#Trolls ninety one AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

Text

Ch. 2

Shigaraki Birthday Celebration! 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, brief male masturbation, tags will be added for smut in the next two parts

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which studying is done, unwilling connections are made, and Tomura thinks about the way you smell a totally normal amount.

AO3 mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (just shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged!

Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen.

He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library. But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him.

He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering.

Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant.

Group Project Bitch:

— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back

—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T

sounds good—

He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating.

When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right?

He wasn’t sure.

He didn’t do shit like this.

Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.”

He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager.

“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door.

Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors.

You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit.

Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor.

You made a fucking power point for him.

This couldn’t be real.

“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…”

You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in.

It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga.

He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations.

But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts.

“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him.

Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen.

“Look’s fine,” he mumbled.

The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for.

It was...good.

And that so fucking annoying.

Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids.

Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and—

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.”

He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to.

You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday.

“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze.

The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into.

“What’s your major?”

He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before.

You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear.

Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment.

But, obviously you didn’t.

So he didn’t.

He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—

Nope.

No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut.

Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side.

“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case.

“Are you talking about The League?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.

He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings.

The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger.

Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought.

“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone.

You should narrate those fucking sleepy time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much.

Or no, no he would definitely mind.

Yes. It would have been worse if anything.

“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.”

He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room.

Weird.

So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.

This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at.

Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit after all. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion.

Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere?

Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word.

Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head.

The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard.

It...grew on him.

He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session.

Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack.

“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room.

“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing.

Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly.

“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction.

Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous.

“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.”

“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly.

“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin study room whenever I want.”

“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.”

“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”

Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.”

“Jokes on you, I welcome death.”

You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward.

But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers.

“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.

He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations.

So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach.

But it was only because you were hot.

And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background.

Yeah.

Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough.

Right?

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki imagines #bnha fanfiction #college au #bee.writes

339 notes · View notes

razieltwelve · 2 years ago

Text

So... What Happens to Blake, Neo, and Penny? (Final Rose AU)

In the Weiss x Ruby x Jahne AU, what happens to Blake, Neo, and Penny since the usual groupings have been blown up?

Well, since trios seem like a thing in this AU, I thought I’d go with a different one:

Winter x Blake x Penny.

Basically, in this AU, Penny arrives in Vale at a slightly different time. As a result, she doesn’t just run into Ruby. She runs into Ruby and Blake who are returning from a old book store. She notices that the book Blake bought is an old copy of a picture book that Hope gave to her. It’s a story about a Faunus child who goes to the park to feed the ducks.

It’s a silly, simplistic story, but Penny treasures the book because the first thing she ever went outside of the lab to do was visit the park and feed the ducks. Blake bought it because she remembers her parents reading the book to her when she was a kid and before everything got complicated. Penny ends up striking up a conversation with Ruby and Blake about the book.

As a result, Penny makes friends with Ruby and Blake that day.

Meanwhile, Winter meets Penny earlier in this timeline that usual since Penny’s intervention with White Fang smugglers goes a bit better than expected due to her helping Blake, who runs into her on her way to attack the smugglers. As a result, Atlas military has enough actionable intel to dispatch a specialist. In this case, it’s Winter. Winter then ends up doing a lot of coordinating with Penny and Blake to handle White Fang issues, which are cropping up as the inter-academy tournament draws near.

That then leaves Neo as the odd woman out, and, like I said, why not just stick with trios?

Let’s throw together Fujin x Diana x Neo.

We’ve replaced the troll who talks too much (Jahne) with the the troll who talks too little (Neo). Interestingly, this now puts Diana with the two characters who speak using their own voices the least. Although Fujin can speak, her stilted speech means that she often prefers sign language for more complex ideas whereas Neo can’t speak at all without using her Semblance to create auditory illusions.

Both Neo and Fujin’s inabilities to speak are Semblance related. In both cases, the parts of their brain that handle the production of speech are hindered by the changes necessary to support their Semblances. Note that these problems are not really evident in their children with Diana because Ragnarok is a wonderful, overpowered Semblance.

Remember that both Averia and Taren have a significant healing factor despite only being children of someone with Ragnarok. The same goes for Diana’s kids, who can inherit Semblances similar to Neo and Fujin without suffering from the same sorts of physical disadvantages they do. This is why, for instance, the eye beam kid has eye beams from both eyes instead of one like Fujin and doesn’t have to cover her eyes (Fujin wears her eyepatch over the eye that shoots beams). Likewise, Diana’s kids with Neo aren’t super tiny like Neo is and don’t suffer from Neo’s shortened lifespan. Neo, remember, dies of old age in her seventies, whereas most of the other characters who die of old age make it into their nineties or later (Diana is roughly double Neo’s age when she eventually dies as the last major figure from her generation).

Note that the Victoria from this AU is an absolute troll, arguably even worse than her normal version. That’s right, this Victoria is a Diana x Neo version of Victoria.

EDIT: I also just realised something hilarious. In this AU, it’s Elsa x Averia x Yang. So the traditional Sigrid vs Victoria trolling/battles will feature an Averia x Yang kid vs a Diana x Neo kid. Oh boy. There will definitely be explosions. They’ll be the best of friends, who just bicker, punch each other, and occasionally level the surrounding landscape until Eira comes in and unleashes her biggest sister powers and tyranny.

#final rose #fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

lilydalexf · 4 years ago

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made. I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years. We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends. It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media. I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs! When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’ We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her. I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones. Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it? You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable. Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was. What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her. Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible). Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative. I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).

Really, RivkaT? A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy. I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either. It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued. I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic. Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.” And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #mustangsally

137 notes · View notes

pinktatertots99 · 3 years ago

Note

And also for the Misc Prompts - 5. Can I pet your dog? Do I know you? Fooooor I don't know? Maybe the Padpa Troll Marvus, was it?

AIGHT i can do this, iiii can do this. -blugh first time writin hiveswap shit that isnt au stuffs-

human au time!

Sentence Starters

5. “Can I pet your dog?” “Do I know you?”

------------------

your name is marvus xoloto, world renowned slammin poet for the masses and you have found the goodest of all the holy spirits creatures in your sites.

your currently covered up in a plain purple hoodie, black baggy pants spray painted commissioned sneakers and a fanciful insignia'd purple mask. granted you just needed to hide your luxurious mane and keep your show paint off and most people wouldn't recognize you except for your super fans and stalkers.

your sitting in a seat on the subway, decidin to take some time off and enjoy the sites of this city before you'd have to go back and work on getting your shows ready and rehearsing but right now you will not do either that unless you pet dat dog a couple seats away from you.

nobody else is sitting in them so you have clear view of dog in sight. a usual lookin brown and white collie you think? them lassie lookin dogs yknow the one. attatched to it's leash is its owner who looks like she stepped out of a lesbian cowgirl romcom in faded jeans, button up brown shirt, cowboy boots that're definietly for work then fashion, matching brown gloves and her hair chocolate brown hair cascading over her sunkissed skin.

you look around, barely anyone else is around your sitting area or on the left side of the train while they all be on the right side as you move to slide over; she doesn't notice. you slide to the next and she takes her phone out. you decide to stay like this cause sittin side to side ain't your thing.

her dog notices as their tail wags. you put on your best extroverted personality but tone it down enough to not be noticable if she knows you as you speak up.

