leave the bathroom. To anyone else, he would look menacing, but to you, he just looks like an overstuffed teddy bear as he hunches his shoulders to his ears. He doesn’t look you in the eye, instead at your mouth, as he grumbles,

“M’sorry for being stupid. Now lemme touch you. Please.” He tacks on when he sees your eyes narrow. You stand there with your arms crossed for a few seconds, before humming and placing your hands on your hips.

“I’ll forgive you if you let me hold your boobs.” You counteroffer. His face scrunches up for a second at that.

“They’re not—you know what? Go ahead, have at it.” He tells you with a dramatic sigh, mirroring your position as he looks up to the ceiling. But as you cup his chest in your hands and squeeze his pecs and bury your face in it, Bakugou can’t help but smile a little. As long as he gets to do it back to you, he doesn’t mind one bit.

[vifilms]

abby is totally the type to obnoxiously suck on her long fingers after fucking you with them and she’s so loud about it too. letting long digits pop out of her mouth, your slick mixed with her saliva is invading your eardrums and it sounds fucking delicious. she laughs when you’re pressing your thighs together in desperation, clearly not getting your fill. she’s the type to moan out your name making you whimper and she’s pressing your body against hers whispering in your ear god you taste so good baby and your greedy cunt is just dripping, begging for more. isn’t she?

[jvsont0dd]

this song has always made me think of Bruce grieving Jason’s death🥲

Tall white house with an empty room

And your name carved over the door

Facing out to the tallest view

From your place on the second floor

Sound it out to an empty house

Was it just like you had before

Savior pulled from an open mouth

Did you want to be something more

Now you're taller than you've ever been

There's a mark on the wall, you see

I'm sure that someone will draw a new one

And cover it before they leave

Mark my words

There's a thousand things

That don't wash out with anything

I keep you clean

You surrounded me

And my windows are breaking

Something is rotten inside of me

I have to find it and

Cut it out

Cut it out

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap