#background was drawn last as you can probably tell lol

[blorboindulgence]

Love Letter - Two Liars

I think my brain stopped working right some point and I just wanted the drawing to be done. But it's done!! yay!! I think drawing the wheelchair was my favorite part honestly.

Based of chapter 22 of Love Letter by @lunarleonardo

[wildemaven]

he makes life better | joel miller

-> pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x reader

-> word count: 1335

-> content warning: 18+ blog; bad day, annoyed with work, dealing with flat tire, joel being sweet, lots of fluff

-> note: this is for my sweet friend @gnpwdrnwhiskey hoping this brings a smile to her face 💞 this isn’t beta’d either so it’s probably filled with mistakes lol.

masterlist

Joel ❤️: How’s your day going Honey?

I’m so ready for my shift to be over. I’d rather read the dictionary, front to back, than deal with the shit they have me doing today. 

RING

“That bad, huh?” Joel’s voice brings you an instant smile when you answer his call, silently stepping away from the mess that you were dealing with at work. 

“You have no idea. It already feels like it’s been the longest week, today has just added to the shit show life keeps throwin’ at me lately. Went to leave for work this morning and I had a flat tire. Ugh! I’m sorry for complaining.” You vent to him, tucking yourself in a secluded corner. You were going against policy by taking a personal call while on the clock, but you didn’t care about company policy or the outcome of you were to get caught at the moment— Joel was your only focus right now. 

“Hey, none of that. Don’t apologize for being stressed. Why didn’t ya call me ‘bout your tire?” Joel asked. 

You know he would’ve dropped everything the minute did call him, which is also why you didn’t. He had been stressing over starting at a new job site, one of the biggest ones he had been hired for. The last thing you wanted was to add to his already busy day of things he had to deal with. 

“You’d already left for work and had that new job you’ve been talkin’ about. Didn’t wanna bother you with it. I called AAA and had them put the spare on for me so I could drop it off at the tire shop. Now, I’m unexpectedly the owner of 4 new tires.” 

“I don’t care how busy I am— you need something, you call me, no matter what. Got that, Honey?” 

“Got it, Joel. Thank you.” You smile into the phone at his concern for you, always finding ways to make you fall even deeper in love with him. 

“Good. Hey, I gotta go. Tommy looks like he’s about ready to break his back. I should probably go help him before he actually does and my insurance takes a hit. I’ll see ya tonight then, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah. I should be outta here in 3 hours.” The end to your long shift, almost over. 

“That sounds great! I love you, Honey. I’ll see ya later.” You can faintly hear Tommy cursing in the background. 

“Love you too, Joel.” You tell him before the line goes dead. Giving yourself a few minutes of quiet before heading back to join your team and the never ending line of customers. 

The rest of your shift goes by fairly quickly. Joel’s phone call must have been just the moral boost you needed to sprinkle a little bit of extra positivity into your day.

The minute the clock hit 5 pm, you wasted no time clocking out and logging out of your computer for the day. Deliberately bypassing your usual exit path to avoid any chatty coworkers, Joel and home your main focus of the rest of your day, you weren’t going to waste any time stuck in drawn out conversations. 

Your purse thrown over your shoulder, work apron crumpled in one hand and the other holding your empty tumbler that once held the warm delicious coffee you had hoped would sustain you through the day, now wishing it was filled with something a little stronger to help you unwind when you got home. 

It’s a struggle trying to juggle your things as you search for your keys, lost somewhere in the depths of your purse along with the rest of your life's necessities. You pause in the middle of an empty parking space near where your jeep is parked to give the search your full attention. After some thorough digging, you locate your keys and let out an exasperated sigh, one step closer to being home. 

Taking a step forward as you press the unlock button on your key, you look up to see an unexpected sight. A familiar truck in the parking spot next to yours, and the most handsome man leaning on it. He looks like he came straight from the job sight, too. His peppered grey hair disheveled, but his soft curls were still intact even after a long day. The sleeves of your favorite green flannel are rolled up over his flexed forearms that are crossed against his chest, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders. 

The sight of him is enough to melt away any of the bullshit you had endured over the past week, a completely welcomed surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, letting your feet carry you the rest of the way to him. 

“Heard you were havin’ a shitty day. Couldn’t let my lady end it on a bad note.” He croons, pushing himself off the side of his truck, opening his arms to you. 

You melt into him, your face nestled into his shoulder. His rugged scent of musky vanilla and natural pheromones is permanently infused into the fibers of his shirt, it’s your favorite thing ever. His strong arms wrap around you as he presses a soft kiss to your temple, prompting you to straighten up, looking into his amber eyes. 

“Hi, Cowboy.” You beam at him. 

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to gently mold his lips over yours. “I’ve got a surprise for ya, Honey.” 

“This was enough of a surprise for me. What more could I need?” Stealing another kiss from him. 

“If I tell ya, it won’t be a surprise then, will it?” He says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at you. 

“I guess you have a point.” 

“We’ve gotta get going though, it’s time sensitive.” He grabs for your things and walks you around to the passenger door, holding it open as you climb in. “We’ll grab your jeep in the mornin’, if that’s okay with you?” 

“Whatever you say, Cowboy.” He leans back in for another kiss, before making his way around into the driver’s seat. 

*

The drive isn’t long. Down some familiar roads that lead to a dirt one off the main highway. His truck travels down the gravel road lined with a barbed wire fence. After a few minutes he’s pulling off to the side and killing the engine. 

“You brought me to my favorite place.” Looking over to his side of the truck, where he’s already looking in your direction. Your heart grows at how he thought to bring you here, knowing how much joy it brings you every time. 

“Thought you could use it. Look, here they come.” He says pointing to your window. 

Off in the distance, the small herd of cows were in pursuit of their evening meal and water break. Mamas with their little rambunctious calves trailing behind, trekking along the same path they travel each evening. 

It’s a calming sight. Their heads bobbling with each dramatic step. Tails whipping over their rear ends to swat away the annoying flies. A few stopping mid trek to look in your direction, letting out a long drawn out moo. Their friendly hello, it’s good to see you again, then back on the move. 

The sky is painted in pinks and purples as the sun dips below the horizon. Your day feeling less shitty as you sit silently in the cab of Joel’s truck. His hand resting on your thigh while his thumb draws soft circles over thick denim seam. 

“Thank you for this. Didn’t realize how much I needed it. I love you, Joel.” You tell him, rolling your head over the headrest in his direction. 

“I did it because I love you, Honey. And s’what I’m here for.” There’s a low rumble in the air as he turns the key over, shifting the truck into drive. “Now, how ‘bouts we head on home and I spend the rest of the evenin’ show you all the other ways I love you?”

“Take me home, Cowboy.” 

[vivihar]

okay actually screw anon, it's very funny bcs i was in a quiet "what if merope survived and raised tom and he wasn't all that crazy (but still crazy though) and man wHAT IF HIM AND SEVERUS WERE THE SAME AGE" era and nobody talks about that, it's t!marry all around with the same age aus and i personally never felt drawn to t!marry for many reasons, but mostly bcs harry's entire bond to voldy was imposed on him. he didn't want that shit. meanwhile, severus actively sought voldemort out. he was seduced by the concept of voldemort, by his power, his intelligence, his promise of greatness. severus chose voldemort, surely admired him and surely his loyalty was sincere before lily was endangered. and voldemort had a soft spot for him!! he must've seen so much of himself in severus i can only imagine what he must've said to lure severus in. tomerus is so interesting to me bcs both elements were clearly well aligned with each other, even with the HUGE age gap...... how much more they would've clicked if they were the same age and realized they have so much in common in background and interests???? i'm convinced tom would've had the same soft spot for sev. and sev would've gotten himself a very devoted and obsessive psychopath boyfriend 💞 anyways i have a lot of feelings for tomerus and your posts have sustained my obsession this last month thank you so much for your service 🙏

AAAAAHHHH I'm screaming happy over here, my first question and it's amazing. I'm glad you liked my Tomerus posts I feel so happy when someone likes them 😭.

And Merope surviving, same age au Tomerus has been in my brain too I just needed to organize it before posting anything about it because Tom's entire character would change. I think if Merope lived he wouldn't have made horcrux because I think his fear of death comes from living in a defenseless orphanage at war. Merope would be at his side at those moments and he would feel more protected. The whole fear of death, horcrux thing would be prevented this way. I also think (as j*r confirmed) Tom would feel love and that alone is the biggest change of his char. Another thing is Tom probably would still have a psychopath tendency (if he didn't then who would he be lol). So with this au I could see them being childhood friends. Eileen with Tobias in the muggle world and Merope wouldn't return home with Tom because Gaunts was like Blacks with blood purity thing. So Merope would find a cheap place to live and a few years later after Tobias lost his job and became an alcoholic, Snape family would end up there too. Merope and Eileen would end up as friends, Pureblood running from home, halfblood son etc. With that Tom and Sev would grow together. Tom would be protective of his small family, and the only reason he wouldn't be protective of Eileen is because he would hate how she doesn't leave Tobias and let Severus get hurt (not that how I see Sev and Eileen's relationship but that's for another time). So Merope and Severus would be the most dear person to Tom. And Severus, well Severus would thrive at affection Tom and Merope have for him. When they go to Hogwarts Tom and Severus would always be together, every time they learn something new they would tell each other and teach each other, two halfbloods in Slytherin so they would try their best (and Tom would scare anyone who tries to hurt Severus.) Severus will probably be the first one to realize his feelings and keep it secret and Tom would think of Severus as just his brother (lol sure boy). Life would keep going when Tom opens the chamber he would tell it Severus and his mother, he wouldn't keep any secrets from Severus and the person he would trust most would become him. He also would feel so proud of how smart Severus is and spend most of his time speaking with him. As they grew he would start to become so possessive of Severus, he would glare at people who look at Severus and whisper about him (I think Merope would look after Severus so people in school would find him attractive as he grows up unlike canon). He would get jealous and when he sees Severus kiss someone he probably would lose it. And make it all bad it would be a boy because Severus wants to figure out his sexuality. Tom would all act sad manipulative how could you not tell me bla bla and say I could be better than them why not kiss me and Severus would go "???" Then he would get kissed by him. (Damn this is long sorry) Anyway Tom would find other ways to grow in power he may have cult again but won't obsess about killing muggles, he could become minister of magic and he would make everyone to give Severus the same respect in ministry and his little cult. He also would be the one to gain money for the family and Severus would just enjoy making his potions create spells and do experiments. He could have a job just to spend time. And the best thing is Nagini and Severus would be bestie and make fun of Tom as much as they can (Tom: I still don't understand how you guys do that without understanding each other) anyway I love this au and I hope someone write a fic about because I really sucks at writing or I would do million of Tomerus already 😭😭.