"ayuh, min' if pet ya doge?" she looks up at you confused. "wha?"

"c'n i pet ya dog?" you ask more bluntly as she looks between you and her dog. "ohh yah shure thin'." she replies her accent thick and country as the dog gets into your sight and yo go pettin em. "her name's lady."

"niiiiice lil lady." you respond petting under her chin and side of her cheek as she nuzzles into it, melting like butter on a kitchen counter when it's ninety-nine degrees in california. your heart is melting at the sight that you don't notice cowgirl giving you an eyebrow arch.

"...do i, know ya?" she asks as the subway stops, you smirk under your mask. "dun th'nk so." you respond taking out your bejeweled phone cased phone in purple, gold and pink. "is it aigh't if i snap a flash?"

"pardon?"

"take a pic."

"oh! yah shure shure." she responds moving the dog to calm down. "i uh, got myself a blog a' pics a' her, if ya wan-" your already bringing up your phone's notes as the other passangers go first as you take down her site's account and both of you wave eachother off once you leave.

___________________

your name is skylla koriga and your currently sitting on your couch, lady in your lap as your in your shorts and tank topped pajamas with a towel over your hair. your currently checking out your social media accounts, looking at one of your new followers with the name name 'MX:O)"

you decide to click it, and proceed for the rest of the evening nearly rolled over and almost knocking your head on the small table you have when you screamed and realized THE marvus xoloto long renowned slam poet is following your silly dog blog and wondering how!?

#hiveswap #hive swap #hs #home stuck #homestuck #fanfiction #marvus xoloto #skylla koriga #i made this #michi!

13 notes · View notes

ask-them-bois · 4 years ago

Text

A King and His Soldier, part 2/3

(Okay, well. Zeruki appeared ahead of schedule. Let’s figure out how the hell that happened.)

-AgressiveUndead began trolling GlitchingVampire!-

AU: Blxlit.

GV: AlMMawt.

AU: …

GV: … lMMao hi.

AU: Hello.

GV: What do you want?

AU: I need you to find someone for me. Ribbit.

GV: Oh yeah? Who? And also, why should I care?

AU: Xre you fxmilixr with x boy nxmed Ursidx?

GV: I think so? It sounds faMMiliar.

GV: oh.

GV: wait…

GV: ….

GV: Yeah I know that naMMe.

AU: I thought xs much. How do you know him?

GV: … I knew hiMM from the CoMMpound. He was the engineer MMy… designs… got sent to. He was, like, MMy assigned partner.

AU: I need you to find him. Ribbit.

GV: Why.

AU: Becxuse I need his xncestor on my side, before Mxddel cxn get him. Becxuse I know who his xncestor worked for, xnd I’d much rxther hxve them both on my side. It’d mxke this whole thing x lot exsier. Ribbit.

GV: I have no idea what you’re talking about dude, lMMao. But the answer is no. I’MM not gonna go find someone froMM the coMMpound. I blew up those bridges a long tiMMe ago.

AU: …

AU: I understxnd thxt, but I xsk you to reconsider. I wouldn’t xsk xt xll if it wxsn’t importxnt, Blxlit. Ribbit.

GV: What’s in it for MMe?

AU: Wow, rexlly?

GV: You realize what you’re asking MMe, right? You want MMe to go find soMMeone froMM a place where I was literally IMMPRISONED and ENSLAVED. A place I BLEW UP. What if he turns MMe in? I’MM a wanted robot, MMusrio. I can’t just get in contact with the Fleet like it’s no big deal. So if I’MM gonna do that, I want soMMething in return.

AU: …

AU: Blxlit, under thxt childish, prxnkster personx of yours, you’re quite… xstute, xren’t you? Ribbit.

GV: Bitch I built war machines. I MMake robots and eXXplosives. I’MM hella sMMarter than you take MMe for. I’MM hella ass-toot.

AU: Xstute.

GV: Ass-toot.

AU: There’s thxt childishness I wxs spexking of. Ribbit.

GV: lMMao

AU: Fine. Whxt do you wxnt, then?

GV: ... I don’t wanna say yet.

AU: Why?

GV: Because I’MM not ready for you to pay off the favor so fast. Having a zombie wizard at my beck and call? Who the hell would pass that up?

AU: I’m xn undexd necromxncer. Ribbit.

GV: Ass-toot.

AU: Ugh. Fine.

GV: Good.

GV: I’ll find your guy, AlMMawt. But you’re gonna owe me big for this.

-GlitchingVampire ceased trolling AggressiveUndead!- -GlitchingVampire began trolling SoldieringSkybear!-

GV: Hey you.

GV: Are you still alive?

GV: Been a while, huh.

GV: If you’re still in the city, MMeet me on a rooftop, okay? We need to talk.

-GlitchingVampire ceased trolling SoldieringSkybear!-

Corden closed down Trollian and spun around in his chair. Once, twice, and he jumped up, catching the chair before it knocked into the desk.

“Batmom, I’m gonna go out for a bit. You wanna come?” He spoke to a large meow-beast tower that stood next to the desk. After a moment, a very small bat poked her head out, golden eyes blinking sleepily.

She squeaked, and with a flutter of four wings, lighted on his shoulder.

“Cool.” Corden made sure to pocket his knives and a handful of gadgets, before he left his respiteblock. Jumping down the stairs two at a time, he stopped at the bottom and glanced around. “Ken-ken?” He shouted.

“Yo?” Makeno looked up from where he was laid on the lounge-plank, scrolling his palmhusk, hair still damp from a shower.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

“M’kay. Be safe.”

“No promises.” Corden snickered, extending two fingers as he walked past. Makeno reached up and connected two of his own fingers to Corden’s.

“Pale for you, Cordy.”

“Pale for you, too.”

Corden stepped outside, rolling his neck as he headed down the walk and made his way to the city proper.

Once he was among the towering hivestems and workhives, his tense shoulders loosened. The buzz of the city hummed in his ears, hyping him up until blue and red sparks were dancing along his horns.

He roamed the streets for a while, a vague plan beginning to form in his head. He paused on the sidewalk and craned his neck back, looking up at the soaring buildings. “If there’s one place to find him, it’d be up there, huh?” He asked Batmom.

