#but i might just stick to the 1st one for now

[myst1xx]

i cant choose between the headcanon that lydia used to dye her hair blonde because emily had blonde hair and she wanted to match and after she passed she let her natural black grow out

OR

her hair is naturally blonde and after emily passed she dyed it black because emilys hair was black and it makes her feel more connected to her

[lcvemiyuki]

“crossed lines” | tsukishima, hq

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི - "the walls" by chase atlantic

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: he thought he knew the answers to everything and made sure to map out his every action. yet, none could rationalize the way you made his insides churn with a burn of conflicting emotions

warnings: suggestive (no smut!), enemies-to-lovers (they dislike each other), college student!tsukishima, swearing, fem!reader, lots of tension, pov switching

character(s): tsukishima

word count: 1518

a/n: heavily inspired by that riff part in 'the walls' by chase atlantic (had to listen to it a million times to perfectly describe it as in my head lolol)...this is my 1st time writing something so intense AHHH, i hope you like it!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Tsukki, wait!” Yamaguchi’s voice echoed into the rain-soaked street, the downpour muffling his words to a mere whisper against the relentless pattering of raindrops on the cobblestone pavement. 

“She’s such an idiot,” Tsukishima muttered under his breath, his annoyance palpable in the tightness of his voice as he followed your retreating figure, a lone silhouette against the cold, relentless rain. Yamaguchi had just relayed the latest news about your on-again, off-again boyfriend. The twitch in Tsukishima’s right eye, a clear sign of his irritation, was hidden by his black-rimmed glasses, but the tension in his body language was unmistakable.

He couldn’t believe you were storming out from the dorms into the darkness yet again. 

An invisible force pulled him in your direction, but instead of a gentle tug, it was more like a high-speed collision. The more Yamaguchi detailed the fiasco with your so-called “Mr. Perfect,” the tighter Tsukishima’s fists clenched until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. When he finally released his grip, deep red nail marks were etched into his pale skin. He didn’t hear his friend’s confused questions; all he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own heart in his chest, like a desperate drum seeking his attention as he followed after you.

When he finally caught up to you, he reached out, his hand hovering just above your shoulder before he firmly turned you around to face him. 

Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, a testament to the pain you were feeling, and your hand instantly rejected his touch, aggressively shrugging off his hold. 

“Are you seriously thinking about taking him back?” His voice cut through the thundering rain, raised just enough to be heard over the downpour. You scoffed in disbelief, tightening your grip on the baby pink umbrella, trying to recompose yourself.

“And what’s it to you, huh?” you snapped, your voice wavering with emotion as you lifted your chin defiantly. 

If this day could get any worse, it had to involve seeing his annoyingly, fault-finding face. He always acted with judgment and you knew he looked down on your every mistake. And what made it worse was that his opinion always spoke some cut-throat truth you couldn't swallow.

Now here he was, sticking his nose into your business and voicing his input.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” His eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s pitiful.”

His t-shirt clung to his body, soaked through, but the heat of the moment kept the shivers at bay. You were infuriating, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

So why did he feel compelled to chase after you?

He should be sneering at your stupidity. Yet, here you were, crowding his thoughts, his vision, everything.

His insults only fueled your anger, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. Yet, beneath the rage, a sliver of fear crept in—fear that he might be right. It was the unspoken truth that gnawed at you, the one everyone else probably thought but never dared to voice. But Tsukishima, with his sharp tongue and piercing gaze, had no such reservations.

If Tsukishima excelled at one thing, it was his uncanny ability to read you like an open book. He knew you too well, his eyes always catching the smallest, most insignificant details that he would mercilessly call out. Every comment was a well-aimed dart, hitting precisely where you were most vulnerable. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could unravel you, laying bare your insecurities with a few well-chosen words.

You clenched your fists, feeling the sting of his remarks, the heat of your anger battling the cold edge of your fingertips. His words echoed in your mind, a relentless reminder of the truths you tried to bury. Despite the fury blazing in your chest, you couldn't shake the nagging thought that he saw you more clearly than anyone else ever could. And that realization, more than his biting words, left a pit in your stomach.

The truth made you want to scream out into the looming darkness.

“Pitiful?” you questioned as your feet stepped down the curb, “if I’m so pathetic, then leave me be. Go project your judgment onto someone else other than rubbing it in my fucking face” you spat out harshly.

You didn’t want to deal with him tonight, not when you felt the weight of his words slowly sinking into your pores. You turned around to flee, but Tsukishima’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You paused but didn’t turn back. His voice, though steady, carried an intensity that made your heart race—a quiet before the storm that left you both anxious and drawn in.

“Why do you care so much?” you mustered, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to stand your ground. When there was no response to be heard, you hesitantly turned around once more.

And the sight was maddening.

His blonde locks, usually slightly short, now stretched longer down his forehead, the rain streaming down his face. Although his whole body was soaked from head to toe, his expression remained unchanged. He looked on toward you, eyes darkened and burning holes in your body. His head tilted slightly as if he was trying to piece together what you were thinking—or maybe, reanalyzing his own.

“Tsukishima, why do you care?” you demanded once more.

Maybe it was the curiosity that urged you to repeat yourself; maybe it was the way you’ve never seen the six-foot-two man in front of you look so—disheveled.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step closer, almost unconsciously, as if he didn’t even know what he was doing. Those golden-brown eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place. Your heart raced as your breath escaped in a long, slow huff through your nose. Your glazed eyes locked onto his, watching tiny droplets slide down his glasses and cling to his long lashes. The heat between you was palpable; the rain felt like gasoline, fueling the raging fire.

“Why do I care?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his gaze fixated on your lips. It was as if he was echoing your words, distracted by the movement of your mouth as his eyebrows furrowed.

‘Because I burn with emotions that you sear into my whole being’

“Because you’re aggravating,” he seethed through gritted teeth, his frustration evident in the sharp edge of his voice. Yet, despite his irritation, his gaze remained fixated on your lips. 

You felt the intensity of his gaze, a magnetic pull that seemed to draw every fiber of your being towards him. 

But just as quickly as the moment had built, Tsukishima pulled back, his expression hardening once more. His jaw clenched tensely, taking a step back while his gaze shifted, trying to focus on something else. The uncertainty still lingered in the narrow space between you. 

“Just forget it,” he spoke under his breath. Turning on his heel, he walked away, leaving you standing there, frozen and stranded for answers. 

You watched him retreat, the distance between you growing with each step. Your heart pounded in your chest, a tumult of emotions circulating inside you. You thought he was leaving for good as the breath you exhaled was shaky.

But then, he stopped—standing there for several aching seconds. 

His gaze shifted among the surrounding objects as if building a barrier to contain his internal uncertainty. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, the weight of his conflicting emotions settling heavily in his stomach. Each thought rushed through his mind like a relentless torrent, creating a storm of confusion and frustration.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly why he felt this way, why he cared so much. 

The analytical part of his mind tried to dissect every possible reason, but the emotions swirling inside him defied logical explanation. 

He shouldn't have followed you out here.

He wanted to escape the turmoil, to drown out the noise in his mind.

 “—Fuck it,” he muttered. 

And something inside him snapped. 

He turned back and closed the distance between you in a few long strides; his cold hands cupping your face.

Before you could muster a word, his lips came crashing onto yours.

The kiss was fierce, filled with all the pent-up frustration and anger. His lips moved against yours with a desperate urgency, as if trying to convey all the things he couldn’t put into words. You responded in kind, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions. Your hands instinctively found their way to his soaked shirt. You gripped the fabric tightly as if trying to anchor yourself in the storm that was Tsukishima.

At that moment, the precarious line of his loathing finally broke. 

The intense curiosity that had simmered beneath his animosity surged to the forefront. He was engrossed by a burning desire to understand the root of it all. 

Why did you consume him entirely? 

The need for answers outweighed his self-imposed boundaries, and he crossed the line he had sworn never to.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[antifainternational]

Recently I spotted 14/88 graffitied somewhere close to wear I live. I recognised the 88 as a nazi thing and confirmed my suspicions when I looked up what the 14 might mean in this context. This graffiti really sticks out and bothers me for obvious reasons. My question is, is it worth it to try and cover it up in some way and if yes, how? I don’t have spray paint, the graffiti was too big to cover with stickers and I don’t know anyone who would even be interested in doing something about it.

Though I only saw it for second while on the buss, I’m pretty sure it was graffitied over some kind of road sign. Is it more possible then that someone might clean it up?