I also want to talk about V and Severus's relationship. Just like you said, I don't think Severus was a fanboy like regulus but he certainly was impressed and respected Voldemort because Severus is someone who admires intelligence and knowledge. There's this fact the only people who could fly without broom are Severus and Voldemort. Severus might have learned by himself after seeing it (he's a smart boy) but I chose to believe Voldemort personally taught him because he liked smart people and Severus was one. And I think they had conversations, they talked about all the dark arts and inventions Severus made. They spend time together. Also V treating him a little more special than others made Severus not afraid of asking for spare Lily's life and that makes me crazy. I don't think Voldemort would do it for any other person maybe Bellatrix but she wouldn't ever ask that. He was going to kill Lily's son and even if she's just one person he wouldn't let someone like that exist, someone who could become a danger. Overall their relationship is so good and I'm glad you like it too. Thank you for the question love🧡

(sorry if there are confusing parts English isn't my first language so I might mix some words.)

[pricklepicklepie]

It might be hard to ask for faves… so who is the oc you’ve had the longest?

OH EVAN, thank you bless you i love you. Let's open this can of worms together -

(forgive me, this got LONG. I mean LONG. It should be a simple answer but NO)

So, my oldest OCs, I didn't even post yesterday. This is a group of some of my oldest. I'm sure there are older ones, but these are the ones I remember/have images of. Lucis is probably the oldest with Katey being the second. There were piles more with this crew. Pretty much anytime I drew anything that wasn't transformers fanart, I added them to this "world". Which was nothing special, none of these guys ever had solid backstories or even interests or jobs. They were just designs that I returned to. Zoi and Lucis eventually got a little more developed (but not a lot lol) and got pushed into my "second gen" OCs. I don't really draw these guys anymore accept occasionally or when I want to make something new, sometimes I revamp an old OC and insert them into whatever story I'm making. Here are some of their more recent designs. I think these are all I've drawn of them in like, ten years or more lol.

Eventually, I made Zoi an office worker who plays bass in a band with Lucis and another OC, Elliot. SPEAKING OF ELLIOT

Elliot is kind of my oldest OC with a 'story'. SORT OF. First, I had all those loose OCs, not in a story, not doing anything. Then one day I make Elliot and Adrien and I decide they're going to be in this angels and demons type story where Elliot dies and comes back to life and they encounter evil angels, etc etc. Joel was a villain, Lucy was like, 'the girl', lol.

This whole plot didn't stick and I eventually just made Adrien human and now they sort of exist in a nebulous, melancholy, dreamy, sorta real-world setting. Elliot is roommates with Zoi and Lucis and the three of them are in a band. Adrien is a guy who just happens to be at their show. Some of my other OCs are in the background of this world, but I don't really think about them lol.

Here's kind of the transition period between the original, fantasy-type story, and the normal world story.

This was late in high school/college that I started calling Elliot's story Elliot's Sword. And it was going to be like Elliot going into a fantasy world from the real world and becoming a god-like figure. But after college, I made them the normal, real-world story. Here are some drawings from the modern era of Elliot and Adrien

It's hard for me to even find drawings of them bc I don't draw them so much, which is a shame! I really like the way they had become. I want to do a story with them where they meet at a show (or reunite since they went to college together) and Elliot eventually helps Adrien through the loss of his Grandmother who is his family's matriarch. And this brings up a lot of feelings for Elliot about his mother who died when he was a child. And together, they sort of explore this half-waking/half-dreaming world of grief. I had this idea that Elliot is like, a dream hopper and goes into people's dreams. And it's a story I really want to write one day, but ALAS. time will tell.

The Oldest Oc I posted about last night, is Puck! OOOHH BOY DO I LOVE PUCK. BUCKLE IN.

These are some of my first drawings of Puck, along with Richard and some other OCs in her setting. I made Puck for a character design class in college. I think my Junior year. She and Richard were basically Fallout rip-off OCs - they came from a post-apocalyptic world with Puck from the country and Richard from a large settlement. They were kind of 'Prince and the Pauper'. And I had this whole thing where they meet, dislike each other at first, have to work together to rebuild Puck's hometown, grow to love each other, adopt a girl named Tommy and raise her in the town, and eventually, Richard does something to betray Puck's trust when they're in their late 50s and they spend the rest of their lives in this bitter divorce arc. Here are some comic pages I made for various college assignments. This was a story I called The Town of Shilo.

Their story now is a little different than it used to be. Now, the idea is Puck comes to this large, sci-fi-ish city and meets Richard and all these other people and helps them maintain their little community by keeping robotic police off their turf. Puck's mother and sister are the CEOs of this large pharmaceutical-turned-weapons company, (though she has been sort of cut off from them and is their unknowing test subject, so she's not involved in whatever they've been up to). And Richard is the son of some politian and is trying to play double agent and use what he finds out from his nepotism job to inform his friends. There is SO MUCH MORE to it that I need to write down and nail down. But that is the basic idea.

These are all the OCs I think about who aren't DnD related. So I kind of have two worlds (elliot's and puck's) that I revisit from time to time and fuss with. The thing is, I never write anything down and never try to world-build or nail anything down. I just draw them with non-specific ideas in mind lol, which definitely has to change. With DnD ocs, it's just so much easier to make a quick guy who has a flaw and then his story is just figuring out that flaw and you get to do that with your friends and it's EASY. But I have a hard time getting back into my other OCs bc I can never settle on a story for them. But I do have dreams of making comics of them, so who knows, hopefully soon I will actually build out their worlds and be able to be more specific about what they can do/what happens to them. lol. BUT I UH NEVER GET TO TALK ABOUT THEM REALLY SO I SORTA TOOK THIS CHANCE TO SAY EVERYTHING EVER ABOUT THEM. HOPE THAT'S ALRIGHT??

tldr: I have this OC, Lucis, who is probably my oldest Oc who I don't draw anymore LOL

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

263 of 2023

Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?

Yeah, I laugh a lot. It was about time.

Do you drink coffee?

Not anymore.

Do you find piercings attractive?

Yeah, but to some extent. I don’t really like piercings in “weird” places.

Do you find tattoos attractive?

Mostly yes, but with some exceptions. I don’t like tattoos on face.

When is your birthday?

April.

How long are you on the computer?

I’m doing a few things at once.

Do you watch a lot of TV?

I rather put it as background.

What was the last movie you watched?

I hate this question, it appears everywhere and it’s not relevant to me.

What was the last TV show you watched?

Friends.

Do you curse in front of your parents?

No, out of respect.

Are you slowly drifting away from someone close?

I don’t think so.

Do you like your phone?

I love it, but I wish it had normal audio jack slot.

Have you ever taken a road drip?

Road drip?? lol.

Are you happy right now?

Not less than any other day.

Do you have a crush on anyone?

I love my husband, does it count?

Have you ever written a story?

Yeah, for school. I hated it.

What are you listening to right now?

Watching TV with one eye.

Do you watch American Idol?

No, I’m European and I don’t give a crap about America.

Whats your favorite number?

16.

Whats the last thing you ate?

Some Spanish food.

If you were a crayon what color would you be?

Transparent lol.

How is the weather right now?

It’s dark outside, but it was cloudy and rainy before, so I suppose it’s still going on.

Are you too shy to ask someone out?

Yeah, but also it’s not in my nature.

What were you doing before this?

Filling out my calendar planner.

Do you have any pets?

Yes, two cats.

Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing?

I can’t recall anything.

Are you still friends with someone from kindergarten?

No, it’s long gone.

Do you like to travel by plane?

Never been on a plane.

Do you use chapstick?

No, I don’t.

When did you last cry?

Boring question.

What did you do today?

We went to Hasselt, then for groceries.

Do you drink a lot of water?

I hate water.

What was the last website you visited?

YouTube, apparently.

How long do you think you will live?

I don’t even want to think about it.

What do you spend most of your money on?

Food for my family.

What did you eat for lunch today?

Bread with smoked fish.

Do you eat breakfast?

Normally I do, but today I had no time.

Do you eat junk food every day?

No.

How’s your life going lately?

Okay again, but there were some setbacks.

Do you like the winter time?

I hate it.

Have you ever had to get your blood drawn?

Lol everyone should have it done once a year. When I was in the hospital, I had blood drawn every six hours.

Do like eating mashed potatoes?

I do, but with some sauce or butter.

Are you a good cook?

Decent, I’d say.

What is the most important thing to you?

Health.

Are you trying to avoid liking somebody at the moment?

I have no reason.

When was the last time someone put you on the spot?

Probably yesterday.

Do you lie about your age?

What’s the point even?

Have you ever been stung by a bee?

More than once.

Who was the last person you high fived?

Lol. I haven’t done it in, like, 20 years.

Who made you mad today?

Nobody? What a question.

Do you like whip cream?

Could be better.

Do you know how to swim?

No, I don’t. Yeah I was raised at the sea.

Are you afraid of falling in love?

...are you 12 or something?

Could you go a whole month without cursing?

I don’t think so.

Are you close to your mother?

Not much.

Are you close to your father?

Yes, I am.

Do you miss your past?

Sometimes, but not as a whole.

Are you any good at math?

Yes, more than average.

Do you look at the keyboard when you type?

Most of the time. I seem to have lost more coordination.

Who hugged you last?

My husband.

Who’s one person you can tell everything to?

My husband, and also my sister.

Do you keep things bottled up inside?

Yeah, I tend to.

Has anyone let you down lately?

Not someone, but something. My own brain, actually.

Do you call anyone by their last name?

I don’t anymore, but I know someone who calls her husband by his last name.

Have you ever been called a bad influence?

No, not really.

Do you have a lucky number?

No, I don’t.

What scares you the most?

Death.

What did you do today?

Been to Hasselt, I answered this already.

[mitigatedchaos]

[ kaziusklasterzoroaster ]

what is this checklist even used for trying to teach? none of these people are useful for restarting humanity!

Actually, we don't know anything about the other planet, its level of infrastructure, or how many other humans survived. So we don't know if we're restarting humanity, or if these are a dozen stubborn stragglers that decided to get on the ship at the last minute. We don't know what facilities the ship has, how long the journey will take, or what the level of medical technology on the other side is.

This intersectional trolley problem is a Rorschach Test - the participants, like trekwiz above, project their own assumptions onto it.

By drawing these assumptions to the surface, they can then be critically examined. This offers the opportunity to induce ideological change, but the nature and moral value of that change depend immensely on the instructor.

Someone of anarchist or post-rationalist leanings, or focused on software or hardware engineering, could question every participant who declined to ask for more information.

Someone of social justice leanings could focus on, for example, why someone might or might not pick the novelist with a disability - are we saying that fame means that people should live, or are we saying that people with disabilities are less valuable than able-bodied people?

The kind of person that can be drawn into this exercise in that way may not be able to mount a coherent defense, and if the instructor is trying to push towards their own ideology, that puts the participant on the back foot in terms of being able to assert their moral right to resist the new ideology.