She chirped, and he nodded thoughtfully. Turning, his cape swishing, he marched into a nearby alley between a hivestem and coffeehive. With a burst of psionics and a jump, he landed easily on the fire escape that went up the side of the hivestem.

The smell of the coffeehive’s garbage bin in his sniffnub, he quickly scaled the fire escape to… well, *escape* the smell. The higher he went, the bolder he became, his psionics swirling around him to keep him from falling if he slipped. His hair began to stand on end from the energy alone.

Wind blew it back from his face as he neared the top of the ninety-story hive. He vaulted over the lip of the roof and landed easily. Standing up straight, he looked around; it was a clear night, and from the edge of the building, he could see across the whole city. He stared at the millions of lights, almost entranced by their glow.

Across the city, hidden by the towering buildings between him and it, was the burned out, collapsing remains of the compound. The place he grew up, worked, and lived for the first sweeps of his life. The place he blew up, leaving virtually no one alive, in a daring attempt to escape. No one, save one person, who he’d sent a single message before it went up in flames.

Corden sat on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs. All he had to do now was wait, so he allowed himself to indulge in his memory files. He slid one hand over the back of his shoulders, where he could feel the tips of the scars that marred his back.

“Still don’t know why they thought flogging a robot was a good idea. All it did was tear up my exo-skin.” He said to Batmom. The tiny bat only trilled in response.

Corden sat there for a good half hour, watching the city as he got lost in painful memories. Finally, however, he heard the telltale sound of several jingling bells as someone vaulted onto the roof behind him.

“Ayyye, it’s the Cordy-bordy-robo-bro! Wassup manbot? Dude it’s been like- fucking sweeps huh? Fuck yeah man, whatcha been doing since the compound went-” The newcomer made several vocals to indicate explosions, before he laughed, his loud voice amplifying his thick lisp.

Corden held in a sigh as he got to his feet and turned to face them. “Nice to see you again, too, Engineer-class Fleetman Zeruki Ursida.” He said formally, his posture suddenly stiff as he swept into a low bow.

Zeruki stared at him like he’d grown a second head; at least, Corden thought he did. It was hard to tell with the hair. The tealblood’s tail lashed, sending the bells jingling vigorously.

“Oh, so we’re being all form-fit-finessed here, are we? Fine. Nice to see you, Gold-Station #315.184.514, Bloodline: Blalit.” Zeruki stuck out his split tongue in disgust, “WTF man, I don’t do that,” He blew a raspberry, “shit unless it’s with the ssssssuperiors. You and I are buddies, ain’t we?” He clicked his tongue, his tail bobbing and jingling again. He tugged on the lip of his helmet, nodding to Batmom, “Hello, missy ma’am.”

“Are we?” Corden repeated, his voice flat and emotionless.

Zeruki shrugged, bouncing on his toes. “I dunno. Sure. Yep. LMAO. Anywaysies, what didja message me for? I thought you never wanted to see me again, after you,” he waved a hand vaguely, making more explosive vocalizations, “ya knoooooow? After you killed all our buddy-bros and left me to clean up the mess.” His expression soured for a moment, before he was grinning again.

Corden frowned; he wasn’t sure what the meant. “I didn’t want to see you, but a… friend, asked I find you again. He needs you for… something.” He explained.

“Ah, dope. Totes. Uhhhhhh, he wouldn’t happen to be an olive dude? Real skinny, looks like a doritos bag? Got soda-cola-pop for hair?”

Corden frowned. “No… That sounds like Oliver, though. You haven’t been talking to her, have you?”

“Eh, meh, kinda, no.” Zeruki snickered, his tail shivering and jingling. “They approached me after I left the base a few nights back. Told me they wanted to talk, and started going off about some magicky-tacky-spooky stuff. Wanted my blood so he could meet some doctor or ssssssomething. No idea what that was about, so I bounced. Now your dude wants me, too? Didn’t know I was so famous.” He grinned with a mouthful of crooked teeth.

“I don’t think it’s you they want. They want your ancestor. But believe me, my dude is on the right side here. I can give you his Trollian Handle.” Corden pulled out his palmhusk and did just that.

“Freaky-deaky, dude-bro-bot, buuuuuut… I dunno if I’m down for this shit. I’m just trying to keep my skull off a threshcutioner’s sickle, ya know? I’m barely making it as an engineer, duder, I don’t need to get caught up in any of this shhhhhit.” Zeruki shifted his feet, frowning.

“I don’t know, but okay. Just give Musrio a message. I’ve done my job, so I’m going home.” Corden pocketed his palmhusk and turned way.

In a flash, Zeruki was at his side, his tail surprisingly dexterous as it wrapped around Corden’s metal wrist. “Yo, hold it up, brody-Cody! You just gonna hitch-snitch and ditch like that? Maybe I’ve got a message for you, too!” He said sharply, before looking down at the metal hand. “Yoooooo, that’s new.”

Corden wrenched his arm from the quad-horned troll’s grasp, before he raised an eyebrow. “A message?”

“Yeah-huh. Uhhhh… what was it.” Zeruki screwed up his face in thought, before he perked up, his tail wagging and chiming. “Oh yeah! You remember Fallen? The freaky-deaky-spooky dude who patrolled the compound sometimes, ‘cause his ancestor ran the place? He’s out, dude. You’ve got a mory-dory-morail right? They had history or some shit, didn’t they? Exes, or something?”

Corden stepped back, alarmed. “How do you know all that? Ken-ken never talks about his ex.” He demanded, one hand reaching for the knives at his side.

“Aye, dude, I got freaky ears, remember? These bitches hear everything!” Zeruki slapped the side of his helmet for emphasis, before he flinched, “Ow. LOL. Anywhoodle-doodle, he’s out of confinement again. Back on the streets, you get it? His daddy-oh paid his bail or whatevs.

Fallen is fuckin’ nuts, man, I’ll bet nothin-touchin’ he’s gonna come visit Makey-dakey-sharky-chef. He’s, uh… what do those weeby-dweebs call it? Yonder-wander. Sssssunder-thunder. Whatever, LMAO, one of those. He’s got a bone to pick with Faslet, and a general lack of a thinkpan. So…” He sucked air through his teeth and blew another raspberry, before popping his lips. “Yeah. Watch out for Fally-bally.”

Corden stared at him, before he nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll let Ken-ken know.” He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “Thanks, Zeruki.”

“Yeppers-peppers, Cordy-bordy-bro-bot.” He rolled his R’s, and made a buzzing sound. He raised an arm and rolled his glove forward, checking a device wrapped around his wrist. “Oh, brrr, I gotta get home. Mama’ll be wanting dinner before sunrise.” He snapped a two finger salute to Corden. “Until next time, bro-bot!”