So, you now know that nazis are in your area and advertising that they're in your area. Possible responses: 1) DO NOTHING. If you do nothing, that will tell the nazis that there is no opposition to their hatred in the area. It will embolden them to move on to bigger and bolder acts. These acts are more likely to more directly harm or threaten people. Doing nothing also tells the people that nazis target (disabled people, LGBTQ+ people, migrants, racialized people, religious minorities, etc.) that they are unsafe in their own neighborhood and that no one there is willing to stand up to the nazis and defend them. 2) WAIT FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO DO SOMETHING. Surely the authorities will take care of that. Maybe you could call your town and alert them to the graffiti. Then, eventually, they might send a crew out to sandblast the graffiti or paint over it. That doesn't tell the nazis they're unwelcome in your area, of course - it just tells them that the graffiti clean-up squad got their tag. Maybe they move on to other ways to spread fear in your area that can't be painted over or sandblasted. 3) COVER IT UP WITH ANTI-FASCIST MESSAGING. That could be stickers or posters or your own graffiti (e.g. Cibo, who covers up racist graffiti in Italy with beautiful food pieces!)

(NOT THAT WE CONDONE ANYONE BREAKING THE LAW, MIND YOU!). This lets the nazis know that there is opposition in their area and they're not safe to openly do more nazi shit. It also tells the people that nazis victimize that they have allies in the area who are willing to stand up to the nazis. 4) COVER IT UP AND TALK TO PEOPLE NEARBY. You could turn this into an antifa organizing opportunity by talking to the people who live there and pass that tag every day. Have they seen them too? Did they know what it means? What do they think? Are they concerned? What do they want to do about it? 5) DO 3 & 4 + START AN ANTI-FASCIST NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH! Bonus Level: if you take care of that nazi tag and it pops up again, take note of the 1st time you saw it back up, take care of it again, and keep an eye out. Nazis are creatures of habit, so it's quite likely they do their shit at a regular day/time. If you're able to narrow down when they're most likely to be out doing dirty in your town, you can plan a surprise party for them! Bottom line is that community-based responses to fascist activity are the most effective responses. The sooner you & your neighbors take care of the problem, the less likely it is to grow into a bigger problem.

[just-some-trans-nobody]

December Christmas Monstet stories

December 8.) Horny Krampus

Sorry everyone this one was supposed to br way longer than this but I'm having really bad writers block. I might try to rewrite it eventually I just had to finish what little I had if I want stick to the schedule.

Warnings: NSFW, spit as lube, bare minimum prep, swearing, possessive behavior, stalking behavior

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Three weeks. 

You only got three weeks a year with him and then you had to wait longing for his touch until next year. 

It was like clock work. December 1st at midnight the sound of heavy hooves landing on your roof waking you. The last two years you would wake up a minute or two before the stroke of midnight in anticipation of his arrival. 

Giddier than a kid on Christmas day you threw the blankets off yourself and rushed to the living room. Some years he came down the chimney, sometimes the window. He always kept you on your toes never fully knowing where he was going to enter. You weren't sure how a man of such a large size could fit down a chimney but your brain always turned off when he was around. Too dick whipped to think about anything but him and the pleasure he gave you.

Hearing his low growl rumble from behind you, your body trembled in response. He had come through your bedroom window expecting you to be there. Seeing you weren't there made him mad, he wanted his cock in you immediately. Having to wait irritated him. Turning you smiled at him before letting out a gasp when he grabbed you pushing you against the nearest wall. “Fuck.” You moaned out, leaning your head back. He let out a low rumble hearing your moan. The sounds you make when he's with you calmed his raging soul, if only a little bit. Seeing that you were still dressed he growled before ripping off your clothes. His clawed hands tearing your clothes to shreds. You know you should be mad about it but the act had only served to turn you on even more. 

Heart pounding in your chest you reached out to hold onto him as he lifted you up pinning you to the wall with one hand. Your legs dangled, unable to reach the floor by a good foot or two. He effortlessly freed his cock from its restraints with his free hand. Lifting a leg up you rested it on his hip spreading your legs for the large man.

Biting your bottom lip you trembled at his touch as he held your chin. “Open.” He growled in a low voice that rumbled in your chest. Obediently you opened your mouth, lightly sticking your tongue out. His fingers immediately slide into your mouth causing you to close it around them. He hardly ever took the time to lube you up first so this felt special for you. Keeping eye contact with him you made sure to lube up his fingers with your saliva as much as you could before he finally pulled them out of your mouth leaving a trail of saliva from his fingers to your plump lips. The trail broke after a second landing on your chin causing him to let out a low rumble at the sight. 

Lowering his hand to your entrance he pushed the lubed up fingers inside of you causing you to moan. He wanted to take you so much it hurt but he knew you haven't had him in such a long time you would need to be stretched out first. By the end of the month he would be able to slip it in without reliance, but that was then and this was now. He would never admit it to himself or anyone else that he cared deeply about you to the point it scared him. As much as he loved making you scream out in painful pleasure he didn't want to hurt you so badly he scared you off. He needed you more than he realized.

Hearing you moan from just his fingers made him smirk in pride. He loved hearing how well he pleasured you, he wanted to hear more. Spreading his fingers wide he continued to pump them into you faster drawing out more moans from your lips. “O-oh oh fuck keep going! Gonna cum!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. Your words encouraging him to pump his fingers harder. Reaching your orgasm with a cry you clung to his arms closing his eyes. 

You barely had a moment to come down from your orgasm when he slid his fingers out and replaced them with the tip of his cock. Gasping you opened your eyes to be met with his hungry gaze. Letting out a quiet moan you rolled your hips against his taking in more of his cock. He let out a low moan feeling his cock go deeper into you. It drove him mad. Growling he snapped his hips forward pushing all of his cock into you causing you to sob lightly. It stung but felt good at the same time. Whimpering softly you clung to him as tears welled in your eyes. He waited for a moment letting you adjust for a moment before he started to slowly rock his hips. Once your face started showing more pleasure than pain he sped his pace up thrusting faster into you. Pressing against you harder he pushed you against the wall even more making you feel a little squished. “Harder.” You moaned scratching at his arms. It was a request he was more than happy to comply with. 

The room was filled with the sounds of your needy moans and the relentless thrusts of Krampus. It was utter bliss being with him. December was by far your favorite time of the year and Christmas had nothing to do with it. 

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out. 

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different. 

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it.  There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors. 

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move. 

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits. 

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel. 

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you: 

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag. 

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last. 

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet. 

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place. 

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously. 

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work. 

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet. 

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly. 

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner. 

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations. 

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers. 

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.” 

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.) 

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go. 

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in. 

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene. 

He’s maddening and distracting. 

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps. 

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports. 

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner. 

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies. 

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash. 

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun. 

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst. 

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is. 

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–” 

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.  

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.  

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is. 

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets. 

It doesn’t take him very long at all. 

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows. 

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you. 

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins. 

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting. 

“Better?” 

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close. 

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow. 

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity. 

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird. 

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across. 

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks. 

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat.  You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter. 

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed?  And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag?? 

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling. 

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show. 

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you. 

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you.  His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth. 

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses. 

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction. 

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air. 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this? 

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says. 

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer. 

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly. 

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens. 

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room. 

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in. 

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall. 

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to. 

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture. 

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him. 

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks. 

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange." 

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features. 

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again. 

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me." 

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map. 

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment,  the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life. 

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak. 

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,” 

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.  

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong. 

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt. 

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life. 

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time. 

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches. 

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop. 

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars. 

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate. 

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still. 

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”. 

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.” 

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words. 

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance. 

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition. 

The two of you sit in the silence. 

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse. 

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again. 

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you. 

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies. 

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt. 

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask. 

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops. 

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders. 

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.” 

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety. 

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. 

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you. 

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.” 

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?” 

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans. 

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing. 

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making. 

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring. 

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.  

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him. 

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.” 

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well.  I should have asked you before.  I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.  

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?” 

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears. 

 “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”  

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he? 

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing. 

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow. 

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late. 

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment. 

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise. 

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder. 

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed. 

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you. 

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown." 

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces. 

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there." 

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft. 

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly. 

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head. 

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension.  But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away. 

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.” 

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm. 

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.” 

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe. 

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance. 

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you. 

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of  you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention. 

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her. 

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter. 

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you. 

It’s her. 

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self. 

God that’s fucked up. 

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[avagiftexchange]

AvA Gift Exchange (2024) UPDATE!

Alrighty!

All Giftees have been assigned a Gifter!