But this version was probably written by someone who is less sophisticated and... well, they're not necessarily operating from a broad base of knowledge, as the apparent misuse of the Yin-Yang indicates.

I don't know that there's a single Native American who does not speak English left on the entire continent, barring people who are mute, victims of abuse, etc.

...and this is one reason why I brought up Rimworld.

Rimworld was developed by Tynan Sylvester, a man who is, based on information I won't get into, based. [2] It's a game about survival on a dangerous planet, but what any player of Rimworld would tell you is that the list of potential crew supplied by this exercise looks very similar to the starting characters generated by the game.

People with mental illnesses? People with missing limbs? Drug addicts? Old folks with lots of experience but frail bodies and bad backs? Veterans, racists, doctors? It's all there.

Almost all of them could have something to contribute to the colony. (Excepts pyromaniacs.) The game also imposes tough choices on player through raids, toxic smog, illnesses, and other events. Sometimes these might result in downstream conditions like famines - but if the player can maintain the right technologies, they may be able to overcome these challenges.

Among cognitively affluent PC gamers[1], the level of sophistication is already beyond what this course is trying to 'educate' people to.

[1] I don't know how seriously we can really treat such a study, but lol.

[2] ETA: "Based" is a statement of his political alignment and personal agency, not a positive moral judgment of his character. That is, based on some of the content in Rimworld's background, he has to be fairly right-wing.

[jackrrabbit]

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

[shanitani]

Hi! May I ask Todoroki accidentally forgetting his S/O's birthday, angst time until his S/O accept his apologies and he decided to spoil them (even tho their S/O does not want him to spend so much money on them... He still don't care lol) thanks! ♥️

contains : shoto x fem reader

includes: angst -> fluff

a: hi babe, ngl this made me get a bit sad bc I feel like he would Lowkey forget ur birthday but not to this extent yk like probably for the first hour of the day- anyways I’m rambling .. here you go <3 

Feeling the crisp morning air hit your face, you smiled before even opening your eyes. Snuggled in what felt like your boyfriend, was in actuality just your throw blanket. You looked around for a sudden moment, stuck in the back of your mind that maybe, just maybe he forgot your birthday. 

‘Maybe he’s just cooking breakfast’ You shook away your thoughts stretching out of bed to smell nothing. To see nothing but a flimsy note on the kitchen counter in scribbled drawn out writing “Had something come up at the agency, be back later - shoto”

You couldn’t say that you weren’t mad or that you didn’t feel a slight pull at your heartstrings, but Shoto was like this - he doesn’t show emotions well with language, more so physical touch. And, you knew what you were getting yourself into dating a pro hero. He let you know before hand how much he had to be gone no matter the instance, and you still stuck with him because he was one of a kind that you couldn’t just let pass up - that’s what made Shoto instantly fall in love with you.

So, you stuck to your promise of unconditional love no matter if he was wrapped in your arms, or messily throwing things in a suitcase to fly out for a emergency mission. You just wished the universe had been a little nice to you today, or at the least gotten an happy birthday at the end of the note.

Despite not being with your boyfriend, Mina had instantly hit you up asking to hang out at the bar later. So instead of sulking, you spent your afternoon with Mina - waiting patiently for your boyfriend to come home.

The afternoon passed, and he still wasn’t home. dropping you a quick message saying, “taking longer than expected, be home later tonight - don’t wait up.” don’t wait up.. was he forreal? or was this just he serious? you thought over and over again taking off the heels you were supposed to wear with Shoto to your birthday dinner.

You wanted to cry, but you didn’t. “Not on your birthday Y/N” you spoke out loud trying to surpass the tears fighting to come out. Instead, jumping in the shower to clear your mind from it all and sitting down on the couch and watch movies to pass the time. 

Hours clicked by, 10pm it stated on the clock. Your birthday was over, and your boyfriend was nowhere to be found, tears fought angrily to come out - and you couldn’t do anything but let them force their way out. You choked out a sob on the couch, feeling hopeless and letting your mind get the best of you.

Was he seeing another woman? did he forget? does he even love me anymore? I wouldn’t blame him... Am I not good enough?

---

“Yeah thanks for helping me with the Mission today, I know it was last minute.” Midoriya nervously smiled rubbing the back of his neck before the bi colored boy shrugged picking up the last of his belongings. “Sorry again, I really do owe you.” the two boys walked out of the agency about to part ways as Todoroki stood confused at why Midoriya felt so sorry this week - this was usual for him to have to leave last minute.

“What for? this is what I signed up for.” Todoroki began to open his car door, shuffling his hair back into place, “Well I tried Bakugo and Kirishima but they had their own mission to fufill, and Denki wasn’t suited right for this job. Didn’t want to call you on your girlfriends birthday y’know? seemed rude.” Todoroki stopped in his tracks, trying to calculate what day it was. He fumbled with his phone trying to see the date, It can’t be today... its not, Midoriya’s just tired.. right? he silently prayed Midoriya was wrong - until he wasn’t.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ve gotta go Midoriya okay?” The boy didn’t wait for response from the green haired boy, rushing home. ‘How can I be so fucking stupid’ he banged on the steering wheel, pushing on the gas pedal harder as he finally got to the shared apartment.

He opened the door, cringing at the bright heels he’s never seen before laying nicely by the door. Shoto rubbed his eyes with his hands - looking at the phone one more time. 11pm. the apartment was pitch black, slightly smelling like food you had previously cooked for you and your husband - that’s when guilt finally started to rush through his body, but he needed to see you - he couldn’t just not say anything.

He walked slowly through the living room door, hesitant on opening it and seeing a furious you. In the back of his mind he hoped you wouldn’t be so mad at him for this happening, but he knew the chances were slim. He opened the door only seeing more pitch black and static on the TV screen, his eyes softened to see you tugged closely onto the couch pillow. 

He inched closer to you finally taking in your looks, you had a black silk dress that slightly rose up from you sleeping, you hair was a mess - frizzy at the top. And he could tell you’ve been crying, seeing your puffed out cheeks and calmer state. He felt terrible, trying to find out how to face you. All you’ve ever done for him was be supportive, and he couldn’t even take a day off from his hectic life to spend time with the person he loves the most. 

Without thinking, he woke you up, inching you awake slowly to see you wake up in discomfort before looking at him. He smiled at you, teary eyed - but you couldn’t quite figure out why until it hit you that it was still the same day. “Hi baby, wake up we’re going somewhere.” “huh” you rubbed your eyes, feeling Shoto tug your arm up and into his arms

He leaned to your ear, whispering a small ‘i’m sorry, let me make it up to you.’ and before you could answer he opened the door, motioning you to come outside. You complied; seeing his emotional face look at you made your heart melt. He pulled you into the car, putting his hand on your thigh and starting the car. putting the radio on for background music there was a comfortable silence in the air. 

You finally pulled into a driveway, the highest level that looked over the Japan city that you liked so much. He pulled you out urging you to come to the edge and breathe. He knew that after small breakdowns you would usually come out here to get your mind off things, so he thought this was the perfect place to bring you - at least just for tonight.

His head hung low trying to figure out the words to say to you, he didn’t know how to apologize, and he wouldn’t be surprised nor mad if you wouldn’t accept it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad boyfriend.” he croaked out, with damp cheeks attempting to look into your eyes, he grabbed your hands subcontiously to stop his rapid heartbeat. You smiled at him, taking his head and putting it into your chest like he always liked. 

“It’s alright baby, you’re an amazing boyfriend. always will be my hero.” you hummed stroking his hair softly. you didn’t care about the date or the gifts, you cared about his presence, and it was before 12am. So technically, you got what you’ve wanted.

“It’s not, and i’ll try harder to be with you more.” he looked into your eyes finally, cupping your cheek. You smiled, “best birthday ever.” you smiled, kissing his lips that you’ve longed for all day. He was scared to at first, but soon drowned into your mouth - comfortable with your taste. You pulled back, fully relaxed and content, “baby?” he hummed in response. “You still didn’t say happy birthday to me.” you teased grinning as he playfully pushed you away from him only to bring you back into his chest closer, “happy birthday sweetheart.”

BONUS BECAUSE I NEED TO:

You awoken to the smell of pancakes and bacon, the sun shining warmly on your face making you sit up. You were awoken to food, presents, and a beautiful card placed on the left of your bed. Standing over you was your boyfriend, with messy hair and sweatpants that sat nicely in the middle of his V line making your cheeks heat - he never failed to look so adorable. 

“Good morning beautiful” he kissed your cheek, sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “Close your eyes.” you complied, feeling a small thin cold object grave over your neck, “Open.” you opened your eyes to see his phone handed to you to look at the object, it was a small gold necklace engraved to say “Todoroki” you smiled finding his eyes at yours, leaning in to kiss the boy.

“You’re already gonna have my last name, so for now this will do until I put a ring on that finger.” your cheeks grew incredibly hotter, “Thank you so much baby, it’s adorable.” you grinned placing down his phone and suffocating him once more in an endless amount of kisses to his face.

masterlist

[skywalkin-in-the-papes]

Hi again!! For the ship game, Finch from newsies (I know, shocking 😂). My MBTI / Enneagram is INFP 9w1. I love to read and write, learning history, especially my own (I work at an Acadian museum and absolutely adore it there, since I’m Acadian, hence the username. I’m really bad at explaining things, but they were a group of French settlers sent from France to Canada many years ago), to spend time with anything or anyone who genuinely enjoys my company — this definitely includes animals lol — and also, music. I could live on it. I dislike it when people are overbearing, schedules, feeling incapable, annoying background noises, and last minute changes. Also brothers who just don’t know when to leave things be *long, drawn out sigh*. And that’s it!

Hi!! Yes!! For sure!! So, since you threw Finch out here, I'm gonna write how I think your dynamic would go. So, don't take this super duper seriously because it's just my opinion. :)

So for starters, Finch probably doesn't know/didn't have much of an opportunity to learn to write super well but I could see him being a decent reader. Even if he's not super into books, he loves the calm that snuggling with you while you're reading a book brings. He probably is a little too antsy for books and just doesn't want to sit still for that long. Sitting or snuggling with you while you read is probably super calming to him and he enjoys it.

Same with the writing. He adores how your creative process works and loves watching you craft a story or a fanfiction. Does he have the patience for it? Probably not but he more than likely admires you for having the patience and talent to do it.

The history though. I could see him listening to you talk for hours about your history and just history in general. Your love of history encourages him to find a piece of history to learn about. Once he knows the history, he loves to share it with you what he's learned and what he likes about it. You stay up way too late talking about history but it's totally worth it!

Finch is a guy who really likes to be on the move and who worries easily. He has a sense of optimism though even if it's hard to see. Contrarily though, he's not afraid to get into a fight to protect what he stands for (and yes, this includes you). He's also not afraid to tell it like it is. Which helps you if you can get into a crappy situation with your friends or something.

