#and if i were to go in and rework them it would be to make them Weirder and Less Palatable

[tucsonhorse]

@notenderlaith has good points here about considering inequality, the effect it would have on the land and most marginalized people, and where the resources would come from. These are all very important factors that must be considered and weighed.

As someone who lives in the middle part of the country where we're too far to benefit from sea commerce, too vital resource lacking to claim our own industry, and whose town in fact was a boom town when the railroads were built, I say the rest is patronizing bullshit. Let me cover some of the specific points here. (This is not intended to be condescending, this is the easiest way for me to organize my thoughts and a bit sarcastic because the tone I got from your post feels extremely paternalistic to me)

"Most parts of the US are livable from the land itself when it is taken care of". This is true, especially with trading with neighbors. It also ignores the need/desire for material goods that are unavailable and cannot be created in all locations. Do you like cotton clothes? You better live in the south cause without long distance trade you won't be able to have them. Do you enjoy things constructed of wood? Better not live on the great plains cause there's very little wood there, definitely not enough to support the needs of a full community. Need healthcare? Better hope it's only basic stuff cause individual towns aren't going to have enough call for specialists for it to be worth training any.

Oh, but you say that people could still travel between places? You're right, but if we rely on cars and individual transport alone that's going to continue being extremely harmful to the environment. And you mention the concern for Indigenous people, the poor and others. It's good you're concerned, because they're the ones who are going to have the most trouble traveling between places by car alone. The people who use our current passenger train options, at least out here in the empty middle of the country, are the poorest among us. Because train travel is far more affordable for them.

"ultimately the whole reason those trains exist is the reason the poor communities exist in the first place. Greed." So you're saying that isolated, poor communities in the middle of the country didn't exist before the railroad? You're going to want to learn about the history of these places because for one the Indigenous people already lived out here (and the ones I know rather like having inexpensive and easy transport to other places when they want to go there) and for another, people wanted the land and the freedom promised. Not everyone wants to live in a city, and a whole lot of people lived in the center of the country before the railroads and were poor then too, not because someone was greedily keeping things from them but because it's just plain difficult to get things across that long a distance any way but railroads. So if the people living here, especially the poor people as you point out, want access to anything that cannot be made right in their town it's going to have to be transported long distance over land.

"America got out of the great depression through infrastructure building..." No, America got out of the great depression through WW2 and the massive changes it caused.

"reworking the rail system would be a further driving force of capitalistic greed" The thing is that the rail system as it is right now is *great* for the capitalists. It is constantly moving huge amounts of freight, especially fossil fuels like oil and coal, and doing it really damn well. Reworking the rail system to make it both more useful for passenger rail and primarily passenger rail would actually counteract that. Passenger rail is not lucrative. If it were there are lots of companies that would jump right on to developing it further. It is something that only makes sense as a project done for the good of the people at large.

What it comes down to is that you can say "we should" all you want, but our communities becoming more self sufficient is not going to happen easily and even if it does happen it won't be anywhere near soon enough to stem the damage being done by fossil fuels. And remember that "self sufficiency" is itself a very colonialist mindset.

Improving the current rail system to make it better for passenger rail, and yes expanding it, would be far less damaging than continuing to use gas powered cars to move people (and goods) through and to those same areas. You're right that the expansion would create jobs immediately, it would also create significant physical mobility for people. And people aren't going to just stop wanting that even if individual communities were to become perfectly self sufficient over night.

Your comments suggest to me that you likely live in a city, though I do not claim to know this for sure. Creating self sufficient communities would require significant changes in what labor is being done, primarily requiring many more farmers, which will likely be difficult seeing as the current number of farmers is rapidly dwindling because children don't want to take over and their parents are unable to farm any more. It also means a significant change in what food people eat and how we store it. If anyone in the north wants any fruit or vegetables, really any produce, from November (some years October) to maybe June those have to be imported from warmer climes or preserved from the previous growing season. The physical distribution of people would also need to be significantly altered in order to add people to the small towns that have as few as 5 (there's even some with just 1 but at that point I wouldn't even call it a town) up to 50-100 people and significantly decrease the size of cities. Small towns will need far more people in order to complete just the basic tasks required to feed and clothe the town year round, and cities wouldn't have nearly enough land within easy travel distance to support all the people living there.

All of these changes can probably be made, *if* millions of people can be convinced that they need to be made and the logistics are somehow coordinated. But in the meantime goods and people will need to be moved, which would be more energy efficient and eco friendly if done by train.

I don't have a problem with anarchist philosophy, though I do think it ignores some basic realities, and I am very definitely anti-capitalist. I also am very aware of the reality we live in and just how slowly any societal level change will happen. I do not think that people will ever be willing en masse to go back to living as "simple farmers" and I know that the current lifestyle of your average US resident cannot be maintained in self sufficient communities. So we need to focus on making the current lifestyle less toxic and harmful to ourselves and the earth, rather than refusing to accept any option that is not the perfect ideal of the end result we want, because if we will accept only perfect then we will never change from where we are now.

yankee train posters be like "we should electrify [network that specifically exists to transport the largest amount of imperial loot inland]". deeply concerning

Do you want to rip out every rail line on the North American continent, you do realize how damaging that would be for the environment, if the infrastructure already exists, we should use and improve it

[xxgoldie]

hi, I would like to order a bouquet for Lighter 🤭 can the focus flower be lillies, with ivy, delphinium and heather as filler flowers, in pink paper wrapping? thank you!

-🐇 anon-

goldie's gift shop : order list for : lighter lorenz // lilies + ivy + delphinium + heather + pink paper [confessions + jealousy + first kiss + idiots in love + college au] florist's note : your friend was the one who brought it up, but it made complete sense - lighter was an attractive guy who lived with a bunch of girls. one of them had to be his girlfriend, right? it was an assumption you'd been running under almost as long as you'd been friends and studdy buddies. so why was he always looking at you like that? and why was your go-to coffee order always waiting for you when you met him at the library? and WHY did the words 'i need to tell you something' just leave his mouth???

wc: 1.2k a/n: this is the fic that was giving me grief, i just love college lighter a lot and this took so much reworking to try and do him any justice notes / warnings: lighter x gn!reader, basically just fluff, reader lowkey doing some simone biles level mental gymnastics, brief mention of burnice x pulchra, no use of Y/N

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but don't get ahead of yourself. I'm pretty sure he has a girlfrienzzd. Or he's a player. Or both."

Your friend's words had, unfortunately, very much burst your bubble. You'd just gotten home from the first meet-up for a group project, for which you'd miraculously been paired with Lighter, the guy you'd been pining for across lecture theatres since you started university, and you were excited to giggle and debrief with her over the phone. And you had, telling her how he was not only hot but so nice, that you definitely thought you had a chance, until you'd sent her his Instagram handle, which you'd gotten the courage to ask for just before leaving the library, and she went quiet.

The conversation shifted to a different kind of debrief then - she told you about how she shared a few classes with a girl he lived with, Burnice, and he was always meeting her after lectures, how his house consisted of him and four girls, and every time she'd seen him around campus he was with one of them. By the end of the conversation, your high hopes were left significantly dropped. No matter what way you looked at it, the way your friend described it convinced you - whatever the situation, there was no way he was truly single. You'd accepted it as true then, and there had been no indication that anything had changed in the last few months, even as your friendship with him grew.

So just what on earth was happening to you right now?

"I need to tell you something."

Those were the words Lighter Lorenz had just said to you. The classic, default, 'I'm about to confess' line. While standing at the door to your dorm room, uncharacteristically fidgety, avoiding eye contact, and- shit, was he blushing?

This was the last thing you'd expected when he'd messaged you ten minutes ago, asking if you were busy, if he could come over. You'd expected he wanted help with the assignment due next week. Or he was bored and just wanted to hang out. Or he'd gotten into some fight and needed someone a bit more sane than his roommates to see if his cuts were serious. All of them had happened before.

A confession? No. Not on the list of possibilities. You'd long since accepted that no matter how much you liked Lighter, he was off limits. You'd yearned from a distance, lamented to your friends and your notes app that someone else was lucky enough to have him, thanked the universe that at least he was private and barely talked about the relationship so he didn't see how your jaw clenched when you thought about it, and did your best to move on with your life. It was difficult, when the two of you had a weekly standing reservation at your favourite table in the library, and he regularly joined you for movie marathons in your cramped dorm room, but you'd been making a valiant effort. Because you had to. Because he was taken.

"Look, I've been dancing around it because I really value our friendship, but it's getting to a point where I can't just push it down anymore," Lighter continued, still sheepishly avoiding meeting your gaze, unaware of the error messages flashing in your mind, the complete loop he was throwing you for, "I like you. Romantically. Like, a lot."

With a deep, shaky breath, Lighter forced his eyes to finally meet yours. He wasn't sure what look he expected to see on your face - he'd hoped for joy, had prepared for both shock and pity. But your face bore none of those - instead, you looked monumentally confused, blinking at him like he'd given the confession in gibberish.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" "What? No?"

The words had slipped out of your mouth before you could think of a better way to phrase them, but at least now he was as confused as you were. For several seconds, the two of you stood there in the doorway to your room, eyes wide, staring at each other.

Then, you processed several things at once.

One: Lighter had never, to your recollection, said anything about dating anyone. Not once. You'd been running under the assumption for months, and he'd never said anything that confirmed it.

Two: You didn't even know which one of his roommates you thought he was dating. You'd seen how friendly he was with all of them; the barrelling hugs from Burnice, the makeup he bought for Lucy, the daily gym sessions with Caesar, the way Piper fell asleep on his shoulder. And had somehow never considered he was just like that with close friends.

Three: Lighter liked you. He bought your coffee because he liked you. He made himself free whenever you wanted to see him because he liked you. He came to you first when he got injured in a fight because he liked you.

And as it all hit you, the gravity of your stupidity, all you could do was laugh. You tried to restrain it, fearing you'd think you were laughing at him and not yourself, but the pure ridiculousness left you cackling until you were out of breath, a mixture of embarassment and elation as you realised that none of your problems were even real.

You retreated back into your room, beckoning Lighter to follow you as you sat down on your bed, trying to collect yourself. He stood awkwardly just inside, door clicked shut behind him, quizzical yet fears slightly soothed by the fact you wanted him in the room. In any other situation, he'd be more than content to watch and listen as your laughter bubbled past your lips until you cried, but right now, there were slightly more... pressing matters on his mind.

"I thought you had a girlfriend," you confessed, when you calmed your amusement enough to speak, "Oh my god, I'm such an idiot. Why did I think that?"

And Lighter had to laugh as well, heart thrumming at how relieved you seemed at the information.

"Who did you even think I was dating?" he questioned, padding closer to stand by where you sat on the bed.

"That's the thing, I don't even know!" you started laughing at yourself again, lying back on the bed, "One of your roommates. I think I'd have bet on Burnice."

"No way. Even if I was interested, she literally has a girlfriend - you know Pulchra?" he sat down next to where you lay, but the last dregs of his earlier unspoken question still itched at his mind. He was pretty sure he had his answer, because now that the universe had given you permission, you were looking at him in a way that could only be described as starstruck. "So... I like you. Thoughts?"

You couldn't help but giggle again, even though your cheeks were hurting from all the laughter. Then you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down towards you, pressing his lips to yours; clumsy, both of you surprised and smiling against each other, and melting into it perfectly.

After a couple seconds, he pulled back, grinning dopily at you lying and breathing heavily under him on your bed.

"I've been wanting to do that for forever." "I'll take that as you like me too?"

And then his lips were on yours again.

[dandysworldhcs]

Tem back at it again with the strange biology rants

Okok. Warning though because i talk abt a bit of gore and grossness, also mentions of needle injections, and also death. If you dont wanna hear abt organs then you dont need to post this ask, idrm!!/gen

Toons, when being created, were based off of humans in terms of biology. Of course, their heads would be objects, but the neck down would be relatively the same. At least, until they dumbed it down for the appeal of the child audience

- their mouths are the same. Teeth, tongue, esophagus. They still produce spit. They don't lose teeth, however. They might get tonsil stones.

- They lack noses, yet still breathe? I like to think its "just the art style" but it makes no sense. Either give them noses, or let the ichor they're made out of breathe. Imagine breathing skin, thats weird! This would also mean they cant produce snot, which is weird.

- Their bodies are simple. They have fingers that seem to come and go as they please. Like are only there when its convenient. Pretty weird.

- They lack organs. They lack bones! Their bodies are just hardened (to a degree), purified ichor. When cut open, they bleed, of course, but you wont see any muscle, or bone, or veins. Its just ichor. Its freaky as hell

- Ichor is a corrosive substance, which is why raw ichor is so dangerous. Its also why twisteds are the way they are. Its a ichor overdosage.

- and since ichor is a corrosive substance, theres no need for the standard human waste track. As a way to make the toons as non-sexual as possible, they reworked their systems, practically removing anything past the stomach. The urinary and reproductive tracks were removed; everything ends at the stomach. The ichor will simply dissolve any humanly edible substance into energy to replicate and reproduce ichor cells. Anything deemed inedible (metal, plastic, basically anything humans cant eat), can only go one way out, by vomitting. They get belly aches if they can't vomit it up, and it needs to be forced out via triggering the gag reflex. The amount of times Sprout likely had to have a toon cough something up because they ate something bad is likely too many times to count.

- i will say they do have lungs. Works like human lungs. Can get infected. They technically dont need hearts, as they lack veins or blood to circulate oxygen through their system. If they did, theyd need it to keep ichor production abd ichor reproduction going.

- Toons were always capable of aging, but then why havent we seen anyone really grow *old*? Well, its in their food. The food at Gardenview, specifically the kind used for toon consumption, has ichor in it. A small amount, yes, but they eat so much to where they dont even notice it. Fresh ichor being out into their bodies means they can retain their young form. Its why Toodles will never physically age. With physical age, mental age qlso comes with it. She will stay around 8 forever due to this.