Over the course of the next 3 days (from Dec. 1st to Dec. 3rd) I will be messaging everyone with their Giftee's requests! Although I will also say that I am unfortunately working both Dec. 1st and Dec. 2nd, so sending out the prompts might extend into Dec. 4th. I will make a post if that ends up happening but I'm hoping I'll have enough time to do it in 3 days

-

Regardless, if you asked me to message you through email, make sure the keep your eyes peeled for a message from avagiftexchange@gmail.com

If you requested to message through Discord, expect a friend request from a discord account called AvAGiftExchange

Otherwise, if I've had previous dms with you on Discord using my Sammy account, then I'll just send you your prompts in there! 8D

-

As soon as you get your Secret person, you are allowed to start working on their gift!

You have until the week of Dec. 26th - Dec. 31th to work on your gift!

If you complete your gift early, please wait until the 26th, to post it!

That way we can have a big celebration and gift giving week!

If you are unable to complete your gift, please let me know before Dec. 15th

Note! If you do dropout, I can not guarantee you will be receiving a gift as it will be up to your Gifter to decide if they want to finish. Your dropped requests will then given to one of our backup artists to fulfill!

-

Now for something fun since someone suggested it

Here's the entire current list of participants for this gift exchange!

(In no particular order)

@mary-games-and-arts @itslilacokay @shamythelazypotato @berryicet @thevalleyoftriumph

@impulsive-fantasylander @stormbreaker101 @demontamerarts367 @catalystnick @fp-am

@donnietheterrapin @xxtinterxx @doomed-stickfigure-yuri @4swordsforthewin

@compressedrage @sticktopia @coulrozzgrub

@kikoqueenofrats @ginumo @hazardsk8r

@ghostrified @that-one-oddity @spacewasnotagoodidea @reptilia0freptiles @stiwnty

@kiaerinnn @indigovortex @ghost-cricket @rubtix-a-betz @amagicalmoonlight

@idkwhattoputheresooumm @manyminded @azzyiyay

@lunaautumnofficial @wowieeitsisa @kyte-tsc

@dexi-art @p1ctur3 @cyanvalour @hitbangs64 @r0tting-raspb3rry

@theslasher136 @st4rl1ghts0d4 @segafan13 @ailis-art @bonxy-theskechy02

@jetsartdump @guesspls @real-ink-demon @skyshadowo @nexusloaf

@tertium-of-chaos @tagetesxd @leafeyrune @echostarz123 @bee-natural8

@celestialaviva @oxceen @toon-melody @randomnesseva @ellathebirb

@running2reanimation @maechery @sticky-elie @echo-is-super-cool

@ninjagirlstar5 @asidecharecter @nolabuddy

@crystalartsandanimation @fireflyflarenight @three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat

@lakedo @zkylearnstherope @ornziy @theofficalrocketcorp @cindersnows

@alinnamaco @touhize @violetthunderstorm @thoughtsofjess @therealfunnystuffslol

@storgicdealer @ohhhsosleepy @jadeactuallysucks @apricity-2 @murderandjambalaya

@sticks-without-stones @just-an-average-fan @water-lemon-alex @dumbassfromhell @art-yeet

@wingittart @rainthesomething @ciromuffins @mogbomybb @eclipsefates

@ishika-star @rainbowfreakteen @silverflares @bittersweetbeet @bamboo9lordserf

@dollettodraws @boundlessjoy777 @sagafiery @goodjobyellowstickerstar

@f4n-im4t0r @sofoklesk @x-ke1kel-0 @centigreen

@gundilias @shinfiatvlol @sammy8d257 @zishu-arts

@octdl-lee @tamgerinee @crescynnt @natty-drawn12

The blogs listed below didn't work but were listed, if you are the persons who submitted an application and put these blogs down, can you please message me ASAP with a working Tumblr?

Otherwise, I will have to remove you from the gift exchange if I don't get an answer by Dec. 4th

87problems -> @pats-extra-problems

[dearly-somber]

RBF | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, found family, high school!au

-> w/c. 1342

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. This one is pretty Yoongi centric, but it’s important for later installments (and also I wanted to build more on Y/N’s relationships with the pack outside of Jungkook heh).

-> warnings. Yoongi’s kind of a dick 💔

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Jun. 30th, 2022 @ 18:24

-> fin. Mon., Oct. 4th, 2023 @ 22:48

-> edited. Wed., Nov. 1st, 2023 @ 09:47

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

“Why does Yoongi hate me so much?”

Jungkook looks up from where he’s been sketching a picture of what he thinks your wolf would look like if you had one, a frown on his face. “Yoongi doesn’t hate you,” he says.

“He does,” you pout, pulling at a loose thread in your socks.

“He doesn’t.” Jungkook sets his sketchbook aside to give you his full attention. “Where’s this coming from?”

You sigh. “It’s gonna sound stupid…”

“It won’t.” Jungkook holds your hand. When you finally look up at him, you’re met with a boyish grin that melts your insides.

You sigh. “I went down to the kitchen earlier to grab something to drink…”

“Yeah?”

“And…” You chew on your lip, sighing again before letting your thumb rub over the back of Jungkook’s hand in an attempt to calm your nerves. “And Yoongi was there. I accidentally bumped into him on my way out and he spilt coffee all over.”

“And he got mad?”

“Yeah.” You take a moment to get the words right, briefly reliving the older shifter’s scorn and flinching at the memory. Even just thinking about it has you biting on your lip to stop yourself from crying. “He got really mad. Started growling and cursing at me; shooed me upstairs… It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him,” you whisper.

“Oh, angel.” Jungkook takes it upon himself to lift you up under your arms and set you back down in his lap. You’re surprised because, first of all, you never realized just how strong he is, but also because you find you don’t hate it as much as you should—nevermind “angel”.

Usually you hate being manhandled, especially into such intimate positions or poses, but you know deep down that you can trust Jungkook and his motivations, so you let yourself accept and bathe in his affection and affirmations.

You don’t mind when he guides your arms around his shoulders. You lean into him and let your eyes drift closed when his arms wrap around your back, holding you to his chest. “I’m sorry Yoongi hyung growled at you,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble into his shoulder, already feeling lighter than when you’d sat back down next to him after the whole ordeal took place. “I just… I wish I knew why he disliked me so much. We’ve been friends for ages, now! Everyone else has warmed up to me already.”

Jungkook sighs, running his fingers up and down your spine as he thinks. The feeling sends shivers down your body. “Yoongi hyung is…protective. He’s had past relations with humans and it didn’t end well for him or the people he cared about. I’m not saying what he did was right, but there’s a reason he’s such a dick to you all the time,” Jungkook explains softly, trying and failing to subtly nose at the juncture of your neck.

You pull away from him as gently as you can, sliding off his legs. As you sit knee-to-knee with him, you settle your hands in your lap and stare. Thinking.

Finally, you speak. “Fine.”

Jungkook raises a single brow. “‘Fine’? What does that mean?”

“It means I get it. But he’s got his head farther up his ass than I thought if he thinks it’s an excuse for him to treat me like shit.”

Jungkook smiles with a fond shake of his head, sighing, “There’s the Y/N I know and love. There might finally be peace in the world once you and Yoongi start actually liking each other.”

You roll your eyes, laying back down as he reverts back to sketching. “It’s not my fault he’s got a stick up his ass. He needs to realize I’m not the same human who hurt him gods know how long ago. I might be more annoying, but I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Jungkook smiles down at his sketchbook, muttering something under his breath. “It’s actually—“

“Y/N!”

“Oh gods,” you groan, hyping yourself up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice ricocheting off the kitchen walls, “what now?”

“Don’t be mean,” Jungkook chides, shoving you with his foot on your way out the door. You stick your tongue out at him, shaking your head with a dumb smile on your way downstairs.

“What’s up, doc?”

Namjoon frowns at you as you lean your elbows against the island. “I’m…not a doctor…”

“It’s” —you sigh, waving him off— “nevermind. What do you need?”

“Yoongi’s out back. He asked me to call for you.”

“Yoongi?” you ask skeptically, an eyebrow raised.

“Yep,” Namjoon says. “Off you go.” He shoos you out the patio doors like an old lady, disappearing back inside the house after sliding the doors shut.

“Great,” you mutter. You trudge through the wet grass and mud to the little backyard leading into the woods where the pack likes hanging out when they’re shifted (and sometimes even when they’re not. Ever since you came along, they added a little bonfire and a few camper chairs for when you’re hanging out with them).

As you near the backyard, you spot Yoongi sitting, in wolf form, on one of the several rock-slash-boulder formations surrounding what is now the bonfire pit, his fur dirtied from running while it’s wet outside. Under his mud-laden paws, you spot a dirty but otherwise intact article of clothing you thought you’d lost forever.

“Is that my Toothless sweater?” you ask, surprised. You thought you lost it after forgetting it in the woods the first time you were invited to go swimming in the river with them.

Yoongi’s ears perk up on his head as he raises his head to glare at you, dragging his tongue over his maw. He sits a little straighter the closer you get, watching you so close you can feel your heartbeat instinctively pick up its pace.