Needless to say, you, being the INFP and 9w1 that you are, are a good calming person for Finch. You let Finch be himself but you also give Finch someone to protect and he likes that. He likes how chill you are and how you're fine with just snuggling on a couch watching a movie instead of going out and doing something exciting.

On the contrary though, he's also all for driving around and listening to music and singing kinda loud. Well, he likes to sing loud even if you don't. Lol. He thinks you adore his singing voice (I'll leave that up to you to decide if you like his voice or not). He's also down for chill drives though where you just turn on music and you each pick a song and just enjoy each other's taste in music.

Finch is conscious of your dislikes mostly. He tries to let you do your own thing and not be so invested in what you're doing that it's annoying. He's also mostly okay with not having a really busy schedule or any schedule (I feel the hating schedules thing though. I just hate having things to do in a day. Lol.) He tries to let you do things and figure them out yourself because he understands your need for autonomy.

Now that doesn't mean that he doesn't worry. He's not as bad as Davey but this boy does worry about you. Not too much though.

He's pretty good about not being the cause of annoying background noises. You typically hang out with him where he lives which means all of the other Newsies are there too so...well....sometimes annoying noises just happen.

And on a rare occasion, Finch will be entertained by the noises and participate but he doesn't start it because he doesn't want to annoy you unless he's trying to flirt with you.

Then he'll do anything just for some attention.

He's not huge on last minute changes either. Last minute changes in his mind aren't typically very well thought out and no one really takes into account everything that could happen. So, he's not really much of a fan of them either. Which means you guys typically come up with a date idea and stick with it.

When one of the boys won't quit bugging you about something, Finch will 100% tell them to leave it alone. And he gets..not scary angry/protective but the attractive kind of angry/protective.

As for affection, I could see Finch being as affectionate as you want him to be. It might come across as a bit overbearing because when he wants attention, he WANTS attention. Like, will hug you like a koala bear and refuse to let go. For the most part though, he's really respectful of you and your boundaries. He likes to give you hugs from behind. Like you'll just be working on your story or book and he just comes up behind you and hugs you.

He also likes to just randomly kiss your forehead or cheek as you're going about your day. It doesn't happen a lot because he understands that you probably don't want to get super affectionate in front of other people but he'll just drop a kiss on your forehead or cheek.

And if he's feeling particularly playful, he'll kiss the tip of your nose real quick.

All in all, he's a great guy who loves you and cares for you super deeply.

Hope you enjoyed!!

-Aisling

[unbridgeabledistances]

a ✨drunk and clingy ian✨ one-shot

okay so we all know that saint patrick’s day is a very arbitrary and somewhat meaningless holiday (at least in the u.s. lol)- but we also know that the gallaghers are incredibly fucking irish, so i am using this as an excuse to write some drunk and clingy gallavich fluff (bc i think we all need it!! or at least i do!!!!)

hope y’all enjoy<3

--

Mickey and Ian came in the door from their final weed security run of a way-too-chilly and grey March afternoon, kicking the slush off of their lace-up boots in a tired but comfortable silence. Mickey had been fantasizing for a good part of the afternoon about his usual afternoon ritual of collapsing onto the couch with a cold beer in his hand, and taking a long lazy nap while shitty game shows played on the TV in the background— but unfortunately, Debbie had other plans. Or so he realized when he turned the corner and his eyes were met with a forest of green and white streamers blanketing the living room, with Debbie determinedly balancing on a kitchen chair to hang them in the doorway.

Mickey did a double-take, shooting a glance at Ian and then back at the festive room again. What the fuck? He quickly racked his brain— there was no way he’d could’ve forgotten Franny’s birthday, that was in the summer—and he was pretty sure that Liam’s birthday was in the winter sometime; so whose the fuck was it? Too many goddamn Gallaghers to keep track of. Finally, Mickey admitted his own defeat.

“Is it someone’s fuckin’ birthday or something?”

Mickey flashed another gaze to Ian in confusion as he said it, hoping that Ian would silently mouth whatever the occasion was to him, or at the very least raise his eyebrows and goad Mickey enough to jog his memory to remember whatever the fuck today was— but Ian just gave an easygoing grin as he took in the room’s decor and let out a laugh.

“Debbie, isn’t this kind of going overboard?”

Debbie looked over her shoulder from where she was now taping a crudely scribbled picture of a shamrock, most likely drawn by Franny, up onto the wall.

“What? If it’s our last Saint Patrick’s Day in the house, the least we can do is go out with a bang,” she answered nonchalantly, and continued fixating on hanging up Franny’s drawing.

Mickey inadvertently let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. Fucking Gallaghers.

“I’m sorry, fucking Saint Patrick’s Day?”

Ian’s lips formed a playful smile and he elbowed Mickey between the ribs. “Yeah, Mick, Saint Patrick’s Day— also known as the unironically most important day of the Gallagher family calendar year. I can’t believe I forgot it was today, with all the work stuff we had going on.”

At first Mickey couldn’t tell if Ian was actually being serious— but in the same second he decided that it didn’t really matter, since Ian’s eyes were bright and shining and there was this weird giddy grin he was sporting from ear to ear, like he was absolutely fucking delighted that it was Saint Patrick’s Day, instead of just a normal goddamn Wednesday. Fucking softie.

And as endearing as that was, Mickey still couldn’t let him off that easily. “There’s no way I’m celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. It’s a fake holiday for yuppie rich kids to go bar hopping—I’m not getting involved in any of your Gallagher bullshit.”

Ian’s grin just grew, like he knew exactly what Mickey was doing. “Hey, you married into this family. If anything, this is your own fault.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes, then continued to unlace his boots and throw them by the doorway.

“The fuck do you do anyways, aside from getting trashed?”

Ian put a hand on Mickey’s upper back to steady himself as he pulled his own shoes off. “I think getting trashed pretty much sums up the festivities. Today’s practically a holy day of observance for Frank, and I’m assuming Debbie’s also just gonna use today as an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday.”

“Hell yeah I am!” Debbie called from where she was putting the chair back in the kitchen.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “I knew Gallaghers were white trash, but I had no idea you were this bad.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have any Ukranian white trash holidays or whatever?”

Mickey held back a bitter laugh. Yeah, they had “holidays,” in the form of days when Terry was celebratorily drunk enough to leave them the fuck alone for 24 hours, rare occasions when his looming shadow was out of the house and a festive lightness bled in in its place. They sort of celebrated Christmas, which was mostly just associated with too many painful memories of Terry ripping open the presents before he or his brothers had the chance, and too many painful stings associated with him having one too many drinks as they sat quietly inside the sagging house and pretended to be a big happy family for one night a year.

But never anything as gaudy and deliberate and ridiculous as observing a C-list, Irish-American holiday just for the hell of it, just for fun—which yes, was probably fueled by Frank’s alcoholism more than anything else, but also made something swell in Mickey’s insides that he didn’t quite know how to place.

And Mickey didn’t know how to let out that entire internal monologue to Ian while Debbie was standing within earshot. “Nah, man. Milkoviches don’t really do… holidays.”

Ian snaked a hand around Mickey’s back, giving his shoulder a squeeze, a grounding touch. He gets it.

“Well, get ready to have your mind blown, Mr. Gallavich, because we’re about to celebrate this hallowed occasion Gallagher style.”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, but let himself lean into Ian’s touch, lean his weight ever-so-slightly against Ian’s chest that was pressed behind him by the doorway. And, okay— as stupid as this was, maybe there was something sort of warm and solid about tradition, about hand-scribbled shamrocks and streamers on the wall, about having days to celebrate just because you wanted to, just because you could…

Just then Franny came hurdling into the room, wearing a baggy green t-shirt and a face-painted shamrock adorning her cheek.

Ian’s face lit up when she stopped in front of them. “Hey Franny! Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!”

Franny held out two bottles of beer to Ian and Mickey from where she had been hiding them behind her back.

“Mommy said I should give these to you when you came home!”

Mickey smirked, carefully taking the bottles from Franny’s outstretched hands. “Thanks, kiddo.”

And if all celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day took was knocking down a few beers on a weekday afternoon—well, Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that.

**

Of course, hours later Mickey realized how severely he’d underestimated Debbie’s enthusiasm— after lounging around the house waiting for the stream of Gallaghers to trickle in from their various daily activities, Debbie had rounded everyone up and they migrated to the Alibi as the sun was setting, where they’d met up with Kev and V and Lip and Tami, who (thank fucking god) looked as vaguely confused and fully apathetic about this whole “Saint Patrick’s Day” situation as Mickey did.

Now it was late, and Mickey was leaning against the bartop of the Alibi sipping a thick, foamy glass of Guinness, which was as close to embracing whatever-the-fuck Irish heritage his husband had as he was possibly going to get.

All of the Gallaghers were here, swirling around the room—Debbie had put on some sort of peppy music as Kev poured everyone drinks, and a couple of other Southside neighbors had heard the bass thrumming and joined the ruckus. The room wasn’t too crowded, but it was pleasantly full of bodies and chatter— Kev had bought bunches of shiny, tacky green mardi gras beads for everyone to wear, and the air in the room was festive and bordering on sloppy in a way that felt very different from how Mickey had envisioned this evening would go.

Mickey was pacing himself, because it was a Wednesday for fuck’s sake— but his husband was an entirely different story. Between the beers at home and the various drinks Debbie had been siphoning into his hands all night, Ian was teetering on the drunkest Mickey had seen him in years—which partially made the tiniest spark of trepidation start to creep into Mickey’s bloodstream, a spark that he immediately extinguished. It was one night, the first in a long time— Ian deserved to have some fun.

And he definitely, definitely was having fun— casually dancing with Debbie and Sandy and whoever else would humor him, grinning with red-hot cheeks and bright eyes— from across the room Mickey could tell how warm his skin would be if he pressed a hand against it, how flushed. Mickey wasn’t really in the mood for dancing, or whatever the fuck stumbling around and chatting and making friends Drunk Ian was up to for the evening, and he was perfectly content to nurse his drink at the bar— which is why it surprised him when Ian pulled himself out of the crowd, slightly stumbling over his own feet, and made the way across the room to where Mickey was leaning at the bar, immediately boxing him in and putting his hands square on Mickey’s waist. Mickey almost imperceptibly let in a sharp breath.

Ian looked down at him, all smiles and shiny eyes— when he spoke the scent of sweet, hot liquor danced on Mickey’s face and all he wanted was to be closer, to breathe it in.

“Are you having fun?” Ian’s right hand traced up Mickey’s side, then back down to its hold on his hipbone.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You and your leprechaun family don’t mess around, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled a lazy, tipsy smile, and pecked Mickey’s cheek before Mickey could be embarrassed about it.

“D’you wanna dance with me?”