With that, he turned, ran for the edge of the roof, and leaped off, shrieking, the fuzzy end of his tail the last thing to disappear from view.

Corden rolled his eyes, walking over to the edge of the building and looking down.

Zeruki was not a smear of cyan on the pavement, but instead a blur, bounding between the walls and roofs of the skyscrapers and buildings like a free-running character in a videogame.

Corden faintly heard him shriek again, cackling manically.

“He’s nuts.” Corden told Batmom, who chirped in amused agreement. “Guess we should go home, too, huh?”

Corden shook out his hands, a burst of psionic energy rocketing across his body as he stepped off the other side of the building and made his way home.

#a king and his soldier #part 2 #zeruki ursida #corden blalit #makeno faslet #long post #story time #very long post

12 notes · View notes

lilliemellowxoxo · 14 days ago

Text

I drew Clay and ZaQ cuz I LOVE them sm!💚💛

ZaQ is @ninkkkkk

#clay trolls #trolls fanart #Ninety one AU #ninety one zaq

24 notes · View notes

selanaris · 5 years ago

Text

Knockout x Breakdown WoW AU "Meeting"

(Based on this post Transformers Warcraft AU)

Knockout hated Dalaran, but it made good money. He worked as a temporary healer for the city's Underbelly, the sewers. Close to the Violet Hold, where they kept the worst of the worst of magical criminals. The Underbelly is where all the gangs, thieves, and black markets lived. If it's illegal, it's here. His job was an under the table healer. Want something healed without a word or document, done. Wanted to duel and have a healer on site who wouldn't say a word, done. Most ask him why ever did he leave Silvermoon, his home, and his answer has always been the same, they have prioritized arcane over light magic lately, so he left. That's not even mention how his home and family was destroyed there when the scourge attacked. He hated the memories the city gave him.

On this day though, something strange happened, a group of Horde members came in. As they entered Knockout immediately knew what they were. Rumor was that the horde and alliance both have two major guilds, Autobots and Decepticons, they worked slightly outside the factions, sometimes recruiting protecting anyone who abandoned their faction. From what he can tell, these were decepticons, recruiters specifically. He thought they were going to turn to the arena to recruit from the pit fights, but no... they came straight to him.

He raised his long red brow as an Orc, an Undead, and a Troll walked up to him. "How may I be of assistance?" He asked with his deep suave voice.

"We are looking for a healer, and we've heard of one living here that would do anything for the right price?" Said the undead with a terrible screeching voice.

"I would be him." Knockout rolled his glowing greed eyes. All undead were disgusting, even if they were allies.

The orc stepped forward, his glowing blue eyes and cold breath that came from him immediately gave him up as a death knight. "You are being offered a chance out of this... sewer, and into a better place with better pay and outcome. He have a lack of healers and you would be perfect for such things, in battlefield you can shine." The orc smirked as he kept explaining his guild.

Knockout thought it over as the orc continued to talk of all the benefits of the Decepticon guild. He raised his hand to stop him from talking, "I accept, you are offering a new home and payment, so I accept." He said with a smile. Before he knew it, he was put into the next battle against the Autobot alliance guild in Warsong Gulch.

He doesn't know what happened, but now he was stuck at the enemy base searching for the plans they came to steal, alone as his team ran off. "Where the hell is it?!" He hissed out before he heard a very specifically sound. A rogue, in this room. Knockout froze and looked around careful trying not to show that he knew the rogue was there, but he didn't know where they were specifically. He carefully grabbed the battle plans and immediately turned to run, only to be immediately struck at the back of his head. He fell to the ground, but never landed as the rogue grabbed his ponytail and held him up. When he opened his eyes he saw it was a night elf, someone who was at least three heads taller than him.

Knockout was barely conscious of his actions and surroundings as he tried to set himself free. He got his wish as he was dropped to the ground and a large black and white tauren charged and slammed the rogue into a wall. The tauren quickly picked him up, to his dismay, he still hated to be touched or to get dirty, and carried him out of the enemy base. "Do you have the plans?!" He asked as he ran. Knockout nodded lazily as he was still recovering from the blow.

He winced and held his head as all the pain started to come to him. "Ugh... yeah... I got it..."

"Good." The tauren smiled, "I'm Breakdown by the way." He introduced himself politely.

"Ugh... Knockout..." he groaned and leaned his head back. They remained quiet the entire way back to their base. Although at the time, this seemed like a one time encounter, this would lead to one of the greatest connections ever seen, after all, interracial relationships were near nonexistent, especially with blood elves who forbade them in favor of saving their small numbers after the scourge attack that killed ninety percent of their population.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers writing #megatron #knockout x breakdown #tfp knockout #knockout #tfp breakdown #breakdown #macaddam #maccadams #transformers headcanons #transformers crossover #transformers au #warcraft #world of warcraft #wow

30 notes · View notes

powerovernothing · 6 years ago

Note

If Korbin lived in our time, what would his favorite tv show be? Would he use the internet? Is he a memer? Give me Modern Korbin AU pls

Awww, dear sweet TKTEATA!Anon! I always love whenever you pop into my askbox, because you always end up sending me such wonderful questions and messages that put such a huge smile on my face! Thank you so much for taking the time to send me this! It really is such and adorable little question, and it makes me flattered and overjoyed to know that you are interested in a Modern AU revolving around Korbin and are curious about what he would be doing in such a scenario!

That really means a lot, and you are, as always, very cherished and highly appreciated! Now, to answer your question, I believe it would be easiest if I answered it in two ways~

(*~*Modern Korbin Related Answers And Screenshots Underneath The Cut!*~*)

Firstly, if Korbin existed and lived in our current timeline, I believe he would enjoy the comforts of animation. Considering the fact that he tends to be very childish in nature, and tends to have that kind of mindset in general, I can easily see him enjoying a combination of both Western Animation, as well as Japanese Animation from time to time.

Would he be the type to get overly excited whenever a new animated Disney film comes out? Absolutely! Would he end up dragging both of his siblings to the premiere and make certain they not only gets the special tub of popcorn, but also the free posters and other little childish trinkets? You know it!

Would he stay up late watching reruns of old school cartoons such as Scooby Doo, Loony Tunes, and Tom & Jerry, but also enjoy the occasional nineties classics such as Batman, Gargoyles, X-Men and even lighter ones like Dexter’s Laboratory, Johnny Bravo, or Animaniacs? Without a doubt!

Korbin would also unironically quote early season Spongebob Squarepants related memes, much to his brother’s chagrin, and would regret absolutely nothing. He would also enjoy indulging in certain Anime series now and again whenever the curious urge arises. His favorite series being, unsurprisingly to anyone who knows him well, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Now, as for whether or not Korbin would use the internet to spread his meme related madness to the unsuspecting… he absolutely does, and quite repeatedly within the events of my Sims 4 related adventures with The Knight, The Emperor, and The Assassin!