“I thought I lost this,” you mumble, wrapping your fingers around the stiff fabric and tugging to get it out from under Yoongi’s large paw. You utterly fail, because the dickhead decides to tease you by pressing down harder on it and refusing to budge until you’ve exerted all your strength, nearly sending you ass-first into a puddle of mud.

You glare at him as his wolf seems to snicker—shoulders shaking and tail wagging ever so slightly behind him.

“You know…” You rub the fabric between your fingers, contemplating whether or not you’ll get mauled to death and deciding you don’t actually care. “I like you when you’re like this.”

Yoongi’s head tilts to one side, his ears flopping. How dare he look so cute when he acts like you’re the devil more than half of the time.

“When you’re shifted,” you clarify. “Guessing your mood based off the way you hold your tail is much easier than trying to decipher your emotions based off your resting bitch face.”

Immediately, the backyard fills with a low, warning growl. Yoongi’s head is back to its righted position, but slightly lowered so you can see just how hard he’s glaring at you.

“You know what, no!” You clench your sweater in your hand as you point an accusatory finger at the rumbling grey wolf. “I’m tired of you bullying me, Yoongi. Not all humans are bad, you know!” You scoff at the way his eyes widen, comically round in this form. “I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone else! Jungkook loves this pack, and I love Jungkook.” Yoongi’s tail shoots straight up, ears perked high on his head. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

You pause, clearing your throat so you can muster up the courage to say, “He’s my best friend. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Yoongi stares at you, but you can’t read his facial expressions—can’t guess what’s going on behind those burning cocoa eyes of his. Not even his tail gives him away. So instead of hurting your brain overthinking his reaction, you huff and storm off, leaving a very intrigued shifter behind to contemplate several things at once.

<- prev | next ->

[insomniactic-daydream]

Prove It - Bakugo x Reader

Bakugo x Support Course Shoto's Twin Sister Reader (Pt.1)

Summary: Bakugo is a absolute perfectionist so he needs the best support items he can get. It just so happens that one of his bigger opponents in class has a even smarter support course sister

After Bakugo's failed assignation attempt on Midoriya, Bakugo found himself with now two useless gauntlets. Although the design was almost flawless and the gauntlets did what it intended, Bakugo felt they weren't perfect. So off to the support course he went.

"HAah?! What do you mean a 1st year extra has to do it!? The hell are you here for then!" The blonde yells in aggravation that support gear were not in fact handled by the teacher rather the newbies that need experience.

"I'm paid to teach students. Not to single handedly fix the hero course stuff every time they abuse thier gear", the support course teacher Power Loader says sternly. Bakugo tenses up in anger but remains silent, knowing the teacher wasn't entirely wrong.

"However if you're desperate for some talent I suppose I can point you towards some of my students that show more potential and you won't scare off too easily" the teacher says with a sigh.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY!?" Bakugo yells but is completely ignored as the teach walks to open the support classroom doors.

"Hastume! Are you-" the teacher unable to finish his sentence as a gear disk comes flying toward the door. Bakugo glares at the teacher and glaringly says no.

A quick "Sorry Sensei !" is heard from what Bakugo can only assume is Hastume as the teacher sighs.

"Seems like Hastume has her hands full how about hmm... Y/n!" The teacher calls out for the girl.

Bakugo scans the room to see any response to who Y/n might be. Instantly his eyes connect with a girl with black hair and piercing blue eyes.

(It'll make sense later trust.)

A soft but dull "Yes, Sensei?" comes out of the support course student's mouth as bakugo wonders why you look familiar.

"Looks like you've got your first customer. I trust you can consult him and give him the support gear he needs. This is you're next week assignment grade, so I trust you take this seriously. However, lunch is about to start, so start packing your things and dicuss it over the lunch period." The teacher says.

Y/n gives a firm nod with no further curiosity or protest. "Yes sir," she says. She then start grabbing her things and so do the rest of the students. Once she grabs her things she's able to look at the tall blonde beside her.

"Hello, I'm Y/n Todoroki, but Y/n is fine." Y/n says with a straight face as she pulls out her hand to shake while realization hits Bakugo but he regains composure.

"Tch, whatever just because you're some child nepo prodigy like you're brother, doesn't mean I'm impressed." He says as he grips his backpack straps avoiding the hand Y/n displayed.

Y/n drops her hand finding a new offense to his comment. "I'm not my brother, and by no means my father. A powerful quirk is one thing but I have been making gadgets since I was 6. Support course student's only have one entrance exam not by recommendation. I got here on my own talent. Not by my name."

"You don't want my help then fine, but you won't find someone to listen to your hot headed remarks and can actually do your support gear justice." Y/n says sternly as she begins walking away from the boy.

The boy grits his teeth before shouting.

"Dammit wait! You're teacher won't fix my shit and I don't know how soon I need my gear. If you're any good I need this done and perfected ASAP. If you're so talented then prove it." He grumbles in defeat but he's desperate to get them fix, having the company UA hire would take too long.

Y/n turns around and smirks at the boy victoriously. A completely one eighty personality comparison to your twin brother.

"Well then is a pleasure starting business with you..?" Y/n says as she sticks out her hand again to test the boy's resilience.

"Katsuki Bakugo. Don't wear it out extra." He says as he reluctantly shakes the girl's hand.

(Part 2)

First Fic. I've had this idea/story for the longest time. My writings kinda crap to what my brain be thinking tho so sorry bout that 😭.

[aayakashii]

Some people asked me to make a pt.2 of collared with pegging and well. This is not it (⌐■-■) I just like to bully Leo, sorry... have the twink being tortured yet again 🫳 not really femdom content this time around like the 1st part BUT he still suffers (∗´艸`∗)

WARNINGS: this is a part 2 (?) to collared, so read that one first! This is smut and has explicit language, NSFT !!!!!!! Do not engage if it makes you uncomfortable <3

Leo grunted, fist wrapped tightly around his length as he leaned against the wall of his spacious bathroom. His tip was a furious red as he jerked his cock, desperately seeking a release that seemed far away, gritting his teeth at the frustration that washed over his body.

His hand stopped, and he gasped for air, chest heaving up and down and hair sticking to his forehead after exerting himself. He slammed his fist against the wall, furious.

He had been like that for weeks. Unable to relieve himself of his pent-up stress and unable to ignore the desire that kept on pooling in his core.

He had tried everything. Watching porn, using toys, hooking up with some students – but nothing worked. He would get so close, so fucking close but then his orgasm would ruin itself no matter what. It was like something was broken and he didn't know why.

Actually, Leo knew what might have caused it. But he also tried to avoid thinking about it at all costs.

He dry swallowed, throat bobbing up and down, as he waited for his heart rate to slow down and his breathing to even out.

Meanwhile, his mind raced, trying to find anything to think about, only to run away as fast as he could from those memories. He'd conjure up thoughts of old parties, old hookups, bad hangovers and mundane shit that didn’t matter at all, only to escape from unconsciously recollecting that day.

But the ghost of the sensations remained on his skin, on his nerves, on his cock.

His breathing got heavier again and he pushed himself away from the wall of his bathroom.

That was all futile. He needed some fresh air. With some luck, he could find some stupid student to bully and maybe get into a fight and just have someone rip the horny out of him through punches and kicks.

Yeah. That's what he needed.

Instead of following the flawless plan he had hurriedly concocted before leaving, however, Leo found himself in front of the old, beaten down Cathedral. He heard rumors of how it had been another dorm before, but now it only housed the stupid NPC.

Leo cursed under his breath.

Why the fuck did he find himself there? He had no business with you. He didn't want ANYTHING from you.

And yet, his gaze locked onto the only window that was open on that large building, with faint candlelight flickering inside.

You were right there. He knew that. And he fucking hated the way his mouth dried up and his heart picked up speed yet again.

God fucking damn it.

Wasn't your "revenge" something that should have happened only once? (Even though for the first days he kept waiting and waiting, sitting on pins and needles, for you to come back and show him how else you could fuck him).

If it was just that one forsaken moment, then why should he keep on being so fucking frustrated all the time, rubbing his thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the annoyance, all because he can't cum like before?

He groaned as he felt his cock stiffen once again as the memories of your hands roaming all over his body became, finally, inescapable.

Leo stepped out of the paveway and into the trees and bushes, still keeping his eyes locked at your window.

It wouldn't hurt to try and relieve himself right then and there, right? Just that one time. Just to get the edge off and then afterwards he would do anything in his power to erase the memories of that stupid fucking NPC making him feel pleasure that he had never felt before. Even if he had to create mesmer matches that worked only on him, just for that.

He palmed himself through his pants, breath faltering and labored as he felt how painfully hard he had become. All to the thought of you.

He felt pathetic.