- BECAUSE of this, if a toon were to ween off of the food at Gardenview, and stick with strict human diet, at first, nothing would happen. Jts just that fresh new ichor isnt being put into their bodies (an alternative is shots, but i doubt theyd want that. Hell i doubt they even know that ichor is put into their food). But after a while, their ichor forms will begin to grow old, unable to keep a steady flux of new cells, and just begin reusing the old cells. Due to this, the toon will begin to age, similarly to a human. Skin will grow saggy, their object heads differing depending on what they are (as in Boxten's paint will begin to dull, Tisha's cardboard head will weaken, and her tissues thinning. Stuff like that.)

- and eventually... the cells cannot keep regenerating themselves. And their forms cannot retain. And eventually they will return to the raw ichor form, becoming a puddle on the floor. Rip losers

- they can sweat. Its weird. Do they smell? Maybe. Not every toon showers tho. Some will (shrimpo, finn, teagan, ect), and some use other cleaning methods (flutter, gigi, boxten, ect). Some literally cant (scraps, vee, poppy). Its not like they guys can smell bad...

- they have eye colors because i say so

- they dont have finger nails :( or finger prints. No traction on surfaces theyre gonna slip and fall :(

Ok i think thats it. Sorry i went on a rant my bad. Im not looking back for spelling mistakes

no no, im in love with this. GOD i love biology headcanons.... feed me more......

[moe-broey]

Miitopia.........

[boygirlctommy]

man i want to make an animatic about my ocs so bad

[piningpercussionist]

jason kim your ex is on tumblr now https://www.tumblr.com/thesushiguyy

Who...?

Oh. The guy from Ushi Bar, right.

We never really dated? He did help me move my stuff to Hollie's place though- that was... nice of him.

[inhogf]

Lee Byung Hun, ur teacher [2]

part 1 here · contains: him as ur teacher, smut, p in v sex in classroom, choking, spanking, age gap (reader is a student, byung hun in mid 50s) 1.5k words

“you're sleeping with mr. byung hun, are you not?“ this was practically an ongoing joke between you and your friends, all of them giggling, unable to restrain their crazed and exaggerated expressions as one of them held your test paper in their hand. it was amazing, really— going from failing most of your tests to straight A's in calculus. without a helping hand, as you'd tell them.

you wouldn't want everyone to know you were slutting yourself out to your teacher for bonus marks, would you?

were you doing that only for some extra credit?

the classroom was fairly quiet in a bit, save for the sound of mr. byung hun's marker gliding across the whiteboard. he was halfway through solving a complicated integral when your friend passed you a note: ’correct him so we know y'all arent having sex. xoxo ♡’. it made you snicker at her, before you raised your hand.

“uhm, mr. byung hun, you totally messed that up,” you said, tone dripping with feigned condescension. you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. you were always a little rebel, weren't you? how could byung hun forget? “you forgot to distribute the negative. kind of embarrassing for a teacher.”

oh you were bold. you caught him off-gaurd. he never would've known you'd act like such a brat after he only fucked you once; it amused him to say the least. you enjoyed riling him up, taunting him despite his frustrated grumbles and groans and the obvious bulge in his pants. he'll roll his eyes at you; something the class caught on to; attempting to hold himself back from admiring and touching your adorable body.

“let's see, shall we?“ he exhaled, stepping aside to rework the equation. the room grew tense as he went through each step on the board, taking his sweet, sweet, time.

“ah, turns out, i didn't forget anything. you, however, overlooked the substitution rule. this part," he'd say, unfazed as a subtle smile crept up his lips, circling the equation. "—is where you went wrong."

the class stirred with soft gasps and muffled laughter. byung hun paused, walking up to face you, before crossing his arms. your cheeks were burning up. not because of the embarrassment, no— but because of byung hun. he'd punish you. you made him thrilled.

“detention after school for you, stay in my class afterwards. feel free to brush up on substitution rules while you’re at it, you'll need them for the test next week.“

you were a brat begging to be tamed; but byung hun had self-control, able to hold himself back from re-enacting his fantasies onto you right in front of all his students. the hunger that festered in the pit of his stomach, beating with an erratic pulse and growing in restlessness. he has to push back the hanging reminder that he was hard, dick pressed against his suit trousers with a leaky tip. you'd think he'd have a hard time getting his dick up, his aging evident from the way the corners of his eyes crinkle every time he smiled— but no, all it took was you teasing him in front of his class.

it wasn't long before byung hun's hands slid down to your ass as the last of his students left the class, pulling you flush up against him, the raw intensity of his emotions— the restraint he had let go of, the vulnerability he now laid bare.

“you know what you were fuckin’ doing to me back there, yeah?“ he wasted zero time in shifting his belt open, tugging a finger to the waistband of his boxers as he fumbled his dick out; making it spring up and slap against his abdomen before taking his shirt off. anger filled his veins today, and he decided he'd needed to take this anger out into someone. more specifically, you. “you need to be punished.“

you don't mind. your gaze was smitten to his contoured body— his chiseled chest, huge shoulders that are the perfect leverage, his.. huge dick; so so perfect for his age. was he on steroids? that's insane. byung hun kept himself somewhat shaven, as you noticed. he doesn't have a lot of hair, but he has a trail of black hair running up his sturdy abdomen, as well as around his crotch. pretty little thing, you'd think to yourself before your teacher snapped you out of your thoughts.

“up, baby,“ byung hun said oh so hushed, pulling you up by your ass and bending you over on his desk— pages of assignments flying everywhere. his fingers would rub against the wet patch of your panties, tracing your folds and oggling at them. practically drooling as he tore your panties off. he spread your soft folds with such expertise while looking between your eyes and your pussy, begging to push inside. it made you wonder, how many women had he fucked before? did he even have a wife? kids?

his thick cock sat stiff in front of your pussy, tip so red and garbles of pre-cum drooled at the sight of your bare pussy spread out for him. it's hard to get used to the feeling of being pried open and split apart by byung hun, the splitting sensation of his boner being pushed into you. his hands would wander all over your bare, naked skin. so so so greedy. he wanted to have you whole; not knowing where to touch your body next. he pushed deep into your slit and let out breathless, guttural groans. taking him was painful, the sheer length of him foreign to your organs. you've only ever had sex with, what, two men? and both their dicks were tiny.

“i'm risking going to jail for you, slut..“ he snapped his hips forward, a gasp escaping your puffy lips as he bottomed out in the first thrust. byung hun held a finger to your bottom lip, before the hand trailed down your chin and grabbed onto your neck from behind, pressing it to restrict your airflow. it was such a tight, snug fit. it had you squirming. he left zero spaces open to waste inside your pussy. no holes for even air to fucking enter. your pussy was stretched to the max by his big fucking cock, your juices dripping down your thighs to the wood of his desk, wetting them. “so good, daddy..“

each thrust he made with his hips caused a grunt to slip from his throat. he huffs, groans out at the sensation against his covered bulge. “you're a needy thing, you know that?” he chuckles when he sees your fucked-out eyes, beyond desperation as your orgasm pools at your sweet cunt, desperate for release.

“s-so big-!“ you’re a whore, a blubbering mess, both legs hooked around his hammering hips whilst your arms kept a tight grip on his burly shoulders. you whine, mouth open as moans and ‘more's’ pour from it. his dick continues rutting into you, splitting your pussy apart in such an animalistic way it had you seeing stars— a pool of steam gathering down at your lower abdomen.

you were certain an orgasm on the brink edge of releasing was close, but when he spanks your ass as punishment, all it did was make him even hotter. “자기야 [baby].. you take my cock so well, but can't handle a slap? you need a roughening up, my dear...“

and the way his accent turns more prominent against your ear and his hot breath against your neck, it was all too much for a dumb, crying thing like you— unable to control the way your pussy uncontrollably clutches onto him, forcing him to shoot his potent, hot load of inside your puffy hole.

“i'm gonna.. fuck— i'm cumming..“ byung hun said as his pretty eyes grew half-lidded, strands of sweaty hair falling to his forehead as he shut his eyes completely, ropes of thick cum squirting from his still-swollen tip as he pumps you full. so full in fact, that he's actually pumping his cum out of you because you’re overflowing with his seed.

and once byung hun was done fucking a brain-numbing orgasm out of you, and fucked his own deep into your womb, he'd settle you down on his chair, your head lolled to the side as he finished slipping his softening dick back into his boxers— his eyes admiring your pretty state. you were so adorable like this.

his phone would ring as he fixed his tie, the contact reading ’Principal’ as you giggled to yourself— you knew he was in trouble all because of you. ♡

cr @inhogf dont steal

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚truth bomb!‧₊˚

getting hit by a truth quirk? not so fun. dealing with it while having a huge crush on bakugo katsuki? even worse.

- ღpairing. 3rdyear!katsuki x reader. tags. friends to lovers, truth telling quirk, wingmen, kissing scenes, confessions, fighting, miscommunication trope, U-A girls love you, she/her pronoun use, fem!reader, earthquirk!reader. wc. 8k

- ღnote. i win the slowest writer ever award! anyways, i wrote this in chapter form here, this is a rework of my first work ever, and i completely changed the plot for anyone who might have read itt

this wasn't how your mission was supposed to go.

the thought ran through your head as you resisted the urge to bang your head against the concrete. that fate would probably be better than whatever you'd face having to confess, out of your will, to your longtime crush, katsuki.

but, the day started out normal enough. you were on a patrol, randomly scheduled as all your patrols usually were because of your mentor, mirko. she lacked the traditional agency and took missions as she pleased, which meant you'd usually be along for the ride.

which entailed things like this, walking boredly along the streets, running your fingers along metal pipes, trying to find something- anything to quench your eternal boredom.

it didn't work though.

you finally groaned, rolling your eyes as you looked at mirko, who seemed oddly determined. “we've been walking in this place for like– what? an hour? it's so boring!” you kicked a rock, making it clash against a random trash can.

“a deserted town is perfect, it's exactly what an up and coming villain group would want to start up. think before you speak for once.” she chided, not even looking over at you as she continued walking forth. “anyways, you should be able to feel it, can't you? they're close.”

sure enough, you could. the vibrations of their movement, the reverberation of their voices bouncing off the walls of the random alleyway of where you two stood felt as you focused your stance.

they were close. you sighed, though now of relief that you'd finally be able to beat them and get out of here as soon as you can, you stretched your hands and fingers, getting ready to manipulate the ground below you. “well then what are you waiting for? let's go!”

mirko nodded, and wordlessly followed you as you two positioned yourselves on a rooftop above the rowdy group of villains. they were laughing heartily, seemingly unaware and full of glee as they continued down the city streets. the sun was coming down, golden sunlight illuminating your figure as you closed your eyes and focused in on their positions, trusting your quirk more than your vision.

you stomped lightly and closed your eyes, feeling their positions out perfectly, as well as mirko’s readied stance beside you. nobody was around for miles, on the ground at least, so you focused in to hear their words.

mocking cries of innocent civilians left the mouth of the biggest one. “oh, please don't hurt me!” he cried, a fake squeaky voice cut off by his laughter. “oh man, what a pathetic excuse for a human.”

“fleeting the town completely in what? two days? we're the shit man.” another replied, high-fiving amongst themselves as they snickered and giggled.

they held bags of money and prized belongings in their grasps, smirks and sneers as they lugged them down the city. the one they seemed to think they ‘owned’ now that the civilians fled to safety. one that they were making a mess of.

you felt mirko’s figure, the growing hostility in her stance. the balling of her fist and her legs that were ready to pounce at any given moment.

“i'm all clear.” you whispered. “on your call, i'm ready.”

you could even feel the twitch of her ears, the wind blowing a spare leaf of the ground, but most importantly,

you felt the millisecond where she lowered to jump.

in response you launched the ground underneath you with a flick of the hand, landing yourself perfectly next to mirko. she held out a fist to the group, who jumped at the sight of you two.

“listen up losers!” she began, pointing a daunting finger at the biggest of the group, who had a literal screw growing out the base of his neck. a shiver went down your spine at the sight. “you can beg for forgiveness now, or later! which is it?”

a moment of silence passed, before one of them declared, “how about never? attack!”

half of the group focused on mirko, while the others were now facing you. you sighed, fixing yourself in a relaxed stance, before swiftly punching up to launch chucks of rock and steel out of the ground, into the bodies of the offending men coming towards you.

a few of them dodged, making you repeat the same attack again, since you really didn't feel like going full strength for villains at this level. your eyebrows furrowed as you realized one of them had taken the opportunity to make a break for it, but ignored it for now as the final guy stood against you.

mirko stole your spotlight though, landing a kick in his hand that rendered him unconscious.

“hey. i called dibs.” you whined, before walking over to her. “alls fair in love and war.” she said, before pointing to the almost comically large bags of money and jewelry. “we need to clean these up and get these guys locked up. round up the bags and i'll get the corpses– uh. bodies.”

with a reassuring smirk, she threw around the bodies into a pile, making you wince at the sound of their groans. you went to move all the money and things into an area for the collection agency.

you moved a bag or two, onto your third bag when a sound was suddenly heard behind you. “freeze.”

an unconfident, shaky, and out of breath voice filled your ears. you froze, not knowing who it was.

“n-now turn around. slowly.” he ordered. you did as he said, noting that his hand was pointing towards you in a handgun motion. the tips of his fingers were glowing a strange light green color. “o-okay. you’re gonna leave all the money there, just for me. okay lady?”

you shrugged, looking back at your work. “i mean, that was the plan anyways. a collection agency is gonna come for you and your friends soo–.”

“no, they're not.” he cut you off with a snarl. “i don't think i gave you permission to talk.”

“but you're still talking to me anyways!”

“why you– teenage brats are the worst. i tried not to kill kids, but you're annoying.” the green light emitted even brighter.

“bye.” the ray was about to shoot at you. you didn't have time to block, but mirko last minute shoved the guy to the ground.

his hand still managed a shot, though with his arm up in the air, it moved from being aimed to your heart, to..

shooting towards your mouth.

you didn't dodge in time, not expecting to get shot in your mouth of all places.

it didn't hurt, but it did feel tingly. the guy was slammed to the ground, his face flat with the floor as your hands shot up to feel the skin around your mouth.

you were.. fine?