Ian’s hands slid off of his hips and entangled with Mickey’s hands that had been hanging limply at his sides, walking backwards so their fingers were laced together an arm’s distance apart.

Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll leave showing the Irish pride to you and the rest of the drunken Gallaghers.”

Ian registered Mickey’s words and opened his mouth to reply, just as Debbie pulled Ian over by the arm.

“Stop sulking with Mickey and do more shots with me!”

Jesus Christ. Ian was going to be wrecked when their alarm went off for work in the morning, and Mickey was starting to debate if he was going to need to have a talking-to with Debbie about the appropriate amount of “Saint Patrick’s Day fun” they were allowed to partake in next year— but for now Ian was happy, and he could stomach one night of hardcore festivities.

Mickey stood at the bar for a while, watching Ian and Debbie get progressively more flushed as they bobbed through the crowd— and then, when Debbie had found some other victim in their mid-twenties to get even more shitfaced with, Ian made his way across the room to Mickey again, plopping onto the barstool beside him and heaving his bodyweight onto Mickey’s left side, burying his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. Mickey wrapped a tentative arm around Ian’s waist, trying to hold him up from slouching off of the barstool.

“M’tired.” Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath dancing on his collarbone as he slurred out the words, and felt Ian’s eyelids flutter shut against the side of his neck.

Ian was always giving Mickey measured casual touches, wherever they were—but it was so exceedingly rare that Ian fully let himself go like this, let himself be drunk and happy and just crumple into Mickey, without worrying about holding anyone else up. It felt new, but it felt good— Mickey let the solid weight of his husband’s body leaning against his press him down, rooting him into the Alibi’s sticky floors, feeling the clammy skin of Ian’s forehead that was solidly lodged into the side of Mickey’s neck.

He hated to admit it, but in that moment, something in Mickey was also frozen solid— as much as Mickey had grown in the past few years, something about these situations, about PDA or whatever, still made Mickey feel like he was treading water—like he was fighting to stay afloat while everyone’s eyes were on him, and the strong current was only lifted when he and Ian were in the dark safety of their bedroom. If Mickey was drunk at a bar and sloppily leaning onto Ian, there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that Ian would hold him, would gingerly touch him and caress him and do more to him than just prop him up— but something in Mickey still hesitated and flashed with warning signs in a crowded room full of people.

But Ian was still breathing hot on Mickey’s neck— so Mickey thought about what Ian would do, if it was Mickey who was tipsy and slumped on his shoulder. He tentatively raised his arm from where it was lying limply by his side, and started to run soothing circles onto Ian’s t-shirt, just above his hipbone where Mickey’s hand was holding Ian up by his waist.

Ian hummed in acknowledgement of the touch— and then he pressed a tender kiss to the crook of Mickey’s neck, where his face was buried. Fuck. Mickey just pulled him in closer, gently tugging Ian’s torso in by his belt loop to hold him steady.

Ian hummed again, then started to press kisses up and down Mickey’s neck. “You smell good.”

Mickey’s heart started to beat a little quicker, his blood running hotter than usual—and Ian couldn’t fucking do this now, while the rest of his family was milling around and dancing and wearing fucking mardi gras beads while flaunting their Gallagher pride.

Ian lifted his forehead off of Mickey’s shoulder, and gently bit at the underside of Mickey’s jaw—and Mickey thought he was going to combust right there, on the spot, in a room full of Gallaghers pressed against the bartop at the Alibi by his very drunk husband.

And in an act of excruciatingly inconvenient timing, Lip sidled up to the bar and sat on the barstool on Mickey’s other side, nursing what Mickey assumed (and hoped) was a diet Coke in a beer glass.

“Hey there, Mick. And, uh, Ian.”

Ian looked up from where he was very engrossed in continuing to nuzzle the opposite side of Mickey’s neck, and glared at Lip from across Mickey’s chest.

“Go away, Lip.” Ian collapsed his head back onto Mickey’s shoulder and closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s neck like a fucking boa constrictor. Mickey snaked an arm up around Ian’s back, holding him steady on the wobbly barstool.

Lip held back a laugh as he sipped his drink, then took a drag of the cigarette he was holding. “Seems like Ian’s done enough drinking to make our ancestors proud.”

Mickey took a sip of his own beer with his free hand. “Debbie made sure of that.”

Lip raised his eyebrows. “Damn. Guess we’d better keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t also have the Frank gene.”

Mickey grunted in acknowledgement, then took another sip of his beer, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Ian’s head shifted slightly on his shoulder— and Mickey realized he probably needed to haul Ian home ASAP, before he was even more sleepy and incoherent and unable to lug down the street.

Lip noticed Ian’s movement on Mickey’s shoulder and smirked. “I’ve gotta say, I’ve never seen Ian being this clingy before. Even with other guys—no offense, Mick— he usually stayed pretty contained. And you guys aren’t usually too into the PDA department.”

Mickey shrugged, trying not to jostle the heavy weight of where Ian’s head was hanging. Lip was right—he and Ian never really were all over each other, especially not like this, outside of the context of their room, when they were very much always all over each other.

Lip kept studying them, and the corner of his mouth eventually ticked upward. “It’s good. He’s definitely not this… comfortable with anyone else. Including me, which is definitely saying something.”

It felt weird, to get something like what felt like Lip’s full blessing at a raunchy Gallagher party months after he and Ian had gotten married—but that was also exactly what it felt like was happening.

Lip’s eyes suddenly darted across the room, to where Tami was holding up his coat and gesturing to the door. Lip rose from the barstool, stubbed out his cigarette, and put out a hand to clap Mickey on the shoulder as a goodbye.

“Catch up with you later, Mick.” Lip reached out and jokingly tousled Ian’s hair. “Make sure this one doesn’t hate himself too much tomorrow morning.”

Mickey smirked. Ian was practically asleep and drooling on his shoulder, his breathing turned steady—Mickey reached a hand up to card through his hair, then gently shrugged his shoulder to get Ian’s head to rise from where it was jammed on his neck.

Ian raised his head, his eyes bleary and confused at first, then softening around the edges when he met Mickey’s gaze.

“Alright, let’s get you home, carrottop.”

[motherjoel]

get her (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: you finally get a boyfriend after pining for spencer for years, but spencer is suspicious of him

a/n: idek how i got this idea but i hope you guys like it lol. also we all know how sassy spencie gets when he’s upset afbjvbadas

wc: 2.3k

warnings/includes: some language, angst & fluff

“Someones looking chipper today,” said Emily as you walked into the bullpen with a smile on your face.

“What, just cause we catch serial killers for a living, I can’t have a good night?” you asked and shot her a wink. This caught JJ’s attention from a desk over.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who’s the guy?” she asked, opening the files on her desk. You blushed for a moment before deciding to indulge them in the details.

“If you must know, his name is Justin and we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now,” you smiled, giggling at your friends reactions. Garcia was nearby, pouring herself a mug of coffee.

“Wait, my ears were burning. Are we talking about love?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee and leaning on your desk.

“I wouldn’t call it love, but it’s something,” you wiggled your eyebrows. Spencer and Derek entered the bullpen together, walking over to the crowd you had assembled.

“Woah, how come I wasn’t invited to the party?” Derek asked, setting his bag down at his desk and joining the rest of you. Spencer lingered near your desk, curious about the gathering as well.

“Well, Y/N here has a special someone…” Emily said, raising her eyebrows. You didn’t notice Spencer visibly deflate from beside you, but JJ did. Spencer had confided in her about the crush he had on you- he never planned to act on it, but now that he knew you were taken, he regretted keeping it to himself. Spencer was almost thankful when Hotch left his office to announce a case. He didn’t want to hear the “dirty details” (as Garcia called them) with this Justin guy. What kind of name is that, anyway, he thought. Everyone stood up to make their way to the conference room before Hotch stopped them.

“A child was declared missing after her family was killed. Time is of the essence, we will debrief on the plane,” he said. Everyone grabbed their go bags and you shot a quick text to Justin, letting him know you wouldn’t be home for a few days. Spencer noticed you smiling at your phone and looked away, trying his best to ignore it. 

After debriefing, everyone was scattered throughout the jet to go over their files and come up with theories. You normally sat with Spencer- he was your best friend in the office- so you made your way to the seat across from him. Although he was your best friend, you hadn’t mentioned Justin to him before today. You’d had feelings for Spencer when you joined the team, but you never thought he would feel the same way so you did your best to move past said feelings. They still lingered, however, when you fell asleep basically on top of each other on many jet rides home, or when he would bring you your favorite coffee on fridays. You decided that the best thing to do was to get in a relationship, which you did. Spencer didn’t look up when you sat across from him on the jet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before,” you said, feeling bad that you kept a relationship from your best friend.

“Hm? Who?” Spencer asked, feigning cluelessness. 

“Justin, my-uh, my boyfriend,” you said. Spencer tensed.

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything,” he shrugged and looked back down at his files. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but he was acting weird. 

“I know, I just feel like… you’re my best friend, and I should have told you about him,” you said, suddenly feeling foolish. Your use of “best friend” seemed to warm Spencer up.

“Really, Y/N. It’s fine, as long as you’re happy,” he said with a soft smile. You nodded and silently opened the manila folder, returning focus to the missing girl.

-

You had been working the case nonstop for hours without any leads, and you were feeling hopeless. After a long time of staring blankly at an evidence board, you excused yourself to call your boyfriend. Once you stepped outside, you hit call, only to be sent straight to voicemail. That’s weird you thought. You didn't want to bother him if he was busy, so you sent him a text.

hey, it’s a pretty rough case and I just wanted to call and talk to you. call me when you get the chance <3

You hit send and walked back inside, visibly deflated. Spencer took notice of your disappointed slouch, but remained focused on the profile, as did you. A call from Garcia came in after you had all been sitting in a stumped silence for a good 20 minutes.

“Guys, there was a little girl who just called the police, she claimed to be Sammie Smith,” said Garcia, voice laced with concern. 

“Were you able to triangulate the call?” asked Hotch.

“Unfortunately no, but let me play it for you. It sounds like there's some sort of train in the background,” Garcia said, proceeding to play the audio. You all listened intently.

“Spence, how many trains go through the geographic profile?” you asked, walking over to the map Spencer was looking at and leaning down next to him, unintentionally pressing your chest to the side of his arm.

“Um, just one, but the unsub could be keeping her anywhere along the tracks,” Spencer said, ignoring the feeling of your warmth. 

“Garcia, can you play it again,” asked Prentiss, leaning on the table.

“Sure thing.” You all listened intently. 

“It sounds like the train stops during the recording- maybe she’s being kept near the station? Garcia, what’s the address of Sammie’s uncle?” you asked, thinking about a possible lead.

“Let me see… it’s 327 Lavender Road… which is a block from one of the train stations in the geographic profile,” she said urgently.