And still, he pulled his pants down and leaned against a tree, trying to control the small moans that began spilling from his mouth.

Against his better judgment, however, Leo gave in to his curiosity.

"Haxs." He whispered through his sighs, and his half-lidded eyes immediately widened as he heard the telling sound of your labored breathing and the wet noises of your fingers thrusting deep inside yourself.

Leo's eyes rolled back as a strangled moan caught on his throat as soon as he realized you were masturbating just like he was. His hips jerked forward, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he bit his other fist in order to muffle the sounds of his mewls.

He fucked his fist at the same pace of your moans, desperately trying to picture you with your legs spread open wide, shoving your fingers deep inside your pussy in order to teach him how he should fuck you – just like you taught him things he wouldn't ever forget the last time.

Leo was too caught up in his fantasies and the sensation of finally – Finally! – being able to quench that awful thirst, that the next sound you made caught him completely off guard.

As you reached your own peak, your mewls and whines grew louder and, in your orgasm, you moaned another ghoul's name.

His hips stuttered and he thrusted one last time, his release gushing out of him in thick ropes before he could even notice. A loud whine ripping out of his throat without restraint.

He panted, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes due to the wave of pleasure he so desperately seeked finally washing over him.

But his eyes were sharp, glaring towards the only lit window in the Cathedral.

You fucking moaned someone else's name.

Leo inhaled deeply, trying to keep the confusing swirl of emotions at bay, blinking fast in order to get clear headed quickly.

What the actual fuck.

So you liked someone else? Apparently yes, since you fucking came with someone else's name on your lips.

What was all that happened between you two then? Did you REALLY just want to fuck with him as a punishment?

... Nah, he didn't believe that. Not when he could so clearly remember the way your eyes ran all over his body and how you looked like you would devour him at any given moment.

He would know.

Every single time he closed his eyes, he could still picture you hovering over him, touching him, praising him.

So why the fuck were you touching yourself to the thought of some other fucking ghoul?

Why not him? Why weren't you thinking of him while you masturbated, when he could only cum to the thought and sounds of you after you completely ruined him?

Were you really not as affected by all that as he was? Was he the only stupid moron that really couldn't even jack off properly if he didn't have you around somehow?

Leo bit his lip, brows furrowing as he felt his chest tightening. He haphazardly wiped his hands on the grass below him, and buttoned his pants.

Was this the actual punishment you were talking about?

Leo felt his throat close painfully and the back of his eyes sting as furious tears threatened to pool on his eyes.

He stumbled on his way back towards Vagastrom, confused despite the clarity brought by his orgasm, and, much to his dismay, feeling a type of hurt deep inside his chest that he had always thought was pathetic.

Leo felt discarded, like trash, for the first time in his life.

Kudos to you for flipping the script on him so perfectly without even trying.

But not to worry. When it came to cruelty and breaking hearts, he would always get first place.

He just had to think.

[adirajackson]

Would you still love me if I was a worm? ☻

Percy Jackson x gn!reader

Summary: Percy is dating Annabeth (love percabeth). But reader is swept away by Percy and can't help their feelings. Eventually, they talk and start dating. Everyone is suddenly distant to reader bc they ruined the best ship. Reader is insecure but Percy would gladly spend all his life reassuring them.

Fluff 💙💙🪼🌊🔱⚜️

On the radio~

🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼

(1st person)

There goes Percabeth, I thought bitterly. I have always had a crush on percy, but Annabeth got to him first. I didn't have anything against Annabeth, I just thought it was unfair. Unfair because I lost. "Y/n!" I had most the whole world tuned out as I read my book, sitting at a random bench near the lake, the sun hiting bare shoulders since I was just wearing a bikini, trying to tan. "Y/n!" oh. They're talking to me. Great. I looked up to see Percy's toned figure and sea-green eyes staring back at me with a bright smile. "Oh. Hey, Perce," I put on a fake smile as I speak. "Sorry, I tuned you out!" "No worries! Happens to the best of us, " he said, smiling. "What's up?" I could've sworn he had checked me out, but I wasn't so sure. "Oh yknow, trying to get a tan, reading, the usual." I said. "Oh, alright. Have fun!" he said, about to leave. "Wait! Perce!" I said, Calling out to him before could leave. Percy didn't say anything, he just waited for me to speak. "I... I know that you are dating Anna, an you guys are best best couple I've ever seen, but- but I like you..." I looked up Percy to see him staring at me in shock. "W-well...Im not dating Annabeth anymore..." he said. "Wait wha-" I was shocked at the least. "We decided to stick as friends because she is going through a sexuality crisis," he seemed calm but almost nervous and jittery at the same time. "I like you too, Y/n. Maybe we can date?..." he looked at me hopefully. "Of course!" she said, wanting to scream in joy.

(3rd person)

Fast forward to a couple months later. They decide to go public with their relationship and now a majority of her friends we're way more distant. Her stuff is often vandalized with words like 'slut!' and 'homewrecker'. People often spread rumours about her when she wasn't listening— when they thought she wasnt listening. He never voiced this to Percy, for multiple reasons. One, what if they're right? Is she a slut and a homewrecker? Would Percy stop loving her if he saw a different perspective? Two, what if he didn't care or didn't believe her? What would she do then? She also has always feel insecure about her body and just herself in general. Would Percy not like her if she wasn't confident? She needs to stop being an ugly coward. The two of them were actually on a date right now, and they were sitting on the beach. "Baby, what's wrong?" Percy asked, clearly concerned for his beautiful girlfriend. "Oh. Nothing..." she said, putting on a heavily fake smile. "Y/n L/n, my love, my girl, darling. Please don't lie to me." he said. He might have the nickname 'seaweed brain', but he wasn't an idiot. "I'm sorry for ruining it." she started sniffling. "For what?" Percy was genuinely confused, his beloved, beautiful, girlfriend couldn't possibly do any wrong. "Ruining your relationship." she was sobbing into his chest, the sea-salty scent blanketing her in a comforting warmth. "Baby.... No..... You didn't do anything." he lifted her chin with his index finger. "We broke up before you confessed, remember?" "oh...." she said, feeling stupider than usual. "Am I a slut?..." she asked. Percy's eyes widened and he tackled her into a hug, spooning her while laying in the sand. "Who told you that?" he asked, his voice suddenly becoming protective and menacing. "E-everyone..." she said quietly. "Everyone spreads rumours about me and calls me name. In front of me and behind my back. They say that I ruined you and Annabeths relationship." she sighed into his arm. "I'm ugly and not confident. Why do you like me?" Percy audibly gasped at this, his precious is none of those things. "You aren't any of these things. You may act and look different than others, but no one looks the exact same. You are gorgeous, if not in your eyes, in mine. I chose to date you for a reason." he hugged her tighter in a slightly possessive way. "Mine." he said, his voice muffled since his face was burried in her neck.

[chenziee]

To Love a Geisha

Written for the adorable @opfluffzine!! It's a free digital zine that you can download right here ☁️

ALSO check out the amazing spot art by @beasttrash!! It's so so cute 🤖🌸

[ READ ON AO3 | KO-FI | COMM INFO ]

—————

“Hey, Franosuke, are you married?”

The question didn’t take Franosuke, a carpenter in the Flower Capital of Wano, completely by surprise. After all, a few of his coworkers had just spent the better half of their break complaining about their home lives—how their wives were on their asses about drinking and spending time with geishas instead of helping take care of the kids. Which was entirely in their right to do, in Franosuke’s opinion; a man should take responsibility and help his family, be it wife, kids, siblings, or parents!

But voicing those thoughts would go against his ‘role’, wouldn’t it?

And so, Franosuke simply laughed, shaking his head. “No way, man! I’m free as a super bird!”

“Good for you!” one of the men said, slapping Franosuke’s shoulder.

“Oh, but,” another one noted with a knowing smirk, “I hear you’ve got quite the favourite in old Tsugaru Umi’s teahouse.”

A small choir of ohh immediately followed as all his coworkers turned to look at Franosuke with wide, almost evil grins on their faces. A second later, a barrage of questions followed.

“It’s O-Some, isn’t it?!”

“I bet it’s Kisegawa!”

“The Oiran’s procession is going to be next month, I bet you switch your favourite then! Always happens.”

Honestly, Franosuke had no idea who or what they were talking about… but a happy smile still pulled on his lips as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Because, while his coworkers speculated wildly about who his favourite geisha might or might not be, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering.

Wandering to the silky black hair, two-coloured blue eyes, and mind so sharp it could destroy a man in a second.

Shaking his head, Franky laughed loudly as he brought himself to the reality where he was surrounded by a bunch of dudes with the smell of wood and sweat in the air. “You’re making me feel super weird now, guys! She’s a super lady. I’m not going to replace her because some pin-up girl walks by!”