“hey!” mirko cut off your thoughts. “you okay? what did he do to you? fuck i should've been quicker.”

“i'm fine. honestly you should have been quicker, i was really stalling here.”

“oh.. well im glad to hear you're fine at least.”

“you heard that??” you were shocked to hear her response, you only meant to say that mentally. you really were just going to say it was fine like always, so why..

why wasn't your mouth listening to you?

“no. like you don't understand mirko, i didn't mean to say that-”

“we all slip up sometimes.”

“no. like, it left my mouth before i realized it.”

her eyes widened, before thumping on the guys head below her. “hey you. what exactly did you do to her? huh?”

at no response, she wacked him against the ground again. “hellooo? i'll do it as many times as i need to-”

“no! please, fine fuck- i'll tell you!”

the collection agency finally was heard in the distance. mirko glared. “talk. fast.”

“okay, okay!” the man was once again shaking. “my quirk is enhancements, but I control how exactly it enhances the body–”

“i didn't ask for a life story. get to the point.”

“well! i wanted to aim for the heart and enhance heart rate, which would of killed her! but– um. i accident aimed for her mouth, and enhanced.. honesty.”

“i see. for how long will it be?”

“uh.. a week i think.”

“huh, why would you become a villain with a quirk like yours anyways? final question before you're shipped off to jail.”

“well, i wanted to bring out the best in the worst, to show that even we villains can triumph!”

“..okay.” she left him on the ground and walked away with you by her side. you were heading back to the U-A dorms to drop you off.

“so, you can't lie to me, huh?”

“nope.” your answer left you before you could process it, like a mental disconnection between your actions. “don't do that, it isn't funny!”

she raised her hands up defensively. “okay, okay. i won't.”

…

“so am i your favorite hero or what?”

“yes.”

“really? since when?” she chided.

“since your debut, i was a hardcore fan for a long time.”

“was?”

“learning the real you killed the rose-tint in my glasses.”

“oh..” she put a hand over her heart. “ouch?”

“you wanted the truth.” you sneered. which wasn't really the right choice at this point, since she took that as liberty to start questioning your every move.

the worst 20 questions of your life was played as you walked home, your legs burning with ache of exhaustion was nothing over the mental anguish of being around a happy-go-lucky mirko.

you finally made it, the dorms in view as she decided to ask you one final question.

“so, my darling apprentice [name]. got any more ideas for questions?”

“no! so stop asking them!”

“you're no fun. hmm, let's see. oh! do you have a crush?”

don't say it, you repeated mentally in your mind, but you felt the oddly numb sensation of the answer leaving you.

“bakugo katsuki.”

her eyes widened and jaw went slack. “seriously? i thought i raised you better.” she joked, poking your side as you went to cover your face with your hands.

the church bells welcomed you as the golden staircase was opened from the clouds. step by step you took, angels singing and a halo over your head as you were greeted by loved ones past–

but your peaceful departure wasn't peaceful for very long.

“well, as long as you're happy [name]. i'll be going now, text me!”

she walked off with a smile that made you feel sick, but you couldn't resist the urge to wave goodbye anyways.

you leant up against the gate of the opening, your arms basically clung around the pillar. catching your breath as you prepared yourself for a week of hiding, of intense planning around your crush–

“hey, you okay weirdo?”

the voice of said crush filled your ears, making you realize that it indeed can always get worse.

“no, i'm not okay.” she said, letting go of the pillar and shakily standing on two feet, feeling like a fawn standing for the first time.

his eyebrows raised like he didn't expect you to say that, his mouth hung open for a second, before he decided to just retort. “oh, sucks to be you then.”

“yes, yes it does.” you say of your own will, dragging a hand longly against your face.

face-to-face with him, the guy you'd randomly became close with over the years, the one that you'd harbored and now openly spoke of your crush on, and the one who you shared an affinity for romance manga with.

“are ya ever g’nna get up properly? or you just gonna stare like a dumbass?” he asked, which made you answer begrudgingly.

“everyone who falls has to get up, unless they're dead.

…

but uh– don't wait on me!”

“...right.” he shrugged, moving back towards the door to walk inside. acting off after a mission wasn't anything crazy after all, they all had weird days. at least that's how he rationalized it.

“oh, and i borrowed some shit from your room. i'll give it you tomorrow.”

“be gentle!”

“whatever.” he closed the door after him, leaving your with your thoughts alone. after the sun had fully left you alone, you decided to bite the bullet and just go inside. taking a deep breath, you walked in, trying your best to just make it to your room.

mina came up to you, a pint of ice cream in her hand. “[name]! you're back! how was it?”

“bad.” you answered, wordlessly asking for a bit of her ice cream.

she gave it to you, before joining you as you walked up the stairs. “wanna talk about it?”

“not really, but it'll be forced out of me.”

“what??”

you sighed, explaining what happened to you in between bites of your ice cream. “truth quirk. talk too much. can't shut up.”

mina made an ‘o’ shape with her lips, pondering it over mentally. “but it's not like you're a crazy liar, what's the big problem?”

“my crush on katsuki. i'm so scared that i'm gonna accidentally be forced to confess because of this.” you admitted.

mina, thankfully didn't overreact. for a second. until she smiled gleefully and shoved you into your room. “wait here, i got something for you.”

she left you with the pint of ice cream, your favorite flavor, which kept you good company until she came back with the girls of the class.

“i hope you don't mind.. well it's too bad if you do, because i told them all already. whoops!” she said, leading them all in and shutting the door.

“so, you're finally confessing?” momo asked, making you almost choke.

“no! this is against my will! i'd never confess in my life! the embarrassment of getting rejected is something i couldn't recover from.”

“really? i mean- i think it's pretty obvious the two of you have something special. ribbit.” tsuyu added, looking up at the ceiling of your dorm thoughtfully. “well, its not like you have a choice now. might as well just do it.” jirou shrugged.

“if you're here to make fun of me you can just leave!” you whined into your hands. “im already making myself miserable just fine!”

the girls exchanged glances, before they sighed. uraraka started, “[name] we were here to try and encourage you to do it out of your own will, but if you really don't want to.. we can help.”

“help? like how?”

mina jumped, “by making sure you don't accidentally confess of course!”

“but it won't be easy.” yaoyorozu chimed in, “we'll have to plan this out well, it's a week isn't it?”

“a week from today.. that's saturday.”

“okay guys, let's do this for [name]!” mina cheered, placing her hand in the middle of the group. the other girls all moved to place their hands on top of hers, and waited for you to finish it off.

“come on!” uraraka encouraged, making you sigh and place your hand on the top.

as you raised your hand on the count of three, hearing their cheers and hopes in encouragement for you and for their plan, you felt a bit of hope that it just might turn out alright.

they shuffled out afterwards, patting you on the back and making tiny promises as they moved out. with a final wink from mina and a whispered, “good night [name], i promise everything will work out!” they were gone.

as you laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling that never changed no matter what did in your life, you allowed yourself to rest.

7 days to go.

when will this end? you thought, all the optimism from yesterday ripped from you.

insomnia arose from the anxiety that implanted a pit of dread in your stomach, it didn't let you sleep, no matter how sleepy you had gotten.

horrible scenarios played one after one, like a record player made of your nightmares. what if he rejected you in front of your school? no, what if he has a secret girlfriend and you look like a total homewrecker for confessing?

or even worse, what if he doesn't like women at all and you missed all the signs?

you squealed into a pillow, trying to escape your sorrows as you realized,

you were probably just hungry for some actual food. when was the last time you ate properly? who knows.

you slipped on house slippers and made your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you prepared a pot of chai, greeting iida and other early risers who were up out of instinct, since it's a sunday.

yawning, you scroll mindlessly on your phone while you wait for your tea to finish. a familiar voice takes you out of your bubble.

“yo.” is all he says, sliding by you by causally placing a hand on your waist, letting go only a second later.

“uh.. hey. want some tea?” you managed, ignoring the spiraling of your soul as you were met by the close proximity of his face. “yeah, sounds cool.”

you pour him a glass, letting him put the sugar in by himself as you fix one for yourself too. he looks to see if anyone was in earshot of the two of you, before whispering into your ear.

“did you see when usui jumped off the building for misa?”

“yes. its one of my favorite scenes!” you answer before you realize it, but you're slowly starting to get used to the feeling of it. “i mean, he's so cool for that.”

“yeah, but his legs would be fucked. or he'd be paralyzed for life after that fall. would've been an easy choice to make him break a leg and have ‘er take care of him.”

“but isn't that so predictable? it's better to take a unique route-”

“no spoilers.”

“it's not really a spoiler though! man, i really loved that scene. i think it's my favorite.”

“why?” he asked, an odd tonal shift in his voice.”

“i like usui.”

“no, like. do you imagine someone doing that to you?” he was close, way to close. your mouth was opening, your answer was so clear to you, it was about to be ruined, until–

“oh [name]! may i have some of your tea please?” yaoyarozu saved the day. you thanked her mentally, getting her a glass and smiling at her small wink. she hung close by, you didn't notice before, but she was within earshot.

“anyways, what were we talking about katsuki?”

“..'s nothing. see ya.”

he left her there, knees weak in worry or affection? both probably. she mouthed a thank you to momo, before going back up to her dorm to get ready for the day.

sunday, not much to do thankfully. you decided to hang out in your room for a while, drawing and relaxing, managing to catch up on a couple hours of sleep as you tried to avoid katsuki as much as possible.

though, even in this brief moment where you were attempting to avoid him, you couldn't help but notice that he tended to come to you first.

greetings and conversations started by him, fleeting touches initiated by him, small nods in the hallways of the dorms given by him, and even-

a text message left by him, asking if he could come to your dorm for just a moment. for the books.

you wondered now if he was solely coming for that reason.. could there be an off chance he was coming for you?

..no. no way, you thought. you brushed it off, and opted to make it seem like the girls were already in your room, just so you wouldn't be alone with him. can't take chances anymore.

you texted the girls the news, and the ones who weren't at the mall or busy came to see you, leaving uraraka, tsuyu, and hagakure.

you welcomed them in, “thanks for coming guys. we can actually paint each others nails since we're already here?”

they all nodded with excitement, you pulled out the limited colors you had, though they were all your favorites. they began to paint each other’s nails, while you finally texted him back. telling him to come, but that the others were here too. he only reacted with a thumbs up.

“what did he say?” tsuyu asked.

“oh, he just responded with a thumbs up.” like you summoned him, a knock was heard at the door. you went to open it, making the girls laugh quietly behind their hands. greeting you was the sight of katsuki in his usual baggy attire holding two bags of books from what you could see. you stepped outside of your room, the door behind you. “hi katsuki.”

“hey– uh, [name].” he greeted. he held up a bag and handed it to you. “thanks for um.. lending it to me.” a hand naturally went towards the back of his head, rubbing it as he averted his eyes away from you.

he waited for you to set the bag down inside the room, before holding out the second one to you.

“what's this?” you asked, accepting it as you looked into red eyes.

“well– it's some of my collection. you haven't read it before, it's so we could talk about it. or something.”

a soft smile overcame you. “i think i'd like that.”

hagakure made a casual remark, they'd been eavesdropping from behind the door, muffled remarks not quite coherent enough to be a worry. but one question had managed to reach your and his ears.

“they're so cute together! aren't they literally dating?”

his face tinged pink, but you knew you'd say your thoughts.

“i wish.”

his face looked incredulous, as if he couldn't believe you just said that. “wait- what did you just–”

but before he could finish the question that would seal your fate, the door was opened quickly behind you, uraraka placing a hand over your mouth before smiling nervously. “um, she's not in her right mind today bakugo! don't mind her.”

his eyebrow raised. “really? why?”

“because.. it's that time of the month?” she managed, making him reel back and look apologetic. “oh. ill be.. going now then. bye.” you two waved him goodbye.

he left quickly, leaving his books next to the door as he speed walked away.

you were conflicted, not knowing whether to glare at or thank uraraka, but you closed the door behind you anyways.

“are you guys serious?”

“sorry!” hagakure pleaded. “i didn't think you two could hear me, the door wasn't closed all the way!”

“i mean, we were kind of close-”

“guys! all that matters is that i fixed it!”

“what do you mean fixed it?” you cut in. “you told him im out of my mind right now.”

“it'll be okay, he likes you too much to hold it against you.” she waved it off with a smile, and held your shoulders gently. “what you really should

he worried about is school. missions come at the end of the week, but how are you gonna deal with monday through wednesday?”

“i feel like you're changing the subject. and i'm going to avoid him. easy as pie.”

they all glanced at eachother, then back at you. “sure [name]. whatever you say.”

they all bid their goodbyes soon after, hagakure still apologizing profusely as the other two patted themselves on the back for speedy thinking.

the door shut and once again you were left to plan, only this time you managed a good night's sleep.

your life wasn't completely over, at least.

you dreaded the next three days. thursday and friday were safe for you, the only person you'd have to deal with being mirko since agencies tended to schedule students at the end of the week.

you woke up and prepared yourself. it was alright eight, so you'd only have an hour before heading to school.

you'd showered and changed, fixed your hair and fixed your bag.

unfortunately, katsuki is a really good guy.

a good friend, caring too. thats why you were startled by the sight of him at your door. you didn't have time to prepare, no time to call your backup or report, because he caught you right as many of the girls just woke up.

you were still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you looked up at him, “katsuki?”

he held a bag in his hand, something that was oddly reoccurring lately. “hey, about your 'time of the month’ shit.” he placed the bag safely in your arms, and averted his eyes from you once again.

“i brought you some stuff i thought might help, since we got class today.”

“really? you shouldn't have.” you peeked in the top, seeing a stuffed animal, chocolates, a heating pad, and some ice packs.

he sighed, almost dreamily. “i wanted to. i hope you stop feeling so fucked.” a beat passes, his eyebrows scrunched as if he wants to say something more, but he chooses not to.