“Thanks Garcia,” Prentiss said as you all raced out of the conference room and into your SUVs. 

-

The case was successful- or about as successful as catching a serial killer could be. You had saved Sammie’s life and she had an aunt across the country who would care for her. As you all piled onto the jet, you checked your phone again for a text from Justin. Nothing. You sat with Spencer on the couch, taking a deep sigh.

“He still hasn’t texted you back?” Spencer asked, looking between you and your phone. 

“How did you know?” you asked, shoving your phone into your pocket.

“Well, you left the conference room yesterday and you came back discouraged, and you’ve been constantly checking your phone since then. Basic profiling,” he said, pulling a book out of his bag.

“Hey, whatever happened to the moratorium on profiling each other,” you said with a raised eyebrow. Spencer shrugged.

“I don’t know, I was just skeptical of this Justin guy. I mean, maybe there was a reason you didn’t tell any of us about him until now,” he said nonchalantly. You felt a little sting.

“Spencer, don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous? I mean, you didn’t tell any of us about Maeve,” you said.  Spencer snapped his eyes back up to you. You felt bad bringing up his old scars but you needed to defend yourself.

“What’s this got to do with Maeve? At least she returned my calls,” he said, more angry than before.

“Spencer, why are you being like this?” you asked, getting the attention from the other team members now.

“Why am I being like this? I wasn’t the one who took a break from our job to call a boyfriend that won't even call me back,” he snapped. His eyes widened a little when he realized what he had just said. He had hurt your feelings. You stood up, tears brimming in your eyes. “Y/N, wait-” he started.

“No, I get it. I’m just gonna sit over there,” you said, grabbing your things and moving to the opposite end of the jet next to Emily. Spencer watched you walk away and he had never felt more guilty. He looked at Morgan who was sitting nearby and witnessed the whole fight. 

“What do you have against Y/N dating?” Morgan asked, moving to sit next to Spencer. He seemed to already know the answer.

“Don’t make me say it,” Spencer put his head in his hands. Morgan clapped his shoulder, laughing lightly.

“Reid, we’ve all seen you two together. You guys cuddle on the jet home after cases. Cuddle. Spencer ‘I don’t shake hands’ Reid is tangled up with a girl he doesn’t even call his girlfriend,” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“She has a boyfriend Morgan. I’m in love with her and she’s-she’s taken,” Reid said, more quietly now. Derek widened his eyes.

“Damn, this ain’t no puppy love then. You’re in love with her?” he asked, taking on a more concerned tone. Spencer nodded his head, resting his chin on his hand and looking at you, trying to get some sleep in the uncomfortable chair. You probably would’ve slept better next to him. 

“Then you gotta get her,” Morgan said before standing up and walking back to his original seat, putting headphones on. Spencer thought about what Derek had said, but decided that he would wait a bit. He wasn’t the type to just “get her.” With one last look at you shifting in your sleep, Spencer opened his book and tried to read, being only plagued with thoughts of you the entire ride home.

-

You exited the jet even more tired than you were before, if it was possible. After fighting with Spencer, you just wanted to see Justin. You wanted to prove to yourself that he was real, that he was a good guy. So, the second you got back to the office, you hopped onto the metro and took the train to his apartment, saying quick goodbyes to most of the team. Spencer not included. You walked up to his door and gave a knock, which was met without a reply. You tried again before wiggling his doorknob a bit. It was unlocked, which was odd for him. You began to worry a bit, so you decided to go inside and check it out. Your gun was drawn, just a precaution, when you heard screaming coming from his bedroom. You ran quickly to his room before bursting inside, pointing your gun at the source of the noise. Or, sources.

He was on his bed, presumably naked, under the sheets. Next to him was a woman you didn’t recognize, similarly naked. You opened your mouth in shock, slowly lowering your gun.

“So this is why you weren’t answering my text,” you said, still in a state of shock.

“Y/N, I-” Justin began.

“Nope. Nuh uh, I’m good, I’m… I’m gonna go,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. As you stormed out of the apartment building, you walked and walked until you had finally stopped crying. You felt so stupid. And you were lost. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone and called the first number that came to mind.

“Hey, uh I’m lost and… can you pick me up?” you asked, sniffling a bit.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way,” Spencer said before hanging up. You sat down on the sidewalk and sent him your location. He lived nearby, so it only took a few minutes for him to arrive. Once he saw you, he stopped his car and got out, sitting next to you on the ground. You sniffled back a few tears.

“I found out why he wasn’t answering my calls,” you said, fiddling with a pebble you found on the ground. Spencer looked at you, waiting for you to continue. “Turns out I wasn’t the only woman he was fucking,” you said, standing up angrily. Spencer winced at your harsh language. You started to cry again, this time from anger. “But I’m okay!” you said pacing for a bit.

“Don’t lie to me,” Spencer said, watching you warily.

“I mean, god! How could I be so stupid to think I had finally found someone?” you asked angrily, repeatedly kicking a lamp post. 

“Y/N…” Spencer stood up and walked over to you.

“No, I’m an idiot!” you yelled, angry tears streaming down your face. Kick, kick kick. When kicking wasn’t enough to satisfy you, your fists began to bang on it repeatedly. Poor lamp post.

“Y/N stop!” Spencer said, trying to grab your fists. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, gently grabbing your wrists and turning you to face him. You took one look at his face and collapsed into his embrace, both of you sinking to the ground as he held you and shushed you, whispering confirmations in your ear. “Just breathe, breathe,” he said softly, stroking your back. Once you had calmed down, he spoke again. “Hey, look at me,” he said, and you did, looking up at his sympathetic face. “You deserve someone who values you,” he said softly.

“Like who?” you looked down at your entwined hands, heart drumming against your chest. 

“Like… like me,” he confessed, eyes flickering down to your lips. You slowly removed your hands from his and put them on the sides of his face, gazing into his sparkling eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” you said softly. As if to prove his point, Spencer leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, tasting your salty tears. You pulled away after a moment, savoring the way he tasted.

“You deserve everything,” Spencer said before kissing you on the forehead. You giggled and pulled him in by his tie, slamming your lips together again, this time with more intensity. He was surprised at first, but his hands quickly found their way into your hair as he moved in synchronicity with you, eventually pulling away for air.

“I love you Y/N, I always have,” he said, breathlessly.

“I love you too, Spencer Reid.”

-

taglist: @rigatonireid​, @yesimaunicorn​, @aworldoffandoms​

[raeloganthesonic06fangirl]

Okay you're the Quackerjack expert so I trust you: Does Quackerjack actually ever wield a hammer? Because I swear that he does at one point but it might be because a lot of people have drawn him with one at least once (including myself) so does he in any media? Or have I been absorbing too much lovely fan content and can't tell what's canon anymore

I'd honestly call myself an Enthusiast than a Expert on the subject, since there's still plenty of information to pick up, but thank you~ ☺️

I'd have to say that the first incident where we see him with a hammer would be in "Jailbird" when he's seen breaking rocks at the Maximum Security Supervillain Jail, but this is more akin to a squeaky toy hammer than what you might be familiar with:

Especially because it makes an audible squeak sound when it hits the rocks, implying the whole thing is either plastic or rubber and doesn't do much for breaking the rocks, but he seems like he's having a good time there regardless.

Also, it should be noted that "Jailbird" (aired in 1992) is QuackerJack's last animated appearance before Ducktales 2017. So this is like the only time we see him in animated form with a hammer.

The next known instance of a hammer wielding I can think of right off the bat is in "The Duck Knight Returns" arc for the 2011 comics:

In which QuackerJack whips out a simplistic wooden mallet to lay waste to Taurus Bulba's (mahogany?) CEO desk in a concentrated rage.

This mallet only appears for this event, aside from a cameo via hologram in an exclusive short introduction comic from the Definitively Dangerous Edition, the omnibus of the 2011 comics:

The Joe Books Revival comics did have this one singular mini mallet shown in QuackerJack one singular proper appearance before the comic was canned:

But that's more of a working man's mallet and not the comically large.

The reason probably why it's set in our brains as making sense is probably because we're accustomed to seeing another well known and popular jester themed character that wields a mallet as well. You might have heard of her, lol

Considering that Harley Quinn made her debut about a year after QuackerJack did (yeah, QuackerJack was a thing like a year before Harley Quinn came about as a background character, true story), but close enough to be roughly the same era, and a lot of us fans were little kiddos back in the day, and the amount of ways Darkwing and Batman can intersect, I wouldn't be surprised if this was a case of accidental self induced Mandela Effect because we just collectively merged the idea of "Jester Character Swinging a Hammer Around" as one thing.

I'd say that QuackerJack's most iconic weaponry would definitely be the Chattering Teeth

[fansofvow]

Interview with Eve Golden Woods!

Many of you know who is Eve is. She's a writer and artist, a part of Dreamfeel studios whose beautiful game If Found won Best LGBTQ Narrative and Best LGBTQ Indie game at the first ever Gayming Awards presented by EA games. I am really excited I had the chance to ask Eve some questions about herself, her time at Lovestruck and her creative process.

Congratulations on the two Gayming Awards (Best LGBTQ Narrative, Best LGBTQ Indie Game) for "If Found" from your game studio, Dreamfeel. What was the inspiration behind making the game?

If Found... was a game that emerged out of a collaboration between Llaura McGee, the founder of Dreamfeel, and artist Liadh Young. Liadh's background is as a comic artist, and so when they started working together Llaura had the idea of showing off Liadh's art by making a diary game, and using an erasing mechanic she had previously developed to let the player move through the diary in a fun way. By the time I came on board at the start of 2019, the game had already been in development for a while, so in some ways my work on that game was similar to the work I did for Voltage, because it was taking existing characters and concepts and writing a lot of scripts for them. Unlike Voltage, though, my work for Dreamfeel was a lot more collaborative and I had a lot more creative input. I really enjoy taking something and helping to make it the best version of itself that it can possibly be, but I was also really happy that I got to reflect a lot of my own experiences in If Found. Llaura and I both grew up on the west coast of Ireland, and although If Found... isn't autobiographical for either of us, it was definitely really meaningful to be able to tell a story that reflected our own experiences of growing up as queer teens in a similar kind of environment. Since the game came out we've had fans reach out to us and tell us that they also connected to the experiences of the main characters, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes me feel like I achieved everything I wanted to.

You are a writer and a visual artist. Does one come easier to you than the other?

I used to think of art and writing as talents, and I always felt like my art was at a very mediocre level (that's probably still true, lol). So when I was younger I focused a lot more on writing. It was only later that I started genuinely trying to improve as an artist, but when I did, I think I had a much healthier mindset, and approached it as a skill I could learn with patience and effort. Because of that, even though I still have a lot more confidence in my writing, I find art more fun and relaxing, and I don't stress about it as much.

Did you always know you would follow a creative path?