His coworkers exchanged a confused glance. “What’s ‘pin-up girl’?”

Oh.

Shit, he shouldn’t have said that.

“A beautiful, sexy woman?” Franosuke tried, wrecking his brain for an excuse. “It’s… a dialect.”

Several doubtful looks and murmurs of, “where is he from again?” were his only response and he felt sweat building on his back, his shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. What could he say? How did he change the topic without it sounding forced?

What a super dumb slip of the tongue that was…

“Hey, assholes!! Stop slacking or I’m gonna fire you!”

All the men on the construction site jumped at the angry shout, everyone immediately rushing to pick up their saws and hammers and get to work. Meanwhile… Franosuke was never more grateful for Master Minatomo and his awful personality.

—————

Walking down the familiar streets of the Flower Capital, Franosuke marvelled at how easy finding his way was now. After all, it had only been a few weeks since he had arrived here and at first, the roads felt incredibly confusing. Them all being named 1st Street and 2nd Street and 36th Street wasn’t helping either because… 36th from what?

It made no sense to him. The city he grew up in was huge too but Water 7 had never felt as hard to navigate as this.

Now, though, he could walk these streets blindfolded—at least the parts of the city he knew. Actually… how many times had he walked this route? Even his coworkers had started to notice he visited the place often… Some might even say too often; they might say he was pathetic, hopeless, throwing away money for no reason, for a fake dream.

But it wasn’t fake, a dream, or hopeless to him.

Instead, the sight of the teahouse attached to a certain okiya made him feel happy. Excited.

“Sir Franosuke, we’ve been expecting you.” The teahouse worker bowed deeply in greeting before leading him to his reserved room and bowing again.

Franosuke wondered whether this treatment would ever stop freaking him out; it was like he was a nobility whenever he walked in here, it was super weird. But, he supposed that was what went with exclusive patronage—honestly, it was a miracle he was even allowed in here. Not many were, certainly not people who appeared suddenly out of nowhere with no background and no connections.

Yet another reason to suffer old Minatomo and his tantrums; if it weren’t for his patronage of this place, his recommendation, and friendship with the owner, there was no way for Franosuke to even get a glimpse of the garden, never mind getting to walk through the doors to this small, private room.

Well, no reason to dwell on that. He was here and that was all that mattered!

The moment he sat down at the tiny, low table, the door slid open quietly once more. And when he glanced towards it… a wide smile pulled on his lips. 

Kneeling on the ground just outside the room was a geisha, her head slightly bowed, eyes turned modestly to the ground. She waited a few seconds before she rose to her feet, entered the room and kneeled again to close the door behind herself, then turned to face Franosuke directly for the first time.

“Welcome… my Lord,” she said in a sweet voice before her eyes turned to the side once more. This time, however, it was in a more of a coy way than anything.

The sight nearly made Franosuke start laughing.

“Seeing you act like this, I feel like you’re about to assassinate me every time, Miss O-Robi.”

Now, it was O-Robi’s turn to quickly cover her mouth with her kimono sleeve to hide her chuckle. “I think Luffy wouldn’t be very happy if he came here with Sanji only to find out his shipwright was now in pieces, being sold for metal scrap.”

Franosuke frowned, crossing his large metal arms over his chest. “Hey! Are you doubting my abilities? I’m not so easy to just take apart and sell, lady!” He paused, then added, “You would make a lot of money with me though.”

This time, O-Robi couldn’t hold her quiet giggle back. She didn’t bother hiding it either as she finally joined Franosuke at his table. “I’ll make sure to sell you to the underground. I know people would pay hundreds of millions of beri for that laser beam of yours, Franky,” she said, her voice light with amusement.

“You’d better,” Franky huffed, nodding to himself. “Those people’d appreciate my super armoured body at least!”

Shaking her head with an easy smile still playing on her lips, Robin grabbed the sake bottle off the table, pouring Franky a cup with practised ease. Up until now, Franky had never realised how elegant such a simple action could be; it was like watching art in motion. Robin’s graceful hands were holding the bottle gently, the sake trickling into the cup with precision, not a single drop wasted. She was leaning forward slightly, the collar of her kimono falling low in the back, exposing and accentuating her long, delicate neck.

Franky jumped when someone tapped his shoulder right then, breaking him out of his reverie—when he turned to look who it was, however, only a detached hand growing out of his own arm greeted him, before it scattered into flower petals.

“Staring is rude, you know,” Robin said, shooting Franky a teasing look.

The man huffed out a laugh as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Robin’s cheek, careful of her make-up. “Sorry, Robin. Just admiring how beautiful my super geisha is.”

“A geisha mustn’t be touched, my Lord,” Robin said sternly, but the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyes dancing.

“Kick me out, then.” Franky grinned and, without missing a beat, kissed her again. 

Robin laughed. “You’re impossible.”

Finally, Franky grabbed the sake bottle from her, pouring her own cup for her. With a small thank you, Robin raised her cup to her lips, taking a sip—and then, as if completely letting go of her ‘role’, she leaned into Franky’s side, sighing contently.

For but a second, Franky froze. 

But then, something warm spilled inside of his chest and he raised his arm, pulling her closer to him. He almost forgot how it felt having Robin next to him, how comforting and exciting feeling her body heat seep into his skin—numb and hard with metal right underneath—was. The archeologist was so small next to him. Small and beautiful and oh-so deadly.

Franky knew that if she wanted to, she would be able to kill him in seconds. But she didn’t—wouldn’t. Not anymore. And Franky loved knowing that, loved that she chose every day to be here, with the crew. With him. She had gone through so much pain, but she was willing to open herself up and trust them even so.

He would make super damn sure she never regretted that decision.

Letting his smaller, human-sized hand out of his regular hand, Franky reached out, touching Robin’s cheek softly, making her tilt her head back to look at him. Robin hummed questioningly, but Franky only sighed. “I really wanna kiss you.”

“You did already.”

Franky clicked his tongue. “You know what I mean, Robin.”

“You’ll mess up my make-up,” Robin noted.

“And your teacher will yell at you, I know.” 

With a sigh, Franky retreated his hand; he really didn’t want a repeat of the first time he came here… Robin wasn’t allowed to leave the okiya for days after that, apparently something about proper geisha manners and perceived perfection and innocence. He didn’t really get it but he sure didn’t need a detailed explanation. Definitely not from the tiny old hag. She looked like she would go on forever given the chance.

Quickly covering her mouth with her kimono sleeve, Robin chuckled at Franky’s disappointment.

But then, Franky blinked when one of Robin’s hands came to rest against his shoulder, another on his chest as she rose to her knees with a soft smile on her lips—and a playful twinkle in her eyes. A third and a fourth hand cupped Franky’s face, gently guiding him forward—and a second later, their lips met, moulding together easily as they kissed properly for the first time in weeks.

Franky grinned into the kiss; the smell of the powder on Robin’s skin mixing with her perfume was tickling his nose, her lips soft against his own. The feeling made his heart race as if this was their first time.

It would probably always feel that way to him. With Robin, every day was like their first—especially now. After not seeing her for two whole years, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her presence, her voice, her touch, her brilliance. 

She was just as beautiful, just as smart, just as perfect as she was when they first met. The only difference was that she was much more herself.

And Franky couldn’t help but love every last bit off her.

When his coworker asked if he was married earlier, Franky wasn’t being entirely honest. But… it wasn’t like he was completely lying either. He did have a wife but they were pirates, after all, and pirate weddings weren’t exactly official. Moreover, they were officiated by the captain. And their captain being Luffy… The whole thing pretty much consisted of Luffy saying ‘Marry you? Yeah, why not. Done.’ and then immediately asking if there was a wedding cake. 

Franky hesitated calling that a wedding. More like a super speed run of one. But—

It was enough for them.

Whether they were an assassin and a dismantler, an archeologist and a shipwright, or a geisha and a carpenter, Franky knew Robin would always be right there, by his side.

And Franky would always be grateful for it, ready to love her exactly the way she was in return.

[cuttyclowngirl]

Daima EP.5 (Spoiler) Review/theories

• While Panzy's eye color means nothing in regards to her lineage, she does come from an important lineage as some of us suspected. Panzy, princess of machine otakus. Glorio not immediately recognizing her by name or appearance likely implies either 3rd world demons aren't interested in the royal family in general or Panzy's very existence is somewhat restricted to those who live/work at her castle. Could it be that she never actually received a collar as a result of that? Is that why she wears the scarf?

• Glorio very clearly doesn't want anyone outside of Goku's circle to join in regardless of any help they can offer. (Not part of Dr Arinsu's plan?) No choice now. Panzy's a helpful mechanic.