Most of the time, you can very easily catch him stealing away Martin’s computer and trolling the forums, or causing drama, or just attacking those with out of date memes that he still finds hilarious.

…Even when said brother is meant to be sleeping in preparation for work the next morning. Whoops. But you know what they say! High quality memes wait for no man, and as you can see from the above, there are even times when he is feeling particularly devious, and brings Lachance into the fold to help create a stir, and then share a laugh at the expense of those fools who are too easily bothered by the smallest possible thing.

So yes, my dear sweet TKTEATA!Anon! Korbin most certainly is a creator and user of various memes, and oftentimes logs onto certain social media, or internet forums to torment unsuspecting souls with the very best he has to offer! After all, Lucien taught him far too well, and he is always proud to see his beloved Silencer wrecking havoc upon the world wide web.

(If you’re wondering what Korbin and his siblings’ professions are within the modern timeline, there really isn’t all that much that has changed. Korbin and Lucien are still assassins -- although they’re actually hitmen here, and may or may not be apart of their own family existing within the mafia -- and Martin spends his time working as a Sunday School teacher, and occasionally writing on the side.)

Also, my friend, while we are still upon the subject, if you are interested or searching for more Modern Korbin related silliness or inspiration, then please allow me to give you my personal tag for the brothers and their Sims 4 related adventures!

Ponnie Attempts To Play The Sims~

There isn’t that much there at the moment, as it has been a while since last I leapt into the game – for one reason or another – but I still have several screenshot posts that I never really got around to uploading currently collecting dust in my drafts… so, if you like what you see, then I will certainly do my best to finally get around to uploading them! And in your honor!

But in any case, I really want to thank you for popping into my askbox and leaving me this incredibly cute question and message! It’s always so flattering to know that there are those interested in Korbin’s character, and wanting to know more details about him and his ongoing story with his adoptive siblings!

Honestly, I’m just beaming from ear to ear, and you are simply adorable. Thank you so much again, and if you have any other questions, about anything really, know that you are always welcome to slide into my askbox whenever your curiosity abounds once again!

Have a wonderful and great day, and tons of hugs and kisses to you~ ♥

#Anonymous #Anon~#TKTEATA Anon~#Korbin Redd Related Things~#Is This Not Korbin~#Long Post~#Very Long Post~#Thank you so much my dear sweet Anon for sending this my way!#I really appreciate it and it always gives me such a great smile whenever I see these kind of things in my askbox!#You guys are totally the best and it means so much to know you are all interested about Korbin!#That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I just agdlksjgh.#I really am super appreciative!#And like I said above if you ever get curious about anything else -- please don't feel shy!#Send your questions my way and I will always do my best to try and answer it for you properly!#Keep on being amazing and tons of hugs and kisses for you~#Mawh!#Thanks again! ♥

2 notes · View notes

pantstomatch · 7 years ago

Text

msdistress said: I saw that civilized werewolves being super competitive when it comes to other packs, and now I can only imagine an AU where (adult) Stiles and Scott are renting a house together, and Derek moves in the same area. And while the McCall pack and the entire Hale pack (Talia, Laura, etc.) are on civilized terms, Scott and Derek just can’t help themselves. And maybe a part of the showing off is actually a way to impress (court) Stiles, as in “My lawn ornaments are much nicer than his!”

So this is kind of that, but kind of not? This is pretty silly :) Happy Halloween!

“You’re not dead,” Stiles says as Scott bangs open the door and shucks off his shoes in the next movement. They hit the wall and then bounce into an ungainly pile in the middle of the hallway that Liam will no doubt trip over when he gets home.

“Nope,” Scott says. He looks confused by that part.

“So… That’s good?” Stiles has pumpkin guts all over his hands, but offers Scott a fist bump anyway.

Scott follows Stiles back into the kitchen and then plops down across from Stiles’s half-finished jack-o-lanterns at the counter. He’s a couple weeks early, but Halloween has to be taken seriously. These are practice pumpkins.

Scott says, “It was weird. I think they’re all models. They force-fed me pie.”

Stiles arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“I mean, the pie was great,” Scott says, face screwed up. “I think they were happy I ate the whole thing?”

Werewolf metabolism, Stiles thinks sourly. He’s getting to that age where he has to watch his beer and pizza intake. It sucks. He says, “I’ll make them brownies,” and then apparently it becomes a thing.

Stiles doesn’t know if the Hale pack are actually all models, but they’re definitely taking the supernaturally hot thing to a whole other level.

Scott’s betas are reasonably attractive, sure, but Liam’s the size of a cave troll and Mason’s on this whole hippie-chic kick that makes him look like a train hobo.

Stiles holds out the plate of brownies and tries not to stare at Erica’s boobs. Boyd has the bulging chest of a roman gladiator and Stiles could cut his hands on Isaac’s cheekbones, it’s insane.

Stiles says, “Nice to meet you guys,” and Erica’s lip curls up and her hands hover around the plastic-wrapped plate like it’s made of poison and-or possibly oatmeal. He waggles the plate back and forth. “Promise they’re wolfsbane free.”

And then Jackson fucking Whittmore comes swanning down the staircase and Stiles says, “You’ve got to be shitting me. Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says with a scowl.

“Lydia told us you got eaten by a giant lizard.”

Jackson scowls harder. “Fuck off.”

Stiles would like to say that the addition of Jackson makes the pack less appealing, but despite having the personality of a canned ham, Jackson still looks like he was carved out of marble. Balls.

And then someone says, “Do I smell chocolate?” from behind Stiles and he definitely does not jump three feet into the air, but it’s a close call.

He flinches and spins around and says, “Fuck my life.”

The hottest mountain man Stiles has ever seen is frowning at him and Stiles wants to bury his entire body in his beard. He wants to weasel his way under that soft-looking Henley and lick his collarbones. Stiles is ninety-nine percent sure this is Alpha Derek Hale, even though Scott had failed to prepare him for the way Derek’s eyes are eating Stiles’s soul.

Stiles wordlessly holds out the plate of brownies.

Derek takes them with a resigned silence. No one else is saying anything either, and the back of Stiles’s neck is starting to prickle with unease. Are they going to eat him now? They’d moved into town so Liam and Mason could go to the local college, expecting some kind of resistance, territorial posturing, possible brawl for dominance, but Scott had been tirelessly optimistic—even more so since the pie eating thing.

Stiles slinks around Derek, hands up. He says, “I’ll just, uh… leave now,” and backs down the sidewalk so he can see any kind of attack coming. He’s got a taser in his back pocket and he’s not afraid to use it.