Kind of? Both my parents are artists, and I grew up surrounded by artists and writers, so it was something that was always very familiar and accessible to me. On the other hand, I didn't exactly have a clear idea of how to make it into a career, or what kind of work would be involved. But there's never been a point in my life where I wasn't doing something creative, even if it was only writing fanfiction.

What did your path to working professionally as a writer/artist look like?

I did a creative writing masters in college, but after that I spent years teaching English as a second language. That was really fun and I got to live abroad, but it was so busy and tiring that I didn't have time to do any writing outside of the occasional fanfic. I only started to take art seriously again when I became interested in games and comics as ways of telling stories. I did some critical writing, which led me to speak at a few local events and get involved in zine fairs. That was how I met Llaura, the director and lead of the Dreamfeel studio, and it's also what gave me the confidence to start applying for actual writing jobs.

Is there any work of art, visual or written, that you look to for inspiration?

So many! I try to read and watch as widely as I can, although there are touchstones I always return to, like the works of Ursula Le Guin and Terry Pratchett. Right now I feel very passionate about the actual play podcast Friends at the Table, which manages to combine really thoughtful worldbuilding and storytelling with cool, fun characters and great action scenes. I'm also reading a book called The Memory Police by Youko Ogawa, which has extremely beautiful prose.

Do you have a favorite piece of your own art, whether it is something you’ve drawn, a screenshot of something you’ve written or something else?

My favourite piece of art is usually whatever I finished most recently (I think that's true for a lot of people). Especially with visual art, once a bit of time has gone by you look back on it and start to notice all your mistakes, which is very annoying. But actually I do still really like the first piece of Fiona fanart I did last year. I managed to use some effects to give it a kind of nineties anime quality that I find really fun, and I think it conveys an emotion pretty effectively. That's always one of the hardest things to predict with visual art, whether the different parts will come together to create the exact mood you're looking for.

I also really like the compass I did for Bycatch. Krissy (@xekstrin) was the one who suggested filling it with fingernails, which was such a good, gross idea! As soon as I heard that I knew it was perfect and that I had to try and draw it.

Many people who read this blog know you as a writer for Lovestruck. When you look back on your time there, what stands out in your mind?

Lovestruck was very important to me when I first started because it was my first ongoing, regular, paid writing work. It gave me a lot of confidence and helped me to get into the habit of writing consistently and rapidly, which is a really useful skill to have. I know I was right to leave when I did, though, because I am just brimming with energy to work on my own projects, and channeling that power into something that you can't control will always end up disappointing you. Also, I made a ton of incredible friends, through Lovestruck itself but then even more so through VOW (@vowtogether), and that is more than worth all the difficult parts.

Is there any character that you would have liked a crack at writing?

Oh gosh, what a fun question! There are so many, but one I do sometimes think about is Axia, just because I know there are a bunch of fans who want her route, and because I had fun writing her as a villain in Zain's route. I can see in my head the shadow of a storyline that takes place after Zain's route is over, where she's in prison and trying to understand how she lost the battle with Zain and MC. I think there's, like, a gap there, where you could see her downfall forcing her to reconsider her assumptions about power, and that could build into a very interesting redemption story. But maybe it's for the best I never got to do that, because I would have wanted full creative control over it, and also I think the story in my head is very different to the sexy, in control, menacing version of Axia that her fans enjoy.

Do you have any upcoming projects you can talk about?

Most of my current work is under NDA, but I will say that I'm doing something very exciting with other VOW members that we should be able to talk about soon(ish). Maybe I can even give a little teaser... It's not a game, but it is something you can read, and my part involves cakes, swamps, and a museum.

Do you have a favorite quote or song lyric?

It's a big long, but there's a section from The Dispossessed by Ursula le Guin that has stayed with me ever since I read it:

"For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was ever piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think."

It's such a profoundly radical way of imagining the world, so different to everything I was raised with, but whenever I think about it I feel like I can see something very beautiful and powerful that I hope to come closer to understanding some day.

And of course, "Solidarity forever, the union makes us strong."

I was a big fan of the show Inside the Actor’s Studio. Host James Lipton asked every single guest the same 10 concluding questions. I’ve picked 3 of them:

-What is your favorite word?

My favourite word: for sound, I like words you can really roll around on your tongue. Chthonic, alabaster, insinuation. For meaning, I think simple words that encapsulate big concepts have a kind of power to them. We use them so often we forget how big they are, how much weight they really have, but they give us the space to imagine new possibilities. Love. Freedom. Revolution.

-What is your least favorite word?

I've heard that "moist" is a lot of people's least favourite word but it doesn't actually bother me. My least favourite word is probably one where I feel like the sound doesn't match the meaning. One of the Irish words for rain is báisteach, which I feel has a much weightier and more onomatopoeic sound than rain. Rain is just very flat and uninteresting.

-What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Oh, so many! I love history, and I think being a historian/archaeologist would be fascinating. Or something that had a physical component to it, like being a potter or a carpenter. I don't think I'd be any good, but I'd love to take the time to learn.

What would be your advice to anyone who wants to pursue a creative career?

All the work you do matters. Even the failed experiments, the things you hate when they're finished. It all helps to make you better. Also, creative career paths are often really unexpected, so chase any opportunity that seems remotely interesting. Don't work for free for anyone who can afford to pay, but work for yourself and put it somewhere. On a blog, twitter, whatever. You'd be amazed how many people get noticed and get offered opportunities because of something they made in their spare time. You'll probably have to work another job for a long time, so don't be hard on yourself if you're too tired to devote much energy to creative work. Try to make art consistently, but don't feel like that has to mean every day. Don't chase after celebrities. Make friends with your peers.

[haleigh-sloth]

I'm new to manga and while I'm proficient at analysing other forms of literature, I'm finding it difficult to analyse manga, probably because of the artistic component. Do you have any advice on what to focus on when reading manga in order to analyse it well? If this question is too vague, you can disregard it, I am only asking because I find your analyses to be excellent.

Omg 🥺 It’s not vague! It seems like we’re opposites. I’m not well versed in literature, or writing in general, but I am an artist--which is why I love manga. I’ve been reading manga since I was 11 and I’m 24 now (I’m a nerd), so I’ve gotten pretty decent at knowing which panels the mangaka wants us to pay attention to! I’ll give some of the best examples I can think of off the top of my head. 

So obviously you know by now that manga is all black and white. We do get some colored sheets every now and then that also have meaning (I’ll link to that post later), and I love when the authors give us those, but for the most part it’s all black and white. If you’re going to try to grasp the tones and meanings behind certain scenes in manga, the BEST advice I can give you is to pay extra attention to the shading more than anything else. Let me use the best examples I can think of when it comes to shading.

So look at Hawks here. Hawks is a hero, yes? A good guy, right? 

Well...does he look like a good guy here? I’d say no. This use of shading was absolutely deliberate on Horikoshi’s part. I think we can all agree this was a really dark moment for Hawks (no pun intended). He stooped to a level nobody ever wanted him to, a level Hawks himself never wanted to. This scene being drawn this way tells us that we as readers are NOT supposed to approve of Hawks’s actions here. And NOW, because of the way this scene was drawn for us, all we are left to assume is that something bad is coming for Hawks. Basically, the consequences of his actions have not hit him yet. So even though we haven’t seen those consequences yet (it’s really frustrating waiting ngl), we know that we can expect there to be something dark in Hawks’s future. Many other meta bloggers predict his death, him dying heroically in order to make up for killing Twice. And man, that is very much possible, however I’m still waiting to see what more develops in Hawks’s arc before I make that prediction. Hori hasn’t given me any reason to believe that he’d actually kill off an important hero for the sake of the writing...yet. 

Another example, and probably my favorite panel of Shigaraki so far because it’s gorgeously drawn (and sad as hell):

This panel is supposed to make you feel his despair. He’s surrounded by a black, static background, his figure is drawn with an insane amount of detail. You can tell just by looking at it that Horikoshi put a significant amount of effort into this one panel compared the ones that came right before it:

This is same scene, same chapter as the panel above, but the background and shading is totally different. I’m only showing this panel here to point out how important the panel above it is in comparison. One is a panel that is simply moving the chapter forward, the other is meant to stop you for a moment and make you react to it. Horikoshi made sympathetic villains, and that panel of Shigaraki practically begging people to understand was meant to evoke that sympathy from the readers to prepare them for his redemption. 

There are probably a million examples from BNHA I could use to show you the importance of shading but I’m going to move over to one of my all time favorites: FMA

So this lovely fellow below, Roy Mustang, is a protagonist in Fullmetal Alchemist. Fullmetal Alchemist is a series with similar values to BNHA. It acknowledges the value of the human life. It acknowledges that once someone is dead, you can’t bring them back. It acknowledges that murder is wrong, no matter the reason.

Also, similar to how BNHA punishes the villains for their quest for revenge over and over again, FMA also portrays to readers the dangers of following the paths of revenge. There are two characters in FMA that show us that danger, one of which is Roy.

 This is a big moment for Roy because he just discovered the person responsible for his best friend’s death. And now he’s out for blood. But this panel above tells you that this is a BAD IDEA. Shrouding him in darkness, not showing his entire face, hiding him in the shadows--it tells you that he’s on a dark path now. 

Look here, this is kind of similar to how Hawks was portrayed above. Roy is standing over someone who he clearly has power over, someone he is about to kill out of revenge. Envy is a major antagonist in FMA right until his death, but simply because of the way Roy is drawn here, devoid of human emotion because again, you can’t see his face, Envy is almost sympathetic when he finally does die. (BTW, he does not die at Roy’s hand). Roy is a protagonist in this series, but here he’s drawn looking incredibly evil and scary--for a reason. You’re not supposed to approve of his actions. Roy set out for revenge and his narrative consequences came not too long after this chapter. So basically, just like with any other story: 

character does something we know is supposed to be bad-----> something bad happens to character as a result

I’ll give one more example from a story that is not similar to BNHA or FMA in the slightest, but still uses that dark shroud in the same manner.

Say hi to Shigure from Fruits Basket. Shigure is kind of...an anti hero? He’s a real asshole. Now Fruits Basket is shojo and the stakes aren’t near as high or dramatic as BNHA so the tone is a bit different. But even with one panel here of this guy’s face, you get that dark, cynical vibe from him. And well, he is dark and cynical. If you read the story from the beginning up until here you can tell that he’s a shady dude (no pun intended again I’m so sorry), and low and behold he is one of the more questionable characters in this series. But this one darkly shaded panel is the introduction to that dark side of him as a character.

Basically in manga shading is tell all for how you’re supposed to interpret a situation. But aside from shading, the SIZE of the panels are also important. Those Hawks panels above took up entire pages. That Shigaraki panel took up an entire page. Those panels of Roy took up an entire page. Obviously the author wants you to pay attention to the story those panels are trying to tell. The words of the characters matter too, but sometimes you have characters whose words you can’t take at face value (*cough cough* Dabi *cough*) so you sometimes have to go off of the artwork alone. 