“see ya.” with that, he left you alone with a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. the pink bag gripped tightly in your hands and set gently onto your desk.

the warm feeling was soon gone, replaced with a feeling of guilt. guilt for basically ignoring him.

you slumped onto your desk in the middle of the class, scribbling down notes like there was no tomorrow, taking sips of a drink you enjoyed while ignoring the growing ache in your wrist.

mr. aizawa was just going over the basics of hero courtesy again, a refresher for your on hand experience at the end of the week. you really didn't need to take notes, but you found it got your mind off the red eyes you felt looking at the back of your head.

you were almost tempted to look back, almost. but with a determination that rivaled even midoriya’s, you just kept going.

finally, the lunch bell rang. you got up and stretched, everyone got their bearings and followed suit. they all piled out, leaving you as the last one there, though you couldn't help but notice a lingering gaze stare at you, before he finally followed suit and left the classroom.

you stood there, trying to figure out what you should do for lunch, when a ‘ahem’ brought you out of your thoughts.

“[name]. i appreciate your hard work in class and all, but id like to nap this period.” mr aizawa said gruffly.

“oh! sorry! i was just leaving.” you grabbed your lunchbox and ran out the room.

now came the issue of figuring out where to sit.

it was no secret to anyone that you and katsuki would usually spend the entire lunch period on the roof together most days, you'd even go up there by yourself on days he wasn't here.

so to be in the cafeteria again was a bit unnerving for you, but you took a spot besides jirou and got out the lunch you made.

she seemed surprised to see you, but then remembered why you were here. “it's cool to see you down here [name]. you're only ever up on the rooftop making out with your boyfriend.”

“we don't even make out. and he's not my boyfriend!”

“sure. that's why he's staring over here right now. and he stares at you in class too, does he ever get tired?”

“i don't know, why are you asking me like i know him in and out?”

“okay, let's just calm down you two.” momo cut in. “[name], happy to see you.”

you nodded, “yeah? i'm happy to see you too.”

you tried your best to ignore katsuki’s eyes boring into your soul, but you accidentally glanced over at him, quickly averting your eyes away.

you finished your lunch quickly, moving to be in between jirou and momo much to their dismay. you really just wanted this day to be over.

going back to class you rested your head against the table, only participating when you actively had to. you just felt so guilty about ignore him, especially after what he did for you this morning.

you realized just how much of your day you spent with him, because when it came time to walk back to the dorm, you felt alone for the first time in months even.

he'd always been by your side, maybe even offering to go out for a small treat with you, you felt the lack of his presence like a withdrawal.

you did everything you could just to avoid him in the halls, basically even running away at one point. everyone knew now of how weird you had been acting, but it wasn't really your fault, you had a master plan to enact!

the next day was just like the last, keeping your head down and turned completely away from katsuki, turning the opposite direction when you'd so much as see his hair, partnering with someone else just so you wouldn't get stuck with him.

going home to eat dinner in your room, ignoring his texts altogether. he even called you at one point.

you shoved a pillow over your head, though it didn't serve to silence the voices screaming at you that it wasn't fair what you were doing to him, that you should man up and just confess already.

but what you didn't expect was for him to take it into his own hands.

wednesday started easily enough, same way as the last two. silly for you to think you could go 3/3, no problems encountered.

you were walking in the halls, choosing the lower floors you knew he wouldn't be in, trotting down to the cafeteria to third wheel momo and jirou.

you were almost there, when you were suddenly pulled into a vacant classroom by the hand. a hand that you'd felt many times against yours, but never with so much intent behind it.

there stood katsuki in front of you, eyes low and waiting as he looked you over.

“[name].” he started, still holding on to your hand. “we need to talk.”

“talk. about what exactly?”

“you know what. you've been ignoring me.” he let go of your hand, crossing them into his chest as he looked you over. “did.. i do something wrong?”

“what? no! it's me!”

“you?”

“yes, it's me. not you. well i mean it is you, but not like that!”

“it's my fault?”

“yes– wait no. yes and no? listen-”

“so, you're ignoring me?” he stepped closer to you, eye contact fierce as you could see the mixed emotions in his eyes. betrayal, even.. insecurity.

“yes. well, i mean i don't– you don't understand!” you tried to reason, but he scoffed.

“save it. i know when im not wanted.”

“katsuki! no-” you grabbed his hand before you even realized it, pulling him closer to you.

“i..” your brain was screaming at you to just admit it now before you would do so accidentally, but..

you couldn't.

“i can't tell you why right now, but it's not what you think.”

his eyes rolled, he took his hand out of yours forcibly. “i don't think i even want to hear that shit. shove it.”

with his hands now shoved in his pocket, he left you alone in that classroom. you walked to the table with wide eyes, never thinking you'd ever miss the feeling of being watched, but admittedly you grew used to it.

you acted that way out of fear of rejection, but did you just get rejected anyways? you hit your head against the lunch table in frustration.

“i'm an idiot.” you muttered, muffled by the material of the tables below. momo patted you on the back.

“i mean, i called it.” jirou said, taking a bite out of her food. “no way this was ever gonna work out.”

“it really wasn't the best idea [name]..” momo finally agreed, still soothing your back. “i mean, there was better ways of going about this. you just ended up pushing him away.”

“i know that now. ugh!”

“it's not too late, there's only what? three days left? you can make it up to him on saturday.”

“it's too late, i'm ruined.”

“right..”

you don't remember the rest of the conversation. you didn't remember even walking up to class, or walking out of it to your dorm. you were in a state of mourning, dreading ever seeing him again. at least for the next two days you wouldn't.

that was the only thought that could let you sleep peacefully, but it made you wake up early regardless.

sulking as you got ready in your hero outfit, walking slowly to the train station with a bag you packed the week prior. mirko texted you the location in tokyo where you'd meet up this week, standing on one of the sides of the train station that seemed pretty busy today.

as the train came to a stop in front of you, you noticed that when the door opened, a familiar face was on the other side.

katsuki.

your eyes widened and looked away from his as you shuffled in, all the seats were full to you hanged onto the bar.

you didn't look at him, though you were jealous at the fact that he got a seat and you didn't. you sulked internally, feeling your knees buckle at not only your exhaustion, but the proximity to him.

there was only a small space next to him now, the kid who'd been next to him getting off at this stop. you eyed it, and he noticed, sighing and gently pulling you towards him.

you were shoved against him, though he said nothing to you.

“kat–”

“it's nothing. don't think about it.”

he barely spared you a glance, though you felt you deserved it now. you sighed, instinctually leaning a head on his shoulder and dozing off. he didn't move you off of him.

you felt him lay his head on yours, the music from his outdated wired headphones leaking into your ear as you took a nap.

the time felt like nothing as you laid there, feeling like only a split second when you felt katsuki shaking you. “yo, [name]. wake up.” he called to you. your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the fluorescent bright lights of the train.

“hm?” you mumbled, moving off of him to get up.

“we're at our station. or mine at least.” he slung his bag around his shoulder.

“oh, this is mine too. coincidence.”

“yeah.”

at the news he grabbed your bag and held it. he waited for you to stretch you legs and neck, before walking beside you. “so, where are ya going?”

“to mirko.”

“duh, i know that. but what is she doing in tokyo of all places?”

“oh, she just tells me places to go and i get there day of. she can't tell me anything, i think it's confidential?”

“mhm. well i'll walk you to your shit, i'm a future number one hero, not an asshole.

“well..”

“then walk by yourself.” he threw your bag at you, walking faster and leaving you a bit behind.

“no, wait!”

you chased after him, and kept by his side. no matter which direction you turned, it was the same way he was going. until you finally just look at the address, and sure enough..

mirko decided to work at best jeanist’s agency.

you felt a mix of emotions wash over you. annoyance, dread, anger.

“what's up?”

“mirko chose to work with best jeanist.”

“what?”

“i know.”

“she only did it to piss me off. ugh!” she kicked a can in the alleyway. they were in eyeshot of the huge agency.

“really, why would she even do that?”

“because of you.” a hand slapped over your mouth.

“me? really?” you could hear the smirk on his face, he waltzed over to you. you were nearing the entrance now, only a staircase keeping you alone with him. you could even see the familiar white ears of your now enemy.

“what?

do you have a crush on me or something?” it was just a joke, you could hear it in his cocky demeanor.

but that didn't stop the hands that shot off your face involuntarily, as you let out a meek. “yes.”

the smile was wiped off of his face now, shock filling his expression. you ran into the doors, standing beside a mirko who greeted you warmly. a hand reaching out to grab you was now left in the air.

it felt like the air had left his lungs too.

because it turns out his feelings were reciprocal after all.

the meeting would start in a small moment, that's what the receptionist told you as you stood next to mirko, who you pulled aside to talk to.

placing your hands on either side of her shoulders, you let her have it.

“mirko, why would you choose to work here of all places?”

“i wanted to play wingman for my favorite partner. sue me.”

“but– this is making everything worse! why couldn't you have just done this in a week! or better yet- never!” you cried, stomping a foot on the floor. “

i didn't want or need any help- any now i'll have to spend tomorrow on some awkward random patrol!”

“it won't be so awkward, remember that me and that best jeanist guy will be there too.”

“like, third-wheeling? thanks a lot. that really helps me feel better.”

“think nothing of it. anyways, this is for the better. i caught wind of you and the girls’ plan. it really sucked. maybe my plan will end up working. you never know.”

“so? and what if it doesn't?”

“then what? you already got rejected didn't you?”

“yes.” a beat passed, your glare only getting stronger. “you're so annoying.”

“you love me though, anyways it's time.” she grabs your hand and guides you to the meeting room. you're sat right next to katsuki, though you do your best not to look at him. it's awkward enough just thinking about how you'd even salvage the relationship you had before, so you try not to.

you realize way too late that you'd managed to zone out through the entire mission. the map displayed virtually might as well had been in another language, the suspects and victims melting into each other, the objectives not clear.

the only notable thing to you was a random, large red circle over a part of the city. but besides that you had no idea what was going on, and based on the look on mirko’s face, listening along was vital.

you brushed it off. not thinking that it was that important, and your instincts hadn't failed you that horrifically yet.

you exited the room besides mirko, who had gotten the two of you a hotel for the two nights you were staying here. a penthouse suite awaited you. you would've been more thankful, if not for her betrayal of you earlier.

the night was swift, faster than you wanted it to be. you found yourself already in your hero outfit at the crack of dawn, trudging alongside mirko.

one word described the streets. busy, full of life. something you weren't really used to.

stealth missions and random outposts were where you were usually sent, nobody seen for ages. so maybe you should have spent a bit more time paying attention to the mission debrief..

“is it always like this?” you questioned to bakugo, who stood right next to you.

“what do you mean?”

“like. busy.”

“oh, yeah it is. always pretty boring though. no smart villain would make an attack with so many people around. at least one hero would be stationed over here.”

“guess you're right.”

“i know i am.”

and he was proven right. the side of town you two were stationed to, seperate from mirko and jeanist, was completely fine.

the only thing you two had done the whole day was save a cat out of a tree, handing it to a little girl who looked up at you with stars in her eyes as you did.

it was afternoon now, and your shift was officially over. you slumped against a wall dramatically, slipping down onto the floor as you breathed a sigh of relief.

katsuki sat next to you, a close proximity between you two not foreign usually, though with the weird back and forth that had been going on thus far, it was nice to know he still considered you to be close.

“‘m fucking hungry.” he finally said, making you laugh. “that's what you're thinking of right now?”

“no. not really.”

“well, then what is it?”

“it's you, [name].”

he takes a breath. “let me talk, okay.” he moved to face you, and at your nod, he continued.

“you confuse me. for years we've gotten close, comfortable. but all of a sudden you avoided me like the plague. i hated it.” his face changes with a mixture of emotions.

“i.. i really fucking like you. and i'm confused as if you feel the same way, you seemed pissed to even be with me right now so. it's just odd. you're acting odd.

because sometimes you're like fucking into me. you even brought me lunch at some point. and now with the ignoring me bullshit? i just don't get it.” he dropped his shoulders, eyes widening slightly.

“so do you like me or not? or should i just leave you the fuck alone?”

“yes and no.”

his face scrunched up in confusion. “so-”

“ugh! just shut up! i like you- okay? is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes, actually.” he breathed a sigh of relief, a joking hand laid over his chest. “you're confusing.”

“i know.”

“you're close.”

“i mean you sat here-”

“can i kiss you?”

a crack of sunlight dawned through the small corridor, illuminating his eyes, and to him your body. you knew what you'd say for yourself, but you didn't mind this time.

because it's what you truly wanted.

“i thought you'd never ask.”

you felt his lips on yours in an instant, his arms wrapping around your lower back and caging you into him, the buzzing of your phone going unnoticed as he tilted his head against yours.

breathless. the only real word you could use to describe how you felt right now, after having pulled away.

you didn't have a chance to wipe your lip gloss off his face, not before mirko and jeanist stood behind you two, her hands on her hips as a smirk came over her face.

“i see someone was having fun.”

oh right. the mission..

“not like it matters anymore, but we caught the villains. i texted you about it, but when you didn't respond jeanist over here told us to come

quickly.”

she gestured over to a face-palming jeanist, who only said, “it seems you two had more pressing matters to deal with.” katsuki wiped the lip gloss off his lips, wincing at the sticky feeling left on his face.

mirko snorted, while you hung your head in embarrassment, and katsuki looked away from the two of them.

“you know what? stay out as long as you two lovebirds would like. i'll cover for the two of you.”

“what? really?”

she winked at you, and mouthed “wingman”, before turning to leave. “if you're really questioning me, i'll just not let you g-”

katsuki cut her off. “it's cool. thanks, see you losers.” he grabbed your hand, pulling you effortlessly off the ground, a bit into his chest as he led you to start walking off.