The Hale pack all watch him with narrow, calculating eyes and Jackson gives him the finger.

Stiles thinks that if this is the way they react to brownies, he’s going to bake them a motherfucking cake.

Originally, Stiles thought it was a giant mistake on Scott’s part to rent a place nearby the Hale pack house, but now Stiles thinks it’s good to be able to keep an eye on them. They’ve never had to deal with another pack so close before. It’s both nerve-wracking and exhilarating, and Stiles tries not to think too hard about why and focuses on the important stuff: decorating for Halloween.

Stiles starts out with three jack-o-lanterns in front of their modest little pack house, but when he sees Derek staple-gunning orange lights around the entire front of their porch, he comes home with a six foot dinosaur skeleton with glowing red eyes.

“You spent actual money on this,” Scott says, hands on his hips. He doesn’t seem mad, just sort of baffled.

Stiles very carefully doesn’t tell him that it cost almost two hundred dollars. They don’t have ‘pack money’ and Stiles has a very good job, but there’s spending money on a video game and then there’s buying a giant skeleton that’s probably going to break the minute Liam tries to ride it.

Stiles can’t exactly explain it, the way Derek was aggressively hanging lights and glaring at him. It could have had something to do with the way Stiles was openly gaping at Derek’s butt when he was at the top of the ladder, but Stiles is going to up his game anyway: no one actually hangs Halloween lights unless they’re going to war.

Scott would probably not appreciate Stiles telling him this, though.

Instead, he pats the dinosaur’s back fondly and says, “He was on sale.”

Five days into October, Stiles blearily makes his way into the kitchen at seven AM to find Liam, Mason and Kira halfway through a giant dish of lasagna. They have full forks and zero table manners.

“Seven AM?” Stiles says, pouring himself an enormous mug of lukewarm coffee because he lives with heathens. “Where did that even come from?”

Mason mumbles something about a handsome roman gladiator while shoveling pasta into his mouth.

Kira says, “I want to marry this. I want to have this lasagna’s babies.” She stabs Liam with her fork and flashes orange eyes when he goes for the corner of the dish she’s staked out.

Liam says, “Did you just hiss at me?”

“If you marry this, I’m gonna eat your babies,” Mason says, and Stiles moves forward curiously, taking a deep sniff but careful not to get too close—he’s pretty sure Kira will take out his eyes.

Steam is still rising off of what’s left. Someone got up super early in the morning to make this fresh. Huh.

So they’re resorting to full meals now. Stiles can deal with that.

Stiles bakes a cake. Three layers of chocolate with vanilla pudding in between, and he covers the whole thing with an entire can of orange icing, using Oreo cookies to make bats. He also makes a cheesy chicken casserole in Boyd’s lasagna dish and has Mason take them both over in a wagon.

Stiles peeks through the window shades and gleefully watches Isaac open the door.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, coming up behind him to peek too.

Stiles rubs his hands together and says, “Winning.”

“Winning what?” Scott says. He’s adorably befuddled, and Stiles pats his tummy and says, “I’m not sure, but whatever this is, I’m really good at it.”

“Is whatever this is why we have an entire ceramic haunted town on the front bow windowsill now?” He waves his hand to where Stiles is carefully kneeling in between a giant light-up Gothic mansion and a half-ruined churchyard.

“Exactly,” Stiles says.

Derek’s yard is now riddled with headstones that have each of his betas’ names on them. Cool, but not cool enough. Stiles is going to go with an undead army, he just has to convince Scott to sign up for Amazon Prime.

When Mason finally turns around he’s got a dazed look in his eyes and what looks like a homemade scarf wrapped around his neck. Damn it. He’s underestimated Isaac.

“Scott, buddy, you’re gonna have to learn how to knit.”

“What? No,” Scott says.

“Crochet?” Stiles says hopefully. “Cross-stitch?”

“No,” Scott says, but he scruffs a hand through Stiles’s hair. “I think Liam knows how to latch hook?”

“Everyone knows how to latch hook,” Stiles says, but he places a curled finger over his bottom lip and hmmmms. Liam is very impressionable. “Would you call Liam artistic?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, “but his enthusiasm will probably make up for it.”

“Right,” Stiles says. He’s gonna need some red paint and a lot of old clothes.

“What is supposed to be happening here?” Derek says, standing on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing some kind of fleece lined flannel jacket that is fucking with Stiles’s head. He wants to slip his hands inside and around and have Derek try and button it around Stiles’s back like some sort of comfy two-man cocoon.

Stiles rolls his shoulders and resolutely turns away and really takes in his masterpiece. “It’s the undead rising to defeat the skeleton army.”

“Is that one riding a dinosaur?”

“Yes,” Stiles says proudly. “If you walk past it, it cackles.”

It’s only October 10th. Mrs. Carbunkle to the left of them has stopped speaking to them completely. Scott’s the only one who complained about it, though.

Derek has an enormous blow-up spider that he’s somehow managed to attach to his roof, and someone rigged up his lights to a sound system that plays This is Halloween.

Stiles finished a carved pumpkin that is, quite clearly, Derek’s face. It’s prominently placed at the top of the front steps.

“I’m finding this incredibly satisfying,” Stiles says, grinning over at Derek.

Derek has the flat mouth of a man who’s trying very hard not to smile. There’s pink on the tips of his ears.

Derek says, “Last year we put out a bowl of candy and a sign that said ‘Go Away.’”

“Classy,” Stiles says, grinning even wider.

“I hand painted those tombstones,” Derek says, tilting his head toward his yard.

“I’d make fun of you, but that dog skeleton over there is made up of squeaky bones that I glued together.”

Derek chuffs. Not even his beard can hide the way his cheeks bunch up when he smiles. “It’s a very good dog.”

“Is there any other kind?” Stiles says.

Stiles becomes acutely aware that Derek and him are just staring stupidly at each other when Kira clears her throat from the top of the driveway and says, “Uh, Stiles? Your boss is on the house phone.”

“Shit.” Stiles is, technically, supposed to be working. He should probably take that. He waves at a still adorably amused Derek and then runs for the door.

Kira says, “These are the cutest cookies I have ever eaten in my life.” There are crumbs all over her sweater and icing smeared over one of her cheeks. She’s halfway through a plate of ghostly sugar cookies. When Mason comes near her she throws one of them at him and then mourns the loss with a, “Oh, darn it.”

Liam says, “I think those were for all of us,” but backs off when Kira bares her teeth at him. Stiles is unsure whether a wolf or fox is more vicious, but Kira’s the only one of them that also owns a deadly sharp weapon, so.

Mason holds up a little card and says, “This says they’re for Stiles, Yukimura.”

Stiles grabs for the note and smiles down at the little, “for Stiles,” and “-D” and then shoves it into the top pocket of his flannel. He says, “That’s okay, she can keep them,” and thinks about how hard it would be to make cinnamon rolls from scratch.