Aside from the manga itself, mangakas also release colored prints along with their series. A lot of times these prints don’t have much to do with the events within the story, but sometimes they do. And I talked here about how Horikoshi really correlated all of his art of Shigaraki with the current place in his arc, and about how now that Shigaraki’s redemption is underway, he’s drawing Shigaraki in such a way that shows him growing closer to his hero counterpart who is currently on his way to save him, and also just portraying him in a less villainous manner than before. This isn’t always the case though. But Horikoshi did it and when that last color spread came out I got so excited I kind of just rambled with excitement lol. 

SO I know it wasn’t much to go on but I really hope this helps you a bit more and what you were looking for! Shading is the most important since it’s all black and white, and then panel size is important too. 

I hope you read more manga and join us in this hell! Lol 

[beguilingcorpse]

Hey I took ur ouran quiz and the questions were awesome and I did indeed get dragged to filth, as has everyone in the tags, but I think we're all too embarrassed to post pictures of our results bc the callouts were so accurate kjshdfkjsdhf but im so curious abt the others,,, would you mind posting all the descriptions you did? I'm so curious. either way thanks for a banger of a quiz!

AH omg i’m so glad people are enjoying it!! and im sorry that people are getting called out lol but I did try to warn you. im mad that uquiz doesn’t have a “see all results” feature but here are all of the descriptions!!

haruhi:

you give off main character energy but also don't give a shit about being the main character. if you got this answer you probably also relate to tamaki or kyoya but ONLY one of them. you have mixed feelings about the other. you don't think you can experience love the way everyone else talks about it. you crave physical touch but your intimacy issues prevent you from seeking it out so you're stuck wishing anyone else would initiate it and anticipate your needs. people have said that they were drawn to you and a GOOD number of people have told you that they liked you. 9/10 times their crush was unrequited. you're still friends with all of them. hope ur doing well with that gender crisis you're going through!

tamaki:

wow. you're truly a dramatic bitch. maybe people find you a little grating but you're charming enough that they still hang around you for some reason??? ur a big romantic and your expectations will never match reality. every time you pass a mirror you get caught up in your own reflection, even if you don't consider yourself attractive. your self esteem swings WILDLY between "i'm a terrible person and no one really likes me" and "i'm perfect and everyone wants to be me". you definitely have SOME kind of parental complex and you projected way too hard on disney movies in your childhood. how is your hyperfixation with beauty and the beast treating you now? you genuinely want to be a good person but you find that your actions often have unintended consequences. being a wine mom (or your gender equivalent) is absolutely in your future. you're pretentious as fuck and your favorite book is probably pride and prejudice or the picture of dorian gray or some fruity shit. also you're in love with your best friend and im sorry

kyoya:

you have written PARAGRAPHS of analysis about whatever show or movie you're hyperfixated on and definitely talked about it with people who aren't familiar with the source material. you're just a little bit of an asshole (or at least you think you are) but you have a close group of friends nonetheless. you're a good liar and everyone hates playing among us with you. debate is your love language. you wonder constantly why anyone likes you at all. despite this, you're surprisingly loyal (even beyond your own expectations). you like being in charge of a situation even if people don't view you as the leader outright. you're never manipulative with malicious intent but you enjoy seeing the influence you have on others. usually this amounts to introducing them to a new show or hobby. people have told you that they've liked you and your first instinct was to say "thank you, but no you don't". you're just emotionally unavailable enough to be ~intriguing~ but consider swallowing your pride enough to tell the people in your life that you love them.

hikaru:

you know that feeling where you make a joke and maybe one or two people really laugh at it but everyone else doesn't know how to respond? of course you do. you have a very defined sense of humor and you feel like there are only a handful of people who really get you. in reality, part of this stems from the fact that you judge other people, make assumptions, and are slow to forgive. you've definitely given a friend the silent treatment for DAYS... and what was it for? are you happy living life this way? do you so love believing yourself to be misunderstood? i promise there are other people out there who like your obscure interests just as much as you do. pause your early 00s pop punk for a second and get over urself.

kaoru:

are you excited for the big recital coming up? you must be, since you've been playing second fiddle for so long. you're probably disappointed with this response. you wanted to be a main character. you feel like sometimes ur a background character in your own life. most of your friends are people you met through pre-existing friendships and you pretty exclusively hang out in groups. you're a good person and people enjoy your company, but there's maybe only one or two people who would call you their BEST friend. that's okay. you feel the same way. you rarely come up with plans or jokes, but you can "yes and" like there's no tomorrow. maybe your life is a little boring, but at least its comfortable. it's a shame, though. there are a lot of people who could help bring you out of your comfort zone, if you'd let yourself leave your bubble every now and again.

honey:

so. you have a complex. that's okay! most people do. you just HAVE to be the hottest person at the supermarket or the friend that EVERYONE loves. you have a lot of friends but only a few people who really, truly know you. you use humor or flirting or playing dumb to deflect from the fact that you have a SHIT ton of walls up around you and you're afraid to let anyone beyond the facade you put up. you aren't hurting anyone by doing this, but it does get a little lonely sometimes. you like the attention you get, even if it's pretty surface-level. you have a weird thing about crying in front of other people: either you do it too often or you absolutely REFUSE to. you just want to be held. and honestly? don't we all.

mori:

holy shit. you're SEXY. you know EXACTLY when to shut the fuck up and it's hot. it's a double-edged sword, though. when was the last time you let yourself be someone's shoulder to cry on? and when was the last time YOU cried on someone else's shoulder? hm. might want to work on that. you don't think too highly of yourself, but you recognize you're a kind person. bit of a doormat tho. perhaps you've even been called "subservient". it's a shame you're so emotionally closed off, because your friends would honestly love for you to open up more. if you did anything competitive in high school--choir, drama, band, sports, etc.--you were never a soloist or the star player. you played defense, didn't you? you were in the chorus, weren't you? i bet you were in percussion (not the quads tho). your biggest flaw is that you refuse to acknowledge how important you are to other people. there's a gardener and a flower in every relationship, and it's time you started being the flower.

[shima-draws]

can you tell us more about the pokemon au with the magical creatures stuff? you said ash draws magical creatures and is basically like a pokemon whisperer. is it connected to his aura stuff? also, what's pikachu's role in this? like basically a travel companion, maybe a familiar? thanks, love your works!

[[Anonymous said: Same anon that asked you about the mythical creatures AU . I wanted to know the backstory for the characters that you made ones for sorry for not making it clear last time 😅]]

No problem!!

Ash was basically born as a mage—most humans don’t have any magic at all, so it was a sort of rare thing 🤔 And yes it connects to his aura powers! Ofc he doesn’t really discover those until he travels through Hoenn and meets Lucario. They’re basically tradeoffs; Ash’s magic strengthens his aura and vice versa.

Naturally Ash wasn’t very good at using magic at first and wasn’t super fond of studying it since he’s more of a hands on learner lol. (Gary teased him a LOT for this.) But since Ash was a kid he’s had a knack for connecting with Pokemon, even the stubborn ones, and gains a reputation in Pallet Town for being the local Pokemon tamer. It helps that he has that sort of personality that’s very easy to make friends with.

His first encounter with Pikachu goes pretty much like it does in canon; the difference is that Pikachu doesn’t trust people who can use magic or mythical creatures—hence his initial hatred of Ash. But Ash is able to earn Pikachu’s trust!! So yeah he still acts as Ash’s main traveling companion.

Ash doesn’t openly use his magic a lot tho, only for when the situation really calls for it or when he’s trying to connect with a Pokemon. The same goes for his aura. Most of the time he just uses it to heighten his own senses, so he can tell what’s going on with other people and Pokemon around him. Sort of like hyper empathy? And he uses it for simple, daily tasks, like doing the dishes or making things float lol. He initially started his journey to get a better handle on his magic and learn more about Pokemon, but he developed a passion for battling instead, and devotes his time to that! He’s also fascinated by other mythical creatures—Pallet is a small town so he didn’t really get to meet a lot of unique creatures as a kid, so being able to travel the world and meet lots of different supernatural beings is a total blast for him!

Ash has tried using his magic to open portals to other worlds before, but he’s nowhere near strong enough to do it;; but in theory he could, if he were given a big enough power boost.

As for the rest—I honestly haven’t dug too deep yet, but I do have some background info on Gladion 👀

Vampires are very rare to begin with, and very reclusive. Vampires in Alola are unheard of, because it’s always sunny and warm there, and vampires prefer cooler temperatures and areas where the weather is usually overcast. Most of them live in the mountains of Sinnoh and Unova.

Ofc Gladion couldn’t really move away from Alola to some place colder, being so young, and with Lusamine being...how she is, so he learns over the years to cope with the heat and the sun. (He didn’t want to just leave Lillie behind like that, either.) He eventually finds an abandoned cabin at the base of Mount Lanakila and shelters there. This is where Ash visits him most of the time, especially since he never comes out during the day c: So this does mean that Ash hauls ass to Ula’ula Island to see him...that or he uses his magic to teleport over lmao

Contrary to popular belief and general vampire lore, they can be out in the sun, it’s just extremely blinding. Like they legit cannot see shit in the daytime, the light gives them splitting headaches and makes them extremely drowsy. (And it does burn, a little, so if they do have some reason to be out during the day they have to wear protective clothing.)

Gladion usually orders his blood online LOL I know that sounds weird but it’s not like he goes out and actually feeds on people, especially since he’s so anti-social to begin with and has massive trust issues. Vampire feeding is an enormous commitment and sharing of trust (and also very intimate), and he wouldn’t just go and suck blood from somebody randomly...so yes he does have to get batches delivered to him to keep him sated. Originally at Aether there was always a fridge stocked with blood for him, but since he left home he’s basically just been using his allowance and battle winnings to get his supply.

Since vampires also have a very keen sense of smell Gladion’s nose is very sensitive;; and since most mythical creatures are drawn to magic, he’s naturally drawn to Ash as well, who has a very wonderful scent to him. Gladion is afraid to be around Ash sometimes because of how openly reckless Ash is, and he fears that if Ash were to get into an accident that would spill blood, he wouldn’t be able to control himself around Ash and possibly attack him :’(

Still, Ash is one of the few people Gladion trusts completely, and who knows where his current hideout is. Since Ash hasn’t met a lot of vampires during his travels due to their rarity and general reclusiveness, he’s fascinated by Gladion and always drops by to battle and then pester him with questions about his lifestyle. (Also, he likes stopping by during the day sometimes, because rumpled sleepy Gladion is ADORABLE and a sight not a lot of people have the privilege of seeing.)

Anyway that’s probably way too much info LOL but I hope it was fun to read through nonetheless ^p^ Thanks for asking about the AU!! I’m always happy to share more.