“'got somewhere cool to show ya’.” is all he said, before taking you to a restaurant he frequented, or so he told you. he ordered the spiciest plate, and you chose one to your preference. you got a dessert, he skipped out though because of his disdain for them.

“katsuki, i really should tell you something.”

“go ahead.”

it was your turn now to breath, looking up at the ceiling and shutting your eyes as you blurted out, “i was hit by a truth quirk, i avoided you because i was scared to confess to you, and now i feel guilty.”

no sound was heard other than the clacking of utensils and movement in the background, you opened your eyes to see a bakugo who looked as if he was holding in his laugh.

“seriously? that was it?” you could hear the smile in his voice, his hand moved to cover his mouth. “no- i mean that's super crazy [name], very justified response.”

“you're rude.”

“no, no i'm being real.” he could barely hide the casual giggle being let out, “like, it's crazy how hard that must've been. no immediate solutions at all.”

“well, i'm emotionally invested so obviously it was harder for me to think!”

“why didn't you just tell mr. aizawa, he could've canceled it out for you in class.”

“.. i didn't think of that.”

he couldn't help it anymore, he burst out laughing, having to cover his hand with his mouth to keep from cackling.

meanwhile, you crossed your arms and looked straight-faced. “this isn't funny at all by the way.”

he finally calmed down enough, grabbing your hand from across the table and still smirking slightly.

“sorry, sorry. fucking sore ass subject, i got it. let's get out of here already.”

“right, you ruined the atmosphere.”

“sure i did.”

he paid, and for your last stop of the day, he got you ice cream at a park. you just wanted to sit down, legs tired from the amount of walking you did today.

licking at your favorite flavor, he holds up his ice cream to your mouth to try. it was a sour, savory flavor. but you ended up liking it.

the moon was out now, greeting the two of you as you sat side-by-side, illuminating your bodies with the reflected rays of the sun.

it felt late you realized, and you looked down at your phone’s time, sighing in happiness.

it was 12:00, you were free.

“hey katsuki, ask me something.”

“uh.. did you enjoy our day today?”

“no.” a face of annoyance grew on his face, while one of excitement adorned yours. “see? it's over!”

“you can say that.”

“no dumbass! i lied, i really did enjoy today! the quirk is over.” you leaned back raising your hands in glee. “i'm free!”

he laughed, leaning back with you and looking at the constellation’s in the sky.

“well, since you're free now, i'll ask you one final question.”

“hm?” you turned to look at him, his hand rose to grab yours in his. his fingers ran over your knuckles.

“can i be your boyfriend?”

you paused, before a smile erupted over your face once again.

“you could've asked me earlier, and my answer would still be the same,”

so, obviously yes.”

he grinned, pulling you into him.

you sealed your answer with a kiss. soft, endearing, long, and truthful. his hands were tangled in your hair, your hands around the upper part of his back.

as you pulled away, you could only hope this would last forever, that the feeling of honesty and security would be forever eternal as you laid against his chest, pointing out things you'd saw in the stars.

but looking at him once more, you knew it'd be alright.

it was the truth written in the stars, after all.

end.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @lulumi1u @bakunis

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @mimimar

Hi! I’m Michelle (Mimimar), an illustrator born and raised in Venezuela, currently based in Italy. I enjoy making colorful illustrations that reflect the things I love: fairy tales, fantasy, tenderness and queer (especially sapphic) stories. Occasionally, I also make paper dolls, comics and animatics. I have a lot of interest in book illustration and I’m currently developing my own stories that I hope to share as an author-illustrator someday!

Check out our interview with Michelle below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I always enjoyed drawing when I was a kid, but it only became a hobby that I did almost every day when I was around 11. At first I only used traditional mediums, but I decided to make a serious effort to learn how to draw digitally when I was 15, and once I got the hang of it I never stopped!

I didn’t go to art school so all of my learning was done through studying the tutorials and resources that other artists generously share on the internet and lots of practice / trial and error.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I want to do many things but what I want to do the most right now is work on books! I want to make art for other authors’ stories and also my own stories as an author-illustrator. I want to grow as a storyteller and create art and stories that will really resonate with people emotionally. I’m always striving to improve my skills as well.

I also really love dolls, so working on doll box art or as a doll designer is something I would love to do someday. I actually have been designing paper dolls on my Patreon for the past few months, it’s been a fun project that is still ongoing right now!

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

Probably using a lot of purple! It’s my favorite color so I find myself using it a lot. If I can find a way to sneak a little bit of purple into an illustration or a character design then I will.

Congratulations on finishing your Ivy Comic! Did the outcome turn out like how you expected or were there some unexpected bumps along the way?

Thank you! It’s a project that I worked on very slowly in between other art because I wanted to really take my time with every spread and make each of them a fully detailed illustration. I thumbnailed the full comic before starting but I kept changing the sketch for the final spread until the very end! Overall I’m really proud of the end result. I sprinkled a lot of hidden details in every page that I hope some of the readers will notice. For example: the meanings of the flowers in each page represent what the characters are feeling in that moment, and the colors of their wardrobe become gradually lighter as the story progresses to represent their emotions, as well as the changing of seasons.

We’ve noticed that you have created some amazing cover art for TGCF. Is there another series you would like to do something similar with? 

That was another passion project that took some time to complete. Initially, I didn’t intend for them to be specifically covers, it was just a series of illustrations based on the 5 books/main arcs of TGCF. But since they were well-received and I had people telling me they wish they could use them as covers for their books, I decided to rework them into dust jackets for the english translation of TGCF!

I haven’t thought of any other specific series but I love doing cover art so maybe I’ll do something similar again in the future!

What’s your favorite part of your style? Why?

I’ve heard from other people that there’s a delicate quality to my art, this is something that I like a lot! I like pretty things, fairytales and vibrant colors. I think all of these things probably reflect in the art I make as well.

If there is one thing you want your audience to remember about your work, what would it be?

I hope that they remember how it made them feel. Feelings and colors are the two things I give priority to in my work. Most of the time I like depicting tenderness, softness and emotional intimacy. If that could reach the viewer and stay with them it would make me very happy. 

I make a lot of art with queer (mainly sapphic) themes because they’re the kind of stories I personally like and want to see more of, so whenever people tell me that my art has helped them in their journey to discover and accept themselves, or that they see themselves and their partner in my art, it is always extremely meaningful to me. When art that I made to give myself comfort can provide comfort for others, no matter how small, it reminds me once again that despite any hardships art is genuinely worth pursuing.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

So many artists! To name a few:  I love @sakizo’s amazing eye for fashion and detail,  @paneeps’ gorgeous style and striking colors,  the sweetness of @bevsi’s art,  @vickisigh’s pretty colors and concepts,  @idledee’s warm and heartfelt art,  @littlestpersimmon’s dreamy wonderful art,  and @loish has been an inspiration for as long as I can remember.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Michelle! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @mimimar.

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[crescenthistory]

heyyyy I’m just so in love with how you write Barty so I wanted to do two request if that’s okay! B6 and D8 (if it is with the series you already making even better!) and I love your writing I so much🤍🤍

hi lovie, thank you for your support<3 i've already written for both of these prompts, so i kinda reworked this, but kept the general vibe of sleepiness and fluff and the dynamic

Words: 2k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, remus pov near the full moon so joint aches and lots of anxiety, breaking curfew, I Need Everyone Near Where I Can Protect Them mindset, some minor suggestive quips, background wolfstar, just fluff really

Note: part of the grumpy!reader universe, set after the reveal to friends in and what about it?, but can be read as a stand alone drabble<3

The nearer the full moon crept, the deeper Remus’ protectiveness seemed to root itself into his heart, spreading out into his bloodstream. A wolfish instinct, if you could call it that, to keep his pack close. If his friends were out of his line of sight or, even worse, out of reach for his smell, anxiety burst through Remus’ body until he was left jittery and dizzy. 

That left him in the Gryffindor common room, a good 20 minutes after curfew on a Thursday evening, leg bouncing restlessly as he watched the portrait hole with hollow eyes. 

Sirius beside him had a hand on his knee, originally intended to quell its tremor, and once he realised that would not happen, it remained there as a support. The black haired boy seemed largely unbothered by everything, but the tension in his body betrayed him – though Remus was growing suspicious he was worried about something entirely different than he was. Namely, about him.

Across from them, James was draped over a grandfather chair, head repeatedly falling as he nodded off before he jerked himself back awake.

“How much longer are we going to stay here, Moons?” he managed to get out in between yawns, already worn out from quidditch practice earlier.

“Until our friend is safe in bed.” Remus squared his shoulders haughtily, leaving no room for argument. Then, “Where is she?” he muttered to himself, so quietly Sirius only barely caught it and had to fight back his sympathetic coo.

“Y/N is fine, baby,” he whispered, the hand on his knee shaking it slightly. “It’s not the first time she’s staying out late. Hells, we do it all the time, too!”

And Remus knew that. Of course he knew that. Every other time of the month, that knowledge would have allowed him to shake his head fondly at your antics, heading off to bed excited to hear about your adventures tomorrow.

Alas; this was not any other time of the month.

“I should go find her,” Remus thought out loud, groaning as he got up from his seat too quickly and his joints gave various sounds of complaint.

“Moony, there is no need–” Sirius started before cutting himself off, apparently thinking better. “My love, if there is anyone who can navigate Hogwarts after dark, it is that minx. The shadows would be scared off by her glare alone. And she won’t appreciate your interruption of whatever she is off doing now.”

“Or who,” James whispered through his sleepiness, horror seeping into his voice.

Sirius’ groan at the thought mirrored him. “Merlin’s beard, yeah, she’s probably off with Junior.”

“I don’t think I will ever get used to hearing that.” James righted himself slightly in his chair, dragging his hands up and down his face, failing at ridding it of sleep.

Remus, still standing, turned his hands outward in a dejected position. His friends’ derailing seemed to be of little notice to him. “But we don’t know. I need to know.”

“Rem,” Sirius whispered in that unbearably soft voice Remus thought himself the luckiest boy in the world to have directed at him. He got up from his seat, hands settling on Remus’ waist, both for comfort and for steading him, he suspected. “She is alright. She always is. And, whether I quite like it or not, if she is with Junior, she is double-y safe. If nothing else, that maniac is protective.”

Remus nodded, allowing himself some comfort as he gazed into Sirius’ silver eyes. “Yeah, she is, I know she is.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at Sirius’ lips. “But?”

“But I’m going to go get her.” Remus’ heart clenched a little in humiliation at how deep the wolf’s streak ran in him in these days, but he also would not let any discomfort get in the way of having his whole pack at home in their nests, where they belong. You can continue your adventures tomorrow.

“Yeah, I know you are,” Sirius relented, pulling Remus into a quick, squeezing hug to ground him. “I’ll go get the map and the cloak and we’ll go.”

Before Sirius could finish his sentence, Remus had accio’d both into his hands.

“No, that’s alright, I’ll go myself.” When Sirius looked like he was about to argue, Remus waved his wand a little in his face as if to say down boy. “As Head Boy, I can get away easier with being out past curfew – you on the other hand, would be shackled up in Flich’s basement before you could get a word out.”

“I have been out past curfew without being caught before, Moons,” Sirius guffawed in true Sirius-offence. 

“Not when picking up one of your best friends from nighttime adventures with one of your least favourite people.” Despite his anxiety and tire, Remus shot Sirius a wink and a small grin that told him I know you, Pads.

Sirius sat back down on the sofa with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly. “Be quick, or I’ll be the grumbly wolf.”

Remus bent down – biting back a small groan as his hip objected – and pressed a wet smooch to Sirius’ forehead and ruffled his hair. “You already are, love.”

When Remus walked towards the portrait hole, map and cloak in hand, he passed a snoring James with his mouth agape. He had a creeping sensation that by the time he came back, Sirius would have woken the poor boy by poking his finger into his mouth.

Cloak around him for extra measure, Remus silently slid down the halls of Hogwarts, fumbling the map open to find you. Just as suspected, a small Y/N L/N was in the astronomy tower with a certain Bartemius Crouch Junior, foot steps almost on top of each other.

He almost cursed his friend for choosing her romantic get-away spot at the top of such an awful amount of stairs before he remembered the spell you had crafted for him with Madam Pomfrey just a few weeks back. You had dedicated your free time to inventing solutions for Remus’ different aches – “what’s the point of magic if not to make your life easier, Moons?” – and while this one was still a work in progress, it allowed the field of gravity around his legs to be lifted enough to take some of the pressure off his poor joints. It worked way better than the countless amounts of times James and Sirius had tried to wingardium leviosa him to class.

As he neared the door that your names were sheltered behind on the map, Remus’ nose was appeased as your familiar scent once more flooded him. Barty’s too, for that matter, and though that was a less welcoming one, Remus had come to find he didn’t much mind it either. 

However, he did not hear voices, which puzzled him. Nor any other sounds that perhaps would have had him turning around.

With a careful hand, Remus opened the creaking door to the very top of the astronomy tower, peaking his tawny curls through the opening and trying to behave as a normal concerned friend and not an anxious, possessive wolf.

“Lupin; to what do we owe the displeasure?”

The voice had all of its usual crass wittiness, but an eight of its usual volume. In the wide windowsill across from Remus, the one that had a view of most of Hogwarts’ grounds, sat Barty propped up with a few pillows and you, sleeping soundly on his chest. 

One arm was held protectively around you, his free hand carding gently through your hair. Your face was slightly smushed against his chest, breathing soft and steady.

Remus doubted he had ever seen you look so serene. It almost made him feel bad for interrupting. Almost.

“Good evening to you too, Junior,” he whispered, as he slowly made his way through the room and over to your sleeping form. He swore he could see Barty tighten his grip on you.

“Should a Head Boy be breaking curfew like this? What would good old Albus say?” 

“Well, when a member of his house doesn’t come home at night, I believe it is a Head Boy’s duty to come fetch them.” Remus tried to seem unbothered, not wanting Barty to know just how anxious he gets when his friends are apart. “Albus would certainly approve.”