“Aren’t gingerbread houses a Christmas thing?” Scott asks, leaning his elbows onto the counter and resting his chin in his hands.

“Not gingerbread murder houses,” Stiles says. He’s putting the finishing touches on the little Jackson werewolf, sprawled out on the ground with his guts spilling everywhere. He’s using spun sugar.

“Huh. Why don’t you and Derek just do this together?”

“What?” Stiles straightens up, blinking at him.

“I mean. He likes you, you like him.” Scott knocks their shoulders together, grinning.

“He doesn’t like me, Scott,” Stiles says, cheeks heating. “We’re in a competition!”

“Right,” Scott says skeptically. “That’s what this is.”

“Yeah!” Stiles hunches his shoulders up around his ears and ignores the fact that his entire face is probably red by now.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “A competition.”

“That’s what I said.” Little Jackson keeps trying to fall apart, so Stiles lets it crumble—he can just add more blood.

“Right,” Scott says again.

The lengthy silence after that is damning, but Stiles is totally not going to talk about how Derek might like him. He’s not twelve. He’s gonna paint a sugar glaze on this thing, put it on Derek’s front stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run away.

Derek tops off his cemetery by adding stone-like walls and an archway that is, somehow, twined with real night blooming flowers. It’s impressive.

“I’m impressed,” Stiles says to Jackson.

Jackson sneers at him and says, “Who cares?”

There’s also a witch on a broom hanging from a big oak tree, and some kind of animatronic black cat that—

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, backpedaling away from where the cat jumped up and lunged at him. Stiles clutches at his wildly beating heart while Jackson nearly busts a nut laughing.

“I almost fucking peed myself,” Stiles says indignantly, while the black cat winds himself around his legs in greeting.

The front door of the house flies open and Derek appears like an avenging angel, chest heaving, wolfed-out. He says, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jackson has his face covered, hysterical.

Stiles says, hands flailing, “Did you buy a cat for this?”

“Did I…?” He trails off, staring at Stiles with crazy eyes. The beta change melts off until he’s normal, stern-looking, hot Derek. He looks from the cat to Stiles to the cat and then back again before saying, “We’ve had Jinky for five years, Stiles.”

Jinky? Stiles thinks. “You named your cat Jinky?”

“Erica named the cat Jinky,” Derek says, stomping down the steps to pick him up. Jinky goes boneless in his arms, instantly purring, and Stiles stares at the big hand Derek splays over Jinky’s belly. It’s a good hand. It would fit nicely all over Stiles’s body. Yep.

“Um.” Stiles is having trouble concentrating.

Derek says, “Are you here for a reason?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…” Stiles looks down at his shoes and tries to remember why he came over here in the first place.

It’s the middle of October. He’s three days behind on his latest work project. There’s a huge pumpkin that cost him fifty bucks waiting to be carved in his kitchen. What was he doing here?

He says, “Um,” again and presses his palms to his cheeks, mind completely blank. Then he takes a deep, bracing breath. “Right, yes, this is,” he waves an arm around, “really good, Derek! Like, super good, I’m gonna go—”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski,” Jackson says, now done with laughing and just staring at him like he can’t believe Stiles is upright, walking and talking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles says, and then marches back across the street to his own much better decorated yard.

Stiles comes home from the supermarket on October 21st to the entire pack lying in wait for him in the den. Allison and Lydia’s faces are even on separate laptops propped up on couch cushions in between Scott and Liam.

Stiles freezes in the doorway and says, “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says carefully. “Do you think you need an intervention?”

“No!” Stiles has this thing with Derek perfectly under control. Obviously. He did not just buy ingredients to make even more fake blood.

Scott nods his head. “Okay. Then this is about the Halloween party next Saturday. Allison and Lydia are driving down!”

“Are we sure that’s wise? What with,” Stiles makes fangs with his fingers, “you-know-who and L-Y-D-I-A?”

“I know about werewolves, Stiles,” Lydia says dryly. “And also how to spell my own name.”

“Did you also know that Jackson Whittmore is in the Hale pack?”

Allison says, “I thought Jackson was eaten by a giant lizard,” but her eyes are sparkling.

Lydia purses her lips and says, “I am a grown woman, Stiles.”

“I know you.” Stiles points a finger at her. “There will be bloodshed.” Jackson broke up with her via text in high school before his family moved away. He’s a spineless asshole.

“He’s a werewolf. He’ll heal.” She’s got a dangerous but pleased look in her eyes. She nods at him and he winks back, because she knows he’ll help hide the body.

“All right, so, Halloween party.” Stiles drops down into a chair. “Are we adulting or slumming it with Liam and Mason’s friends?”

“Everyone’s invited!” Kira says with jazz hands. “I’m making jello shots.”

“Not everyone is twenty-one,” Stiles points out. They’ve never had to really worry about that with pack, since none of the werewolves can get drunk anyway.

“The neighbors are invited,” Scott says, straightening up into Pack Dad mode. “And Liam and Mason can each have one friend.”

“Balls,” Liam says, scowling.

“Adulting, cool,” Stiles says. He rubs his fingers together, already thinking about candy, and bobbing for apples, and scaring the shit out of Jackson. He’s gonna need lots of sheets. And fake eyeballs. And spaghetti.

“Sexy or scary?” Stiles says, holding up a Little Red Riding Hood costume in one hand and a distressed mummy one in the other.

Mason makes a face. “Overdone,” he says, pointing first to Little Red Riding Hood and then to the mummy, “not scary.”

“Overdone can still be sexy,” Stiles says, frowning down at the skimpy little dress. “I can wear heels!”

“You do not want to wear heels,” Mason says. He’s wearing a Tina Turner wig and Hulk hands, but he’s got his serious business face on. “Nobody wants to wear heels. Heels disintegrate your toes over time and ruin your arches.”

“While I have no idea if that’s bullshit or not,” Stiles says, “I’d only be wearing them for a couple hours.” Stiles had been leaning toward the mummy outfit, but now it’s a matter of principle.

Behind them, Stiles can see Liam pretending to make out with a Freddy Krueger mask. There are several hovering employees with mixed reactions.

Mason says, “It’s a cliché.”

“It’s only a cliché because it works!”

“That would only make sense if werewolves were openly known,” Mason says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The same could be said about your argument, dumbass.”

Why is this a thing that’s happening? Why did he bring Mason and Liam with him? Why did he bother to ask Mason anything at all? Liam’s going to get them thrown out of the store, and Mason is a terrible judge of costumes.

Liam runs up, flushed and bright-eyed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He says, “Stiles, please, please,” and holds up a ridiculous red, black and white costume. “I will give you fifteen dollars if you wear this.”