• Glorio did in fact speak to King Kadan, who did not in fact request that Glorio seek out those who defeated Majin Buu; implying that Glorio "snuck" into King Gohma's castle & gathered intel on Goku & crew in episode 1 before being "sent out" by King Kadan. Even a 3rd world demon who does "work" in the 1st world shouldn't be able to get anywhere near the castle of THE SUPREME KING of the DEMON REALM. He was let in. Dr Arinsu popped up unannounced in episode 1 & Glorio just happened to be spying behind a pillar? Nah.

• The 3rd demon world being the biggest, (yet worst off) world in the entire realm might just maybe imply worlds 1&2 have slightly lower gravity, but probably not.

• King Kadan is a man of seemingly righteous anger (Glorio describes him as an uncivilized Mafia boss) who wants to get rid of King Gohma & somehow assume the throne of Supreme King. For "peace". Is that actually possible? Was he perhaps promised that position by a manipulator in the shadows? (Dr Arinsu?) Panzy said her father "only steals from criminals & only kills bad people", which is usually a set up for a heartbreaking reveal that'll leave Panzy in tears. Or it could be nothing.

• Apparently those awful collars even function as tracking devices.

• They even have onigiri in the Demon Realm. Cute. Implies demon rice fields & unique demon ocean seaweed.

• Panzy has a knife she hasn't used yet. Judging from all that courtyard soldier training going on at her castle, she probably picked up a few moves from watching & learning.

• It was nice hearing Goku introduce himself with both his names. His interactions with Panzy are cute so far, as I'd hoped. Panzy herself is charmingly stubborn, insisting on getting her way without throwing tantrums/ throwing a fit.

• In the 3rd world at least, the inhabitants live up to a thousand years. This likely doesn't apply to the Glinds who live for a VERY long time.

• Every Majin (demon) can use at least one magic spell. So could magical enhancement explain Glorio's strength?

• Goku can canonically touch his nose with his tongue.

• Panzy implied that there are next to no Glinds in the Demon Realm due to the vast majority leaving ages ago, as many of us suspected. Though based on the passive aggressive conversation Shin had with Glorio episode 3, there might be a handful of Glinds somewhere in 2nd world.

• So the stick with blue cloth tied to it from the OP isn't a grave marker, but a path marker. Based on the sound of the wind (in the scene in this episode) & the direction the cloth was blowing, you're supposed to take the path the cloth points to. (In the OP the cloth is blowing to the right, then the camera pans to the right, where Goku & crew are seen traveling)

• Panzy confirms that Dabura was still a bad guy prior to the events of the Buu saga, so thankfully he hasn't been retconed as a good guy King. (Wouldn't make sense)

• Dende's caretaker (nanny?) is cute. Hope she gets a name. Much smarter of King Gohma planing on raising Dende so he can have his own personal set of dragon balls & probably get rid of Neva. (So it was probably Degesu's idea)

• I want to know what those demon onions have seen...

• The Tamagamis have never been defeated. Their poor win streak's about to be demolished.

• Smart of Shin (Supreme Kai) to bring up the pin number issue with King Kadan, who introduced us to a demon (of currently unspecified gender) named "Hybis" (Hibiscus flower?) who loves ballet & will head out to pick up/help Vegeta & crew. Hybis also shows off a device that's visually similar to the dragon radar, but also Babidi's energy reading device we saw Spopovich using when Gohan went SSJ2 at the tournament in the Buu saga. Just cooler. (Panzy is also seen holding a similar device in the ED) I swear, if the eyeball on Hybis' belt turns out to be the Tertian Oculus...

• Shin straight up drops "universe 7" in front of Goku, who doesn't register it & that's hilarious. Shin also finally shared his suspicions of Glorio with Goku, bringing up things we've been bringing up & such. Goku was Goku about it.

• I wasn't ready for the children's book art style bit when King Kadan ordered 3 men to steal a plane for Hybis from the "Nemophy Gang".

• Man, someone must've put a plane curse on Glorio, cuz bro has ZERO luck in that department. A 4 day trip & it breaks down in 2 minutes. (Guess Kai-Kai isn't an option)

• Hope we return to Kadan castle from time to time to introduce us to a few of those background characters like cool, pretty, buff red head with the silly ah chest plate.

• Wonder if Glorio actually has any of that liquor King Kadan offered to provide.

• Cute detail of Goku carrying luggage with his nyoibo.

• I super hope that axolotl tailed stuffed animal Panzy brought along will actually be sold IRL. I want.

[scary-pixie]

November 1st = New Tina Year! (secret diary entry and upcoming goals)

I'm mainly writing this down so I don't slack off! Cause if I slack off I can look back on this and think, "wow, you failed terribly. dingus."

Ahem.

Anyways, I am in the process of thinking up some new short term goals now that:

2024 con season is over (with the exception of some smaller events)

Spooky Season is almost over (I like posting non-stop spooky stuff during this delightful time)

Twitter is going inside the toilet

Magazine troubles (more on this below)

I have met the famous man whose inspiration played a big role in both: a) getting back into drawing my old OCs after 15+ years (little round glasses are a bad influence), and b) getting brave enough to be on video after saying I would never do this for god knows how long. (secret: I watched a certain music video with one of his characters the morning before I made my own). BUT HE WILL NEVER KNOW ABOUT THIS AND I WILL NEVER TELL! I AM FULL OF CRINGE!!!

This is what I'm thinking at the moment, in terms of my next creative direction. I appreciate any thoughts or advice!!:

My OC art was an absolute flop in terms of gaining new social media followers. Bluesky seems to be a LITTLE bit better, but it's still early to tell and I haven't posted too many of my OCs there yet either. For the time being, though, I plan to get back to my Schoolism subscription assignments since I've been neglecting them for a bit!

good lord I need to flatten my stomach somehow, as I cannot fit into my preferred fashion choices. I quit watching TV for a while in the summer, which helped a bit (I tend to eat everything in the house while I watch), so I may try this again soon.

arm workouts are going alright I guess, I am gaining a bit of muscle in my armes so they do not look so much like noodles.

Tempted to get back into posting video game screenshots and mini-reviews on social media since people really liked this stuff, but I'm worried it might just add more to my plate.

I'm really enjoying doing videos now, I'm just not sure which direction to take them (or if I even should take them places). I tend to film a lot of myself and a long-time friend in the car just saying stupid shit, but I don't really want to post all of these.

I wish to read more books without falling asleep, jesus christ this is tough.

On a similar note: the magazine I used to write book and comic reviews for has SHUT DOWN GOD DAMN IT so maybe I'll write some new stuff here?? Not sure yet!

I need to get back to my Japanese studies!! I used to do them at lunch and dinner but now I get distracted by all the awful political shit online! Aaaaaaaa!! I really hope America doesn't combust in the next few days but I guess we'll find out soon...

Finally, I need to be more active HERE! It's the best place for longform writing and art that might be a bit too "cringe" for the general public. Let's see if I can stick to it!!

I think that's all I have to SAY for NOW. Wish me luck in sticking to my goals instead of spiralling into ADHD Twitter nonsense, aaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Tagging a couple frands: @prometheus-ghost @fadingdreamerdream @thewebspinner @autolykiss @draganwhorror

Also anyone who actually wants to watch my shitty ass videos, the link is below. I have a bunch more but haven't posted them! https://www.instagram.com/kittensoft39/reels/

[leitereads]

Kuroshitsuji: an analysis on "fagging" and a change of power dynamics between characters

I know how disappointed some fans are regarding the "politically correct" presentation of Ciel and the overall "fagging" culture that was common back then at elite boarding schools in the UK. From what I have heard from people slightly older than me, this was a thing that carried on into the late 90s in certain private schools. As of now, I am sorry, I don’t know anyone rich enough to ask them regarding those things.

However, what I can say about this matter is that a) this practice is can be found almost anywhere in the world (mostly in universities), b) it is about power exchange and how it leads to respecting tradition and bond with other students, c) I am part of it in my own university and d) it’s deliciously represented in Kuroshitsuji, in a way that somehow gives us a different perspective over what Ciel can and cannot do, limiting his actions, something that he, as a powerful noble, is not used to.

Fagging

In many countries and cultures cross the world, "fagging" has many different names, and many different forms. In the US you have fraternities and sororities, here in my country you have the "Praxe". In the UK you have (had?) fagging, in which consisted exactly on younger students doing most part of domestic tasks that were supposed to be made by older students. The older the students were, the more power and status they gained inside the institution, and therefore the more privileges they had. In consequence, although these fags didn’t have an easy life, they still had some sort of protection and status themselves for serving someone older. This creates an hierarchy based on age, more specifically just academic age.