Barty hummed, looking from him and down at you. The soft smile that played over his lips did not escape Remus. “I would argue she is home.” Barty’s voice was teasing, but it felt quite real for Remus.

“Is that where your relationship is at now?” There was no teasing in Remus’ voice, just soft curiosity. Support, even, though he could never tell Sirius that.

Barty’s eyes flickered up from you again, facing becoming a bit more stoney as he realised his own sleepiness was making him a tad more soft than he wanted to be in front of the Gryffindor.

“Whatever. Well, as you can see, she’s safe. So you can sod off again.”

“She should come back to the dormitories, Junior. I’m sure she wasn’t planning on spending the night sleeping in a stony windowsill, that can’t possibly be comfortable at length.” 

“Firstly, she is mostly sleeping on top of me right now and I’ll have you know I am super comfortable,” Barty quipped, eyeing Remus. “Secondly,–” a breath “– no, she wasn’t planning on sleeping here, but she did fall asleep. So.”

Remus nodded slowly as he read between the lines, trying to fight his small smile at Barty’s expense – he was sure he would not have appreciated it. “You don’t have the heart to wake her.”

Barty scoffed, but his eyes betrayed him. He was caught. “I don’t have a heart period.”

“But?” Remus asked, amusement lining his voice in a way he realised mirrored how Sirius spoke to him earlier. Knowingly, affectionately. 

“But look at her, Lupin. I can’t wake her.” While speaking, Barty seemed to gesture towards your sleeping form with the nod of his jaw, refusing to move his hands from where they were drawing circles on your back and playing with your hair.

Remus hummed in agreement, smile officially bursting free of his hold.

“Oh, sodder off,” Barty grumbled as he saw Remus’ expression, but there seemed to be little to no malice in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” Remus laughed softly, careful not to wake you with their conversation. “Just… this was not what I expected to happen three years ago when James confessed his feelings for Regulus to me.”

Barty seemed to scowl at the thought of his best friend and his Gryffindor. “They’re disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Remus said fondly. “And so are you two. Ain’t it great?” 

Barty grumbled, hand in your hair stilling to hold the back of your head. “I’m still not waking her up for you.”

“No need. If you’re careful with shifting her, you could carry her back to the dorms with me.”

“You want me to carry her all the way to Gryffindor?” Barty asked incredulously, looking at Remus as if he was stupid. “I appreciate you noticing my spectacular biceps, but that’s just not happening.”

Remus’ eyes twinkled. “Actually, I’ve got just the spell to make it easier for you.”

And so, Barty carefully shuffled you in his arms while Remus had his wand aimed at the both of you, helping ease the gravity off your form so that it would both be easier for Barty to carry you and for you to continue sleeping.

When you were bridal style in his arms, you shifted a little, burying your face further into his neck. “Sorry, darling,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline.

“Fuck off, Junior, let me sleep,” you whined, growing comfortable and tired once more. Remus had to fight not to laugh loudly.

“It’s not my fault, the cops showed up to end our fun.” Barty looked at Remus conspiratorially, who only rolled his eyes in return, as he led the way back to Gryffindor. 

“Stop saying stupid things and let me sleep, baby.” Your voice was already drifting off once more and Barty grinned widely at your slurred words.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It amazed Remus how much this boy loved being insulted by you. Your perfect match, evidently.

As you drifted back to sleep, and the closer your little trio got to the common room where his partner and best friend were waiting, the more Remus’ nerves seemed to settle. Everyone is where they should be.

[honeyryewhiskey]

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND DESIRE

angel!reader or dean's prayers save you from heaven's merciless punishment. the weakened state of your grace leaves you feeling a plethora of entirely human needs—and you're not sure you have any faith left in the home that crafted you to fight against those desires. warnings!! smut with build up 18+, depictions of violence, blood/injuries that heal, heaven being bad, body worshipping dean?, angel's first time. dean talks u thru it!! bc he would!! 4.8k words

It is not uncommon for angels to go rogue after too much time spent amongst mortals. So much so, Heaven has protocols for repairing a weapon who’s gone soft. Some speculate it’s one of god’s little amusements—create a fleet of soulless celestials, but leave just enough parts for something a lot like a soul to fester when touched by the right human.

It’s this paradox that plagues your mind as a dozen silver blades slice through your flesh and grace—again.

The Council surrounds you in a cold circle of judgment, their faces impassive, their voices ringing with divine authority. Each word of their chant strikes like a hammer to your heart: Traitor. Defiled. Corrupted.

“Do you repent for the sin of your attachment to the mortal, Dean Winchester?” one of them demands through the chaos of sound.

You want to scream, but your voice is lost in the agony. The angel blade—designed to kill—wields a newfound torture as each lashing cuts into your grace. Thick streams of blood pool from glowing wounds, as your knees hit the ground as strength gives way to pain. Withholding the tears that threaten to fall with shaky breaths, you cling to a lingering stubbornness, refusing to answer their demands. 

This torment, their means of correction—it’s not enough to strip your wings or grace. No, they want you broken in ways you didn’t think angels could break.

Your response to their demands takes too long. As a result, a blinding light presses into your mind, and with it, flashes of Dean—laughing, swearing, holding you close after the darkest nights. The way his touch melted your resolve, the warmth in his eyes when he whispered your name. These memories are dragged out of you, twisted until they no longer resemble what they were.

They replay your time together, but in each retelling, they inject doubt. The gentle words he spoke now sound hollow, calculated. The moments of connection feel like manipulation. He never loved you, the light whispers, digging deep into your heart. He only used you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “No,” you choke out, but it’s barely audible over the chanting and slashing.

The blades come down again, harder, carving away the truth of who you are, leaving only what the Council wills you to be.

“You were created to serve Heaven’s purpose,” one of the voices booms. “Not your own, and certainly not his.”

And then, through the torment, you hear it—soft, rough-edged, and impossibly real.

Your name in the form of a mantra, the beginning of a mortal’s prayer.

“Angel? I don’t even know if this will work, if you can really hear me... but I’m trying here.” Dean stumbles around his words, his doubt laced within each syllable.

Your breath catches. It’s a faint echo at the edge of your mind, pushing against the light’s mental invasion that’s trying to rework the fabric of your memories.

“I’m praying,” he continues awkwardly. “Guess that’s what this is. I don’t know where you are, but—hell, I just... I need to know you’re okay.” His voice falters, a pulsing pain taking up the space of his silence before his cuts in again. Quietly, like a bashful sinner in confession, “I miss you.”

The Council continues, oblivious to the sound of him, to the way his words infiltrate their illusions.

“Whatever heaven says—Angel, please, don’t trust them.” his tone shifts, fierce and treading on desperation. “They’re assholes, they’ll do whatever they can to make you be like them. Please, don’t let them change you.” 

The tears finally break, streaming down your face as your hands curl into fists. His voice drowns out the Council, drowns out the pain, grounding you in the truth they’re trying so desperately to erase. It’s nauseating, trying to draw strength from your tattered grace. But the strain in Dean’s voice strikes your instincts, and everything inside of you fights against the light reworking your mind. 

“I need you, Angel.” His voice cracks, “come back to me. Please.”

When an angel’s grace is weakened, it allows for heaven to remold the weapon like clay. A being reduced to material to work with. However, grace is the luminous silver line separating celestial from human. The more it pools out of you, shimmering amidst the red, the closer you reach mortality.

And the freedom of emotions that come with that kind of existence.

A tidal wave of remorse, anguish, fury, and desire radiate within. You can hardly breathe with the demanding sensations of emotion and survival. It’s consuming, and somehow—powerful. 

The Council doesn’t notice the shift in you until it’s too late. The invading light that binds you flickers, then shatters as you push against it with every ounce of your will.

“Enough,” you whisper, your voice trembling through panting breaths.

They realize their mistake as you unfurl what little remnant of grace you can muster, searing their illusions away with a growling scream of defiance. The silver blades raise in their grasps, preparing for battle, as you rise to your feet. 

But no part of you aims to attack, the only thoughts you have are of Dean. 

“Stand down, Angel. You are not strong enough to take all of us.” one of them warns, but their voice is dim beneath the thunder in your chest.

You glare into their blinding forms, disgust written on their holy faces, chest heaving as your wings unfurl. “I am done fighting.” 

And with that, you vanish in a burst of light, tearing through the veil with a single destination in mind.

In a blink, you’re standing in Dean’s motel room on shaky knees. The power you exerted to flee heaven has left nothing but a faint glimmer of grace within. 

Dean is a mirage of movement, your eyes growing delirious from the draining of your essence. He catches your weakened form just as you begin to drop to the floor. 

“Angel,” he says softly, his eyes raking over your wounds. Dozens of bleeding cuts, your clothes stained and tattered. The pain consumes you again, an aching cold taking over every nerve ending. His hand brushes bloodied hair from your face, his other arm wrapped so tightly around you, you’re sure nothing could rip you from his grasp. Not this time. 

“What did they do to you?” he demands as your body trembles, clinging to the bits of grace that remain within your being.

“I’ll be alright,” you whisper, “just need… rest.” His warmth surrounds you as his hands steady you. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the torment has ceased, and though your mind is a hazy mess of shattered memories there is one thing you know for certain: Dean’s prayers have saved you.

He hooks an arm under your legs and carries you over to the bed. With the gentleness of a man cradling a wounded bird, he sets you down carefully, his movements deliberate and full of quiet reverence. Kneeling on the floor beside you, adrenaline ripples off of him and invades your senses. The rapid beat of his heart, blood pooling his muscles on instinct. 

You raise a shaky hand to his chest, but his focus remains on your wounds, fussing with the fabric of your tattered shirt to investigate their severity. 

“Dean,” you whisper, but he doesn’t stop, your finger lift to curl around his jaw, “it’s okay—“

“Look at you!” he cuts you off, “why aren’t you healing?” 

“I will, I just need time.” you murmur, dropping your hand and letting your eyes close again, “I can smell your anxiety, Dean. It’s—distracting.”

He scoffs, but the concern doesn’t unwind from his brows. “Right. You’re bleeding to death but it’s my anxiety that’s bothering you?”

“Yes.” you manage dryly, despite the moan of pain you expel as you shift uncomfortably, the injuries to your back are making lying down impossible. Through shaky breaths you sit up, Dean’s strong hands hovering your frame as you do so. His eyes are still on your wounds, the beat of his heart finding an impossible speed as you gingerly wrap your fingers around the hem of your tattered sweater, lifting the material to reveal the damage done to your body.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice is gruff, his eyes narrowing as he watches you shift uncomfortably.

A flicker of annoyance sears through, the intensity of it adding to your nausea. “Lifting my shirt.” your voice matches the feeling inside, your fingers fumbling with the hem of the tattered fabric as you give him a full view of your injuries.

“Why?” His tone is sharp, matching yours. 

Your features contort with confusion, “because you clearly want to make sure I’m healing.”  

His eyes quickly advert as he clears his throat, a hand running over his chin—something you’ve noticed he does when he’s ‘at his wits end’ as he likes to phrase it.

“Why are you looking away now?” 

“Because you’re—,” he stops himself with a groan, a flat expression on his face as his eyes find yours, “why aren’t you wearing a bra?” 

“Oh,” you look down at your completely exposed chest, “it seemed… restrictive.” An unfamiliar emotion prickles heat against your skin: embarrassment. 

He nods, sighing as his head tilts, brows raised in quiet agreement. Your wounds remain a blazing red, skin working slowly to stitch itself back together beneath the bloody smear marks. 

“See?” you remark, dropping the material to cover yourself again. “Healing.” 

There is an anxious swirling in your stomach, one not bred from physical pain like you’re used to. The effects of weakened grace, the invitation of intense emotions feels like an uncomfortable itch beneath your skin. 

“Uh, huh.” he hums, but his scowl mismatches the slowing pace of his heart, the anxiety he refuses to acknowledge, subsiding at the sight of your healing skin.

He rises to his feet with a huff, you watch as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment passes until the sound of running water breaks the quiet as he comes back in. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and you can tell me which sons of bitches I’ll be ganking for this.” 

Dean scoops you up again without hesitation, his arms steady despite your weight against him. You don’t have the strength to protest—not that you want to—and simply let yourself sink into his embrace. His chest is warm, the rhythmic beat of his heart oddly comforting as he carries you to the bathroom.

The space is small and sterile, but Dean makes it feel safe. He uses his foot to push the door open wider and carefully sets you down on the closed toilet lid, one hand lingering on your shoulder to steady you.

Steam begins to rise from the filling tub, the water crystal clear and inviting in the dim light. Dean crouches in front of you, his fingers brushing against your knee to get your attention.

"Think you can handle this, or do you need help?" His voice is soft, but the tension in his jaw betrays the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

You nod faintly, though your body protests every movement. "I can manage."

He stands, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he turns his back slightly, giving you the barest hint of privacy while staying close enough to intervene if needed. You peel off your torn and bloodied clothes with shaky hands, the effort nearly exhausting.

As you step into the warm water, a hiss escapes your lips. The heat stings at first, the water seeping into the raw edges of your wounds, but soon the ache begins to dull, replaced by a soothing warmth. You sink down slowly, letting the bath support your weight.

Dean shifts, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on a safe spot on the wall. He sits down heavily on the closed toilet lid, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his green eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Start talking," he says, his tone low but insistent. "What the hell did they do to you?"

You hesitate, staring down at the rippling surface of the water. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "They said I was corrupted... that I’d betrayed Heaven."

Dean’s jaw clenches, his knuckles whitening as his hands ball into fists. "Those pious bastards," he mutters. "For what? Doing the right thing? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? How you’ve been helping me and Sam?" His words dance around the truth. How close you’ve grown while working alongside the Winchesters. Something, an almost malleable energy hangs in the air between you two each time you’re together. 

A line never crossed, words never spoken—but it has always been there.

You nod, your breath hitching as the memories flood back—the blades, the light, the voices that tore into you like barbed wire. "They wanted to... recondition me. Make me forget."

"Forget what?"