“Twenty, and you can’t get the money from Scott.”

“Deal.”

Despite anything that Scott says, Stiles thinks the fog machine was money well spent.

“You can’t even see the yard anymore!” Scott says. “The entire Quince family fell into a horde of zombies!”

“So maybe I need to turn it down a little.” Stiles kind of tossed the instructions somewhere and forgot about them, but it’s probably pretty easy to figure out, right?

It’s 8:15 on a Saturday night, the neighborhood kids are all in the backyard getting an impromptu archery lesson from Hawkeye, Stiles has already soaked himself trying to get three apples out of a barrel with his mouth, and none of the Hale pack have shown up yet. Stiles is in no way anxious about that at all.

Instead, he crouches down by the totally awesome fog machine and starts poking at it indiscriminately. It sort of beeps at him, like an angry robot.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a ladybug,” Stiles says absently, fiddling with the side knob—is it getting even more foggy?—before registering the looming leathered presence of Derek Hale. He sees his black sneaks and cuffed jeans first. And then the belt, tucked in white t-shirt, beardless face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, head tilted all the way back. He’s sort of struck by the dimple in Derek’s chin, the cut of his cheeks and the awkward jut of his ears under slicked hair. Stiles is in awe, he wants to press his hands over his jaw and see if it’s as baby smooth as it looks. “Are you Danny Zuko? Please, please, please tell me Isaac is Sandy.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs Stiles’s arms and hauls him up to his feet. “Isaac isn’t Sandy.”

“You’re lying,” Stiles says, curling his hands around Derek’s wrists to steady himself. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life, does he have on a crop top?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, glancing around the yard. “Is it supposed to be this smoky?”

“It’s fog, Derek, atmospheric fog,” he steps back out of Derek’s hold and waves his hands around, “to really set the mood on this spooky All Hallows’ Eve.”

“It’s the 28th.” Derek has this look on his face, like he’s amused but trying not to be. He eyes Stiles up and down. “You’re not even a zombie ladybug.”

“Yeah, no, why would I want to dull down this sexy little number?” Stiles pats his stuffed hips.

“You look like a donut with antenna.”

Stiles frowns. He looks adorable, thanks very much. He says, “And you look like a…” Sexy greaser werewolf, basically, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to give Derek that kind of ammunition.

After an only slightly uncomfortable silence, Derek says, “Boyd made profiteroles.” A curl of gelled hair falls over his forehead. Goddamnit.

“Boyd can suck my dick,” Stiles says, awkwardly creasing his ladybug costume as he crosses his arms.

“Don’t tell him,” Derek says, grinning a little now, moving closer so his chest brushes Stiles’s forearms, “but I like your brownies better.”

“Are you saying I win, Hale?” Stiles says. It’s dark, and the Halloween lights are muted around them, but Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s newly shaven cheeks are pink. It’s a novelty.

Derek sighs heavily. “I’m saying this fog’s as thick as peanut butter, and I want to kiss you where the Quince family can’t see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve been conscripted into the undead army,” Stiles says faintly. Kiss him. Huh.

“Good to know,” Derek says, and then cups his hands around Stiles’s face.

Stiles holds his breath.

From the front of the house, Scott yells, “Stiles, just turn it off before we lose even more children!”

“Even more,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s…concerning.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Derek’s expression goes strangely serious; the strategically placed spotlights make his eyebrows look like bat wings, and his mouth parts slightly to reveal the cutest bunny teeth known to mankind. It’s incongruous, especially when you factor in the level of hotness Derek exudes on a daily basis.

Stiles says, voice nearly a whisper, “I bet your chest is super hairy.”

“What?”

“Never mind, crap,” Stiles says, and then fists Derek’s tight white t-shirt and kisses him instead.

Vaguely, Stiles registers Liam yelling, “Onward, mighty steed!” a howling crash, and Scott’s pained, “Oh no,” but Derek has his hands wormed inside his giant foam shell, so he really can’t be assed about it.

Derek says, “Should we turn off the fog machine?” in between sucking bruises along Stiles’s throat.

Scott’s voice rises over the engulfing fog, “Stiles! Off!”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’re going to get out of here alive.” He tugs at the short hairs of Derek’s nape. “Let’s go make out in your graveyard.”

“We have leftover lasagna,” Derek says, threading his fingers through Stiles’s and then dragging him through the yard, deftly dodging skeletons and tiny screaming kids.

“I know what you’re trying to do here.” Stiles hooks his free hand into the back of Derek’s extremely tight pants as they sneak onto the open sidewalk. “You already admitted I won, big guy. You can’t beat me with reheated heaven.”

Stiles takes a deep bracing breath of clean air, fog clinging to their legs as they start to stagger across the street. In front of the Hale house, he grabs onto Derek’s wrists and walks backward to hitch his butt up against the fake cemetery wall surrounding the yard. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, forcing him to lean down into him, caged between his knees.

“Uh, Stiles?” Derek says, arms braced on either side of them.

The wall creaks ominously underneath him.

“This is styrofoam, isn’t it?” Stiles says, and then the wall rips in half and Stiles goes sprawling back on his ass, pulling Derek down with him.

Stiles wakes up to off-key warbling and the intoxicating smell of bacon and coffee. He stretches and groans. There’s a warm arm thrown over his middle, he can feel Derek smiling into his nape, scraping his skin with a truly astounding amount of stubble for having shaved the day before.

“Are you a yeti?” Stiles says, and Derek’s soft laughter rumbles all along his spine.

He says, “Erica’s making pancakes. Do you want bananas or chocolate chips?”

“The clear answer is both,” Stiles says. He flops around onto his back, struggling his way out of the blankets tangled over his legs, and then jabs a finger into Derek’s nose. “You’re still not winning.”

“Of course not,” Derek says, expression soft and fond. Stiles doesn’t trust the misty-eyed bastard for a second.

“I’ll have Scott make empanadas for you, don’t think I won’t!”

Derek nods solemnly and says, “We’d be honored.”

“This is some sort of fucked up werewolf crap, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

“Isaac says breakfast’s almost ready,” Derek says, tilting his head in an I’m listening to the cosmos way. “We should get dressed.”

“You didn’t answer.” Stiles sits up, watches Derek slip from the bed with a healthy appreciation for his bare ass. “Am I gonna have to start saving up for Christmas lights?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says with a grin, “depends on whether you think I found someone willing to rent me a reindeer.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, clambering out of the bed. “All right, Hale,” he says, just as Derek slips into the hall, laughing. “You’re going down.”

#msdistress #tumblr prompt #sterek #halloween #there's food decorations and love #and skeleton dinosaurs #and liam #god sorry I edited something and my read more disappeared and I realized it way toolate #tumblr prompts

1K notes · View notes