Ciel, as being someone young is, of course, at the base of this hierarchical system. Someone who is used to be at the top of the hierarchical ladder is going to struggle to adapt to a new environment, one in which he simply cannot understand/agree with the traditions imposed. This will create a certain obstacle at first, because he needs to learn how to navigate in a different society so different and, at the same time, so similar to the one he belongs to: the only difference being where he stands. And we see Ciel, for the second time in his life, working himself from the the way down to the way up.

In the first time, his birth condition (well, let’s assume we are speaking about Ciel’s condition, and not o!Ciel’s one at least) gave him a kickstart in life: a manor, monetary goods, a title. In this case, he is a mere 1st year student, and he must subjugate himself to the desires (sometimes sadistic) of older students, especially Clayton at first.

Psychological Implications

It may be complicated from Ciel, even more taking in consideration how prideful he is, to swallow that pride and abide by traditions he a) doesn’t relate to b) finds useless and c) seeing himself without a lot of power to swiftly surpass those obstacles. Ciel is not there in order to live the academic traditions that are present around him, nor to make friends, of course. And, in the end, fagging and these other academic traditions open the door to just that: when people suffer together they usually stick together. This is the meaning of fagging, Praxe, and all the other academic traditions listed. And this is not what he is searching for. Which puts a little bit of strain on him, and he ultimately might think they are extremely childish and ridiculous.

Another interesting aspect of this overall power exchange here is that Sebastian is in a higher position of power than Ciel, as opposed to their base situation. This is, of course, extremely debatable, and the power that each one of them holds in their master/servant (no, I am not talking about that sort of thing… eww) is quite mutable, and, at times, one may hold more control over the other, and that is changing. Here we have a third factor contributing to that mutable power exchange: a different environment, where Sebastian’s position allows him to be seen as more respectable. And this is extremely delicious to see when he lets Ciel undergoing the initiation ritual with the bedsheets and being thrown: Sebastian is, obviously, enjoying himself at the expense of his master’s suffering, since in normal situations he simply cannot do that, at least not as frequently. To Sebastian this is cathartic, and to Ciel (Sebastian’s master) this must feel extremely insolent. Especially because Ciel is someone who likes to always be in control, having in consideration all he went through.

Undergoing this traditional upbringing will, hopefully, provide Ciel either the necessary tools regarding being more self-reliant and independent when it comes to Sebastian because, even if the demon is able to help him out with all the domestic tasks that he needs to do, who knows what will happen when Ciel loses (even if just temporarily) Sebastian one day (which, as another post explained, it might happen sooner than we think).

By being a fag and by navigating a position in which he is in a lower position, Ciel can’t find many shortcuts to success, and he will need to a) rely on his interpersonal skills, b) make connections with other students, c) be aware of what’s going on, socially, around him (read the room) and d) use his insight more than the sheer force and threats of Sebastian.

[acepodcastweek]

2023 Ace Week Fiction Podcast Fan Event (October 22nd-28th)

October 22nd to October 28th 2023 is ace week, and fiction podcasts are a great medium to be asexual.

Prompts

Sunday, 22nd October

Ace of Spades | Realisation/Acceptance

Monday, 23rd October

Cake & Garlic Bread | Invisible/Seen

Tuesday, 24th October

Ace of Diamonds | Effort/Rest

Wednesday, 25th October

Space Ace | Past/Future

Thursday, 26th October

Ace of Hearts | Isolation/Connection

Friday, 27th October

Dragons | Divergence/Diversity

Saturday, 28th October

Ace of Clubs | Mourning/Celebration

More information on each list is available here.

How does this work?

I've made up two lists of daily prompts, above, to get you started. Using them is encouraged but entirely optional, and you may do as many or as few as you'd like. One per day is great, and one in one week also great. You can pick and mix, stick with one list, do both, or even just do your own thing entirely.

You can start working on them any time from right now up until during ace week, but if you're comfortable sharing them be sure to schedule or save them for the date and either @ me here at @acepodcastweek, or tag them with #ace podcast week, which I'll check daily up until November 1st.

You can join in by:

Creating art of any kind: visual, baking, music, etc

Writing fanfic

Doing poetry

Media analysis

Making recommendation lists

Holding polls

Highlighting creators

Sharing headcanons

And whatever else might strike your fancy.

Whether you want to dote on (or, let's be real, torment) your favourite ace characters, help other people find new shows they'd like, show the creative teams behind these works your appreciation, flex your brain creatively, just think it'd be interesting, or any other one of a myriad reasons, you're welcome to give it a go.

Image descriptions for visual art are not mandatory, but are strongly encouraged.

Creator Featurettes

Podcast creators and contributors who are acespec or have acespec characters are very welcome to put together little features of their characters and/or projects in advance of (or during) the week, which I'll reblog here.

Resources

There are many acespec characters in audio fiction, and I've attached two lists below to get you started.

Questions & Queries

If you have any questions, concerns, ideas, or anything else in that realm, get in touch with me here. You can drop them in the comments, my DMs, or send me an ask. Is there something I could be doing better? Let me know!

If you run any kind of community group or are a creator and would like to run a podcast ace week event, go for it. I sure don't have exclusive rights, and would welcome the company. If you let me know, I'll even promo it.

A list of asked and anticipated questions can be found here, and will be updated as additional questions are asked.

[viburnt]

Midoriya I.|| Childhood promises

Type: Headcanons+Snippet

Genre: Fluff

Characters involved: Midoriya Izuku (main)/Uraraka Ochaco (secondary on the reading bite)

Prompt: As kids, Izuku gifted you a plastic ring and told you he'd marry you in the future. Now it's a recurrent joke to call each other fiancé.

• It happened when Izuku was 7; the street fair was nearby and his mom had given him some money to spend with you on treats and games. He was so excited, his hand timidly holding yours as the hanging lights guided your way

• One of the stands had caught his attention: it was a lucky duck pond, one of those games where you need to catch two different rubber duckies with the same number to win. 3 chances, no skills involved.

• “Do you think if we get our lucky charms together, we could win a prize?” The lucky charms in question were an All Might collectible card and a snail shell you found at the park.

• The freckled boy was enthusiastic about it, confidently paying the old man running the game a couple of silver coins to play. His hands gently lowered the small fishnet provided to play. First number: 3.

• Izuku could hear you rooting for him by his side. All he had to do was get another one like that. Sticking his tongue out, praying to his All Might card, he sank the net once more. Second number: 9.

• He felt like crying.

• You patted his hand in a comforting way, threatening the nearby kids who mocked him. “Hey, let me try!”

• The result was the same, sadly. However, the old man was touched by you two that he gave out a consolation prize to lift your spirits. It was a plastic jewelry set: a silver crown, a magic wand and a couple of rings.

• The path back home didn't feel so bad after that.

• “At least the rings are pretty, do you think we could wear them at school?” You said, making Midoriya think. “But aren't matching rings for marriage? My mom says so.”

• After a brief silence, Izuku's green eyes lit up, feeling a slight wave of nervousness as the words rolled out of his mouth. “Then I'll marry you! W-we can wear them until we grow up and then get m-married!”

• Your face felt warm as you heard him speak, feeling his hand eagerly placing the silver ring on your left hand.

• Ever since, neither of you take the plastic piece off, even if it's old and the colors washed out. Not to mention that the whenever you see each other, the word “Fiancé/Fiancée” rolls out of your mouths.

—Hi! If you have a moment, I'm looking for a person. Do you think you can help me?

Ochako heard with attention as you spoke, tilting his head at the style you sported. Compared to the gray uniform and green tie U.A students wore, your clothes were more of an Eastern streetwear.

—Uh, sure thing! Who are you looking for?— The brunette said with a sympathetic smile. —Are they from 1st year or 2nd?

—Izuku Midoriya, 1st year!— The name popped out of your mouth, catching Uraraka's interest.

—Really? He is from my class! I'll take you there.— She offered, making you feel relieved. —Are you from his family or something? I don't think he mentioned any siblings or cousins.

You snorted a little, deciding to play a little with the round-faced girl.

—He is my fiancé! I came to visit him.

The way Ochako's jaw dropped almost had you rolling on the floor laughing, but for the sake of your little joke, you kept a straight face.

—Fiancé?— Her voice stuttered. You nodded, showing off the little plastic ring you always carried. —Since when? How did that happen?

You tapped on your chin as if thinking.

—Since kids, we promised each other. We'll be hitting it off as soon as he graduates.

Uraraka couldn't hide her shock.

—Oh, there you are! I see you've met one of my classmates already.— Izuku's voice popped in, joining the conversation as he walked towards you. —Did you have trouble finding the classroom building?

Ochako's finger pointed at him and then to you. It didn't take much for Midoriya to connect the dots.

—You just had to tell her, didn't you?— He muttered, eyeing you with an embarrassed face. — Uraraka, let me explain…

—Wanna come to the wedding?

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