"Everything," you whisper. "You. Sam. What it felt like to care. They tried to rewrite me, make me believe your—friendship—was all a lie."

Dean’s face twists with anger, his fists pounding lightly against his thighs as he exhales sharply through his nose. "What gives them the right, huh? Because god wills it or some crap?" he says firmly, the words spoken in question, but you know in Dean’s book it’s more of a statement of fact. He doesn’t trust heaven or it’s angels. Well, all of it except you. 

"I don’t know anymore," you murmur, your voice breaking. A lump forms in your throat as you consider all that has been done to you by the ones you followed, dutifully, for centuries. Your chest constricts in an unfamiliar pain, hurt and confusion finding an entirely new stupor within your heart. You reach for the soap, focusing on the movement of hands as you scrub the blood from your skin to think of anything but the pain festering within. "Your voice,” you being, voice at a whisper, “your prayer. It brought me back. You reminded me who I was."

He falls silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. "I should’ve prayed sooner."

"You did it when it mattered," you say softly. "That’s what saved me."

Dean looks up, his eyes locking with yours, a flicker of guilt and relief dancing in the green depths. "You shouldn’t have needed saving in the first place," he says quietly. "They’ll pay for this. I don’t care if I have to storm Heaven itself."

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. "I don’t doubt you’d try."

He leans back, his hands running over his face before resting on his thighs. "I just… I can’t lose you. Not to them. Not to anyone."

The weight of his words settles in the air between you, and for a moment, the pain and exhaustion fade, replaced by the quiet certainty that, no matter what happens next, Dean will always fight for you.

You place the soap back on the bathtub nook, the faint echo of the movement breaking the silence. Turning your attention back to him, you murmur, “Thank you.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For caring,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “And you can’t say you don’t—I can hear your heartbeat quicken when you lie, remember?”

Dean huffs out a breath, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn angel ears,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Come on, let’s get you outta here before you start pruning up.”

You let him help you out of the tub, water dripping in soft splashes onto the tiles as he wraps a towel snugly around you. His hands are firm yet gentle, careful not to brush against the worst of your injuries as he leads you back into the room.

Settling onto the bed, you adjust the towel around your shoulders, shivering slightly as the cool air brushes against your damp skin. Dean follows a moment later, grabbing another towel before sitting behind you on the mattress.

“Sit still,” he says gruffly, though the way his fingers work through your wet hair is anything but rough. He dries it with slow, deliberate movements, the repetitive motion almost lulling you into a trance.

The quiet is comfortable, filled only by the faint rustle of the towel and the occasional sigh from Dean. His presence, solid and steady behind you, feels like an unspoken promise—a reassurance that, no matter how broken the world might seem, there’s still a place where you’re safe.

“Looks like you’re healing pretty good. You feeling any better?” Dean’s voice is low, his fingers brushing gently over your shoulder as he speaks. 

“Physically, yes,” you admit, “but I keep feeling things. Far more intense than I’m used to, because my grace is so weak.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “Feeling things? Like what?”

“Hurt, mostly,” you start, your voice quiet but steady. “And when we’re close like this,” you turn slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, “...desire.” 

He clears his throat, the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck as his eyes dart away. “I’m sure it’ll go away once your grace—or whatever—gets stronger.”

“No, Dean.” You shift to face him fully, the towel tucked around you loosening as your hands reach up to cup his face. It pools at your lap as cool air ripples goosebumps across exposed skin. His eyes snap back to yours, wide but unresisting, his hands folding over yours, warm and steady. There is a storm of hesitation in his stare, but he doesn’t push you away.

The faint scent of adrenaline lingers in the air between you, your heightened senses picking up the slight quickening of his pulse, the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly. You search his face, reading every unspoken emotion that flits across it.

“Talk to me, Angel.” His voice is rough, his green eyes darkened with something you can’t quite name. His expression is soft but insistent, pressing you for more than just what your senses can tell you. “Don’t just sense me out. Talk to me.”

Your thumbs brush over the scruff of his jaw as you take a shaky breath. “The desire I feel has always been there. I’ve ignored it, buried it, pretended it wasn’t real. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. But now…” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t. “Now I can’t just ignore it anymore. I need to give in.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you watch as Dean’s expression shifts. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, the tension crackling like a live wire between you. His hands tighten slightly over yours, grounding you, even as his restraint begins to waver.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” his voice is low and cautious, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“Yes, I do, Dean.” Your eyes lock with his, unwavering. “I may not be human, but I am not naive. And I know what I want.”

His fingertips curl into your hands, as if a tightened grip could still the rapid pacing of his pulse. Your stare is intense, boring into his jade irises. Searching for salvation in a new religion, one that might promise more pleasure than pain. 

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Don’t you think fleeing Heaven was enough trouble for one day, little bird?”

You grin, tilting your head playfully. “Trouble’s never in short supply with you around, Dean.”

An exchange of breaths passes the divide, but it’s Dean who moves first. His lips capture yours in a kiss that electrifies every inch of your skin. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into sore muscles—making you gasp at the intoxicating sensation of hurt and relief. 

Your lips match his pace, slow and controlled. You pull him closer with your hands on his neck, his body following yours to lie against the old motel sheets. He pulls away, his shirt coming off in one swift movement before he’s back to your lips. 

You’ve never been more grateful to feel. Every press of his bare chest on yours thickens the heat claiming the reign of your core. And the deep, primal, desire to cling to him has your nails digging into his flesh. He groans as they do, the sound making you kiss him harder. 

His lips trail down from yours to neck, giving ample attention to every spot he tugs into his mouth. One of his hands drag down your naval, fingers exploring new territory until they find your slick folds—plunging into flesh as something between a gasp and moan escapes you.

You’ve never been intimate before, and you’ve always wondered if it felt like possession. An invasive, vulnerable thing. But this—the way his fingers pump in and out—is like being unwound. Every stress and pain you’ve ever felt, untangling in the haze of Dean’s touch. 

His eyes find yours, emerald peering through lashes, “you are the only damn thing heaven could ever get me to worship.” He whispers and it sends a shiver through you, the pressure of his thumb against your clit making you shudder beneath him. 

“That,” you mumble through shaky breaths, “would be blasphemy.” 

His stubble grazes you as you feel every note of his chuckle vibrate against your skin. His lips trail kisses down your body with a deliberate slowness. His fingers don’t cease, working you with ease as he sinks lower. 

You grasp for anything—the sheets in one hand, tuffs of his hair in another. He positions himself between your legs, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin of your inner thing. Your body takes over, whimpering and rocking into him as he pulls the skin between his teeth. Retracting, a red love bite in his wake as hovers over your heat. 

You glance down, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern. It’s like fighting, the way your entire body is alive with an instinctual awareness of each part of you. But there is no anticipation of pain, no need to swing first. It’s a tantalizing resolve, a desperate desire to succumb to whatever feeling Dean might insight next.

He exchanges his hand for his mouth, your legs clinging to either side of his head on instinct. It’s a rippling wave of passion that flows through. His hands dig into your thighs, grounding him as his mouth moves at an intoxicating pace. 

You’ve never heard yourself make the sounds that leave your mouth now, damn near animalistic as you let go of control. Breath hitching each time he sucked sensitive skin between his lips, releasing and reattaching at a dizzying pace. 

“Dean,” you stutter through a shudder, trying to wrap hazy thinking around the sensation building within your core that’s making your back arch, instinct telling you to push into Dean. A tight notch of unused muscles is binding beneath his mouth, like all the tension he relieved is back—balling into your core. You’re squirming for a release as he quickens his lapping and sucking. 

All at once—your vision blurs, body tightening as his fingers plunge inside of you again, the medley of pleasure surging into you with force. The notch unravels, waves of tension releasing in hot ripples throughout your entire body. 

You’re humming through quieted whimpers as your body goes limp, Dean pulls away slowly—leaving little kisses all over sensitive skin. He runs his hands over your body, soothing the little shudders that remain of you. 

He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, his touch featherlight as he presses tender kisses to your temples and cheeks. “We can stop here,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, his gaze searching yours as he hovers over you. “You’re in control here, angel.”

The sincerity in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, a warmth settling in your chest. But his words tug at something deeper, something raw. Control—a concept you’ve only ever understood as an illusion. An angel, a weapon, a tool of Heaven—control was never yours to wield, not even over yourself. 

Your fingers glide over his lips, tracing the shape of the words he’s yet to say. “If I’m in control,” you whisper, your voice soft but resolute. “I want you to let me feel everything, Dean.”

He lets go of the breath he was holding, lips crashing into yours—a kiss to seal his promise. Your hands card into his hair as he fumbles with the rest of his clothes. The air that invades the space he leaves is cold and empty, but he returns to your skin swiftly, his hips claiming the space between yours. 

He adjusts himself, and you inhale sharply at the pressing of his tip against your entrance. 

“Hey,” he whispers, the steadiness of his voice melting any bits of nerves that peak through as he catches your gaze. “‘s all be okay, I promise. Just keep your eyes on mine.” 

His gaze is soft and gentle as he eases himself inside your walls. Heat prickles on your skin, making you gasp at the feel of your body stretching around him. He dips his head, catching your lips in his as he sinks deeper. You’re gasping against his mouth, the sound meshing with his quiet groans as his hips rock against yours. 

There’s a soreness in the sensation, tension giving out with each thrust. Your hips squirm beneath him, instinctively bucking into his movements, “You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he sighs, voice raspy, sending a shiver through you. 

“More, I can take more,” you whisper, the words leaving your mouth without a second thought. All you can feel is a need for all of him—deeper.

He follows your command, his pace quickening enough to make your legs lock around him. His arm slides beneath you, a protective hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he holds your frame closer to his.

Your senses are overwhelmed by his scent—the endorphins pooling off of him and making you feel drunk on the smell. 

In one swift motion, he pulls you up with him, arms wrapped around you in a heated embrace as you roll your hips against his—chasing the pleasure of his length knocking into the sensitive spot inside you. 

His lips chase yours, a deep slow kiss that makes your hips move more desperately. Little whimpers leave your lips between each kiss, making his wandering hands dig into your skin with a desire to touch every part of you. 

“Just like that—fuck,” he groans against your skin, his hands guiding your hips against his. Your arms cling to him as he lowers you back onto the pillows, his claim on your skin intensifying as his thrust becomes more greedy, needy as he takes control again. 

His hands run along your frame, inching towards your breasts until your nipples are beneath his circling fingers. It makes your breath hitch, and that notch of tension forms within your core again. Your bucking his and nails digging into Dean’s skin are like an unspoken demand, and follows the cues you’re unaware of by sliding a hand down to your joined bodies. 

His fingers work dizzying circles between your folds, your breathing falling uneven against his. Your muscles go tense again, tightening with each thrust of his tip against sore, sensitive flesh. 

Tears prickle at your lashes as you cry out his name, losing yourself in the tidal wave of relief that flows through—leaving your body shuddering beneath his. 

Your name leaves his lips, a quiet mantra, just as it did when he lifted his head in your prayer. His warm release threads inside you, coating your walls. 

His hips stutter, falling into a lazy rhythm until he’s still. Breathing heavy against you, holding you in his arms for a moment as you both come down from the moment. 

Sowly, he pulls away, shifting to lay beside you. Your mind is a complete sleepy haze, another new feeling for an angel who has never known exhaustion to the point of needing sleep. It’s a sweet, comforting thing—to want to close your eyes and give in. 

Dean shifts, adjusting your body until you’re snug against his chest beneath the covers. His arms wrap around you, firm and protective, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in his world. Being surrounded by his warmth, his quiet strength, feels like a peace you never believed could exist—a haven you’re not sure you could ever let go of.

As your eyes grow heavy, his lips brush your ear, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet. “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

speak for yourself - imogen heap album was on repeat while writing this btw. also i got lazy after dean's munch moment and did nawt re-read or edit the rest so i apologize <3 but i hope this was fun idk i kinda hate it now to be frank i d k ugh bye ily

[writersdrug]

First LOVE bartender!Simon series Second after reading the latest installment I'm wondering why isn't Kyle at the bar with them?? 🥺 I thought it was fully AU but now that waitress found the shirt and the pic it confirms 141 retired and went into the same industry but Kyle is not at the same bar?? What happened???

Y'know I think I started this AU as one where they were never in TF 141 together, but as their relationships developed throughout writing it it made more sense to me to make it a post-TF141 au instead.

Someone else made an ask where König runs the brewery where Kyle works, and one day König comes in and flirts with reader, so Simon of course hates him, and if Simon hates him then Soap hates him (I think that's how the hate chain went I'll have to go back and look), but I'm gonna use that to break Gaz away from the brewery and have him join the 141 again! I just have to figure out how, we can't make him a line cook, cuz well :/ the only thing being made would be cream pies between him and Johnny. I was thinking a second waiter or a food runner!

Not to spoil things for you guys but I am tinkering this out and I just want to make it clear that Kyle isn't exiled from the 141 group, my plans for this au just changed when it blew up and now I'm reworking him in!

[thesiltverses]

A very big thank you

I posted this on Patreon, but really wanted to share it here as well:

Post-show life begins

For a long while now I’ve been getting up at 4.30 or 5am, grabbing myself the first coffee of four, and then coming to sit at my desk.

I open up the assembly cut of the newest TSV episode.

I listen to it, I try and pin down which scenes I need to be going back over today. I try and push through the entire morning without a break because when the momentum stalls, that’s what kills your release schedule. (I also worry endlessly about just how much of my hair is falling out, and how spending 12 hours a day wearing headphones could be contributing to that.)

Today was different. I still woke up early - it’s a hard habit to shake off, and probably a useful one going forward. But I didn’t go to my desk, and I didn’t put my headphones on.

I went to the rocking chair we bought for our son when he comes, and I sat there - gently swaying and trying not to spill my coffee all over it, because for some reason it’s fucking beige - and looked out over the city skyline. 

I slugged back my coffee surrounded by all the stuff we’ve panic-bought for the baby, and I got to take all of it in - washcloths and the changing table and romper suits - with a sudden focus and a clarity and a rising excitement that I really hadn’t allowed myself to feel until today, because until today the work was still unfinished and there was still much left to be done.

All at once I felt very free, and fully sated, and happy and proud for everything that’s coming next.

There’s so much to feel grateful for from the past three years of working on this show. But what’s probably going to sit with me the most is being able to arrive at that moment and those feelings today, - and we have all of you incredible people to thank for that.

Not just in terms of listenership or financial support, although that’s been truly invaluable and a lifeline for us that’s enabled us to actually make the show - but also your enthusiasm, your passion, your jokes and comments and everything that’s helped to keep us motivated and working on it.

So - with as much feeling as words can convey, thank you so, so much for everything.

What’s coming next, in rough order

#1: Parentdom is going to take over our lives for a while! I also want to write the final Patreon episode commentaries in the next few days, while I have the time and the clear memories. #2: The next thing we’ll organise will be the post-season Q&A (we’d also like to do some kind of off-camera cast party if we can make schedules work, just to say thank you to our amazing VAs and celebrate with them). Please do ask us questions! #3: We have long-unfinished commitments to the Patreon which I need to complete: the last two episodes of So Long, Good Luck, and rounding off Sid Wright’s story. As ever, huge thank-yous for your patience with these; they’ve just been impossible to polish off while also working on the main show so much. #4: Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time is the possibility of going back to Season 1 and redesigning it from scratch to try and bring it closer in style to S2 and S3. We have the raw audio files - some of the mic quality will just be rough no matter what, but we can certainly try.  This is something I want to be conscientious and careful about; I very much want to respect the sound design work that’s already taken place, and ensure we’re not overriding anything. But I do know that the initial quality still sometimes puts new listeners off; we were learning a lot about direction and mastering from scratch, and our designers were working with limited budget and a total lack of plugins, so there’s simply a lot more we can achieve now. (This would also be a good opportunity for me to finally rework the transcripts, another fallen hurdle). #5: A few months back, we were contacted by a literary agent in NYC who was interested in us adapting the show into a series of novels. There’s a long road ahead to actually get published, but I'm thrilled to say that I have signed with them and I’m really excited to hopefully start work on the first book once I’ve settled into dad-dom. I’ll need to check what’s possible, but if it doesn’t interfere with any contract condition I’d obviously love to share excerpts on here as it’s written. #6: Then there’ll also be another larger audiodrama project - we’ve spoken about the different possibilities before! Excited to get started on our final choice.

Just one last word about endings

God, endings are scary. Because endings are impossible.

How many serialised stories actually end in a way that’s received unequivocally well?  People yelled at The Sopranos for its ambiguity and open-endedness. People criticised Breaking Bad for treating Walt too sympathetically at the end and relying on a generic mob of snarling Nazis to act as his final foe.

Endings are either too pat and neat, or too inconclusive to be satisfying, or too surreal and dreamlike, or they simply make what feels like the wrong choices for the characters we care about. We’re all caught in that barbed wire, creators and audience alike, weighed down by the baggage of what’s come before and we've already spent so much time anticipating the infinite possibilities of how it could all turn out - it’s like we can’t get free of the story that’s trying to end. 

And the beautiful thing about these longform, iterative works is that they insist upon becoming completely ungovernable. No matter how much of a planner the creator claims to be, how much prepwork they carry out - they were never really in control. There’s spontaneity and surprises and dead ends and beautiful distractions that come spilling out along the way (I was baffled and delighted to learn that people really - at the end of the show, with such limited time to spare - wanted to find out what had happened to Eddie*). 

So they can’t end. Not really. There’s too much wonderful mess in them to ever be reasonably disentangled.

And, of course, for every ending people remember with frustration or dissatisfaction, there’s another hundred endings that nobody remembers at all, because we lost our enthusiasm along the way and it feels better to keep going back to the start and avoiding the slow decline. (Who the fuck remembers how the umpteenth X-Files reboot ended? What increasingly tired post-modern antics was Alan Moore getting up to in the final League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books?). I really just didn’t want the show to end up in that latter category.

All of that probably sounds like I’m warding off criticism about the show's ending, but for me it’s actually been the opposite. 

For an ending which is all about narrative dissatisfaction, and failed potential and missed opportunities, and how we need to come to terms with the lack of existential fairness and certainty and narrative control in our lives and keep ploughing forward all the same for as long as we possibly can, I’m massively stunned at just how positive the reception has been on here and elsewhere, and that’s something I’m actively having to process, because I think I was fearfully anticipating much more pushback.

But, look - the Eskew finale was originally quite poorly-received and then people came back around to it over time. So I’m not going to pat myself on the back too hard, because maybe it’ll ultimately be the opposite with this show, and that’s OK. For 200 years everyone was convinced King Lear was improved by having everyone survive at the end and get married. Endings take time to settle into their final condition.

For now, I am incredibly relieved that the ending we chose seems to have landed for most people, and I’m incredibly grateful for the lovely messages we’ve got about it and for the trust in us that you’ve all shown throughout the story.

So, yeah, let’s end with another thank you, because that’s what I feel so deeply and so forcefully at this point.

Thank you so much again, and speak soon.

Jon

*My take? We’ve established that the guy is in some kind of blue-collar job and has been pushed into constant overtime due to the reduced workforce. We’ve seen that the so-called ‘national holiday’ doesn’t actually rescue workers from their commitments. So I personally imagine that Eddie was working during the parade somewhere on the city outskirts, and is alive and well.

[beannoss]

Something I think about a lot and wonder if maybe gets overlooked in Twilight’s story and as vitally indicative of his character is actually in the very first chapter:

Anya isn’t needed for Strix. Twilight decides to adopt her anyway.

[Spoiler warning: Mostly this post deals with early chapters already in the anime but there is reference to chapter 62, which has not yet been animated and will be in season 3]

Twilight decides it — “I’m going to rework the mission so it doesn’t involve a child because that’s too dangerous” and he’s 100% right! Donovan Desmond is canonically a far right warmonger with fascistic authoritarian aims. His government made liberal use of the SSS — a group to mirror the Stasi — who continue to operate in morally dubious ways (much more likely they’re actively morally reprehensible, though we’ve mostly only had rumours of that so far). From what we can tell, Desmond is at best an absent father and likely actually worse than that: if that's how he treats his own children, imagine how he might treat others. And the timeline seems to indicate that the experimentation performed on Anya was done under Desmond's government — even if Twilight isn't aware of experimentation on children, he is aware of both human and animal experimentation under Desmond's government. Taking all that and also the complexity of Strix's aims, undoubtedly there were other things that could be done, more straightforward if not necessarily easier.

So. Why? Why entertain the change at all? And then, having entertained it, why go back when the reasoning is indisputable?

On the Doylist level, I think Endo wanted to ensure that Anya had some agency within the set up — Endo also does this with Yor. It would be much harder to be on Twilight’s side fully, or to trust him on an ethical level/take him as any sort of moral authority, if he were just straightforwardly using these two people. To have them be active and consenting participants (arguably to actually be affirming the arrangement: Twilight sets it up, but Anya and Yor actually make it happen) even if the audience only knows the depth of their knowledge/motivations/etc currently, shifts the power dynamic in important ways.

But it also the set up tells us important things about Twilight. He is largely impatient, cold, detached in chapter one. His overarching feelings towards Anya are, I think, real annoyance, real confusion, and real impatience. He just doesn’t understand this damn kid and it turns out she’s a person which is frankly unacceptable — he’d needed and anticipated an automaton, ideally of himself in miniature form. (Though I think one could ponder whether Twilight was, in many ways, an automaton himself at this point, but that's maybe for another meta 🙃)

He’s not entirely unmoved of course — we're given to understand he’s affected when Franky tells him how many times Anya’s been adopted and returned, and isn't amused by Franky's joke about names. Franky's comment — "Just don't get attached" — reinforces this. The prospect of “the future” perturbs Twilight when he’s reading the parenting books. His initial reaction to Anya’s kidnap is horror. All these are true too.

Then there’s also this, from earlier in the chapter:

It’s exposition, yeah, and it’s also exposing. "Hopes" and "joys" are very specific words to describe those events. It could simply have been "A marriage? An ordinary life?" but describing them as such — hope for marriage; joy in ordinary life — expose something of what Twilight feels about those two experiences and, on the flipside, they expose what he deems he's lacking. No hopes of intimacy; no joy in (an ordinary) life. There's an argument as well, of course, that he's being ironic but I don't think that actually invalidates the above analysis. Drawing attention to 'hope' and 'joy' at all are revealing, regardless of Twilight's tone in thinking of them. I think it's also interesting this panel, taken in conjunction with a pair of panels in chapter 62, Twilight's backstory. The above is almost a pulled out version of this below panel of Twilight's recollection of his childhood, and of course the returning image of not just a rubbish bin but a rubbish bin on fire when it comes to disposing of his identity:

Back to Strix. Both his final interaction with Karen and the whole everything of the framing of Strix is making Twilight think (and feel, ahem) things that he hasn't for some time. Twilight decides, I’m reworking this. It can’t proceed this way. Not because Anya is a pain in his ass, not because she’s not as (apparently) intellectually advanced as he’d originally thought, not even because he thinks he can find another child who would better be exactly what mission parameters called for. No:

And what changes his mind is Anya asking to come home.

One of the important parts of this to me is this:

He seeks consent.

This moment is a keystone, I think, to understanding Twilight. It’s also more telling than he maybe realises. Twilight is decisive — we all laugh because he spirals at the drop of a hat when his daughter or wife look even mildly upset but outside those (also very telling) scenarios, he makes decisions and he pursues them. Often he makes decisions quickly. He’s a dab hand at it; it’s a large part of why he’s as good a spy as he is.

He’d decided to change Strix.

Anya asks him, in essence, not to.

So, he doesn't.

But it's wild that he entertains keeping her request at all — why? Why even entertain it? It’s dangerous; it’s impractical; there are too many moving parts outside his direct control; Anya isn’t the sort of child he’d wanted for the mission if he’d spent any time thinking about what a child might actually be like; Strix is in many ways an extremely long shot anyway, Desmond could just stop attending for reasons unknown and unrelated; etc.

So, yeah, why? Maybe because of this —

In conjunction, I often think of this moment in the cruise arc:

Twilight first naming the feeling as lonesome, and secondly tacitly conceding that he perceives Yor as a companion and that that relationship is important to him, something to be missed. What makes this for me though is that Anya calls this out "Papa's you're so sappy" and Twilight's reaction is that of someone caught-out. He doesn’t say “nuh-uh!” but he may as well have. Essentially, something landed a bit close to home, hm? Maybe some of that hope for marriage? A soupçon of joy of an ordinary life?

Twilight’s loneliness underpins many of his decisions with his family — probably without him being fully conscious of it. I think he is at least somewhat conscious of it, but also if he looks too closely... Well, best not to. I could fill this post, I think, with images that demonstrate his loneliness throughout the series; that sorrowful/pensive close-up of his eye(s) is one of the abiding motifs for Twilight throughout. I'd probably start with this one from Twilight's backstory arc:

Anya's request plays directly off his loneliness. Still though, he doesn’t immediately capitulate — he emphasises Anya’s choice. Is she sure? The last day has been scary for a child (and for him, but he's ignoring that part) and Twilight, in his increasing recognition that Anya is a person, is probably aware in the back of his mind that he hasn’t exactly been warm or welcoming or at all patient with her. Things that people respond to — he's otherwise excellent at manipulating people, so of course he understands this. So. Given she'd just had this scary experience, given he hasn't exactly been great with her: Is she sure? She wants to come home — with him?

I think the moment may get a little lost because Anya says something riffing off his own earlier thoughts and self-revelation (featuring that shadowed, lonely eye motif again!)

Were this a post about Anya, I’d talk about how it’s an important character moment for her as well by way both of demonstrating her agency/choice and also that she isn’t nearly as dumb as Twilight thinks (and the audience, maybe, also thinks).

But in my view, she didn’t actually need to say anything about it making her cry. I think she could simply have said yes in that moment and Twilight would have agreed.

Twilight’s an unreliable narrator; he’s disconnected from his heart and that shrouds his own motivations from himself — something he actually also concedes in this chapter!

And it shrouds from us just how much he actually understands himself. He’s also a master of deflection. Easy to assume or say that bringing Anya home is just to align with Strix. Nothing more to see here; nothing else going on. But also that ripping off of the mask in the panel above — and the literal 'riiip' sound effects — also indicate to us that this is an unveiling to himself.

In my view, Twilight agreeing to Anya's request, deciding to go back to original mission parameters, actually shifts his motivations, subtly. Now he’s committed not only to the original mission goals, but also to Anya. He needs Anya to succeed at Strix, not only for Strix's sake, but also because otherwise the mission will end and she’ll have to go back to the orphanage, and he’s just agreed with her not to do that (not right away, in any case). I don’t think at this point he’s thinking it’s forever — his thoughts throughout the manga indicate he still expects the Forgers to be temporary. I don't think the shift in motivation is necessarily even conscious, but given the set up, I think something inside Twilight recognises that agreeing to bring Anya home is a compact, jointly engaged. Mostly all this has become subsumed into Strix: he makes decisions. He pursues them. He deflects, even from himself. Of course it's just for the mission; this saved him the trouble of reworking it, of figuring out something else. Nothing more to see; no need to think any more on it. And to be fair to him, Strix is very high stakes, resting pretty solely on his shoulders, so of course that is, objectively, motivation enough. Why even consider beyond that?

But I personally think that to the extent he's aware of it at all, there is something else going on, that he wants to have Anya for as long as it takes him to work something else out for her. If that's the case, then of course, we have Occam’s razor: the simplest solution may be the best one.

Maybe Twilight should just keep Anya himself, eh?

[Image description: gif from Spy x Family season 1, episode 1. Twilight and Anya have just found out Anya passed her entrance exam and are overjoyed. Celebratory, Twilight picks Anya up and swoops her into the air as they smile at one another. End image description]