#fic idea 9

[writewhatyouwanttoread]

Fic Idea 9

Okay so I've been reading a lot of star trek fic lately and just rewatched aos so hear me out:

Half-Vulcan!Katsuki and human!Izuku

Katsuki's parents both died in some sort of really traumatic way when he was a very young child (less that 1-2yrs I'm thinking) and he somehow ends up in the foster system on earth.

I'm imagining that his parents weren't on Vulcan and that Nero didn't happen so the planet still exists and vulcans aren't an endangered species. If they were I think it would be really hard for Katsuki to get overlooked since his vulcan heritage would make him quite valuable and precious.

Anyway, his vulcan parent (probably Masaru) met his mother on some kind of diplomatic mission or science academy deployment or something while away from Vulcan and fell in love with her. Knowing that no one would approve but feeling very strongly about her (they're probably extremely compatible or maybe even soulmates), he runs away to be with her. They're together for several years before starting a family and they're either on a world or ship that gets raided/attacked when they die. Probably a ship that's near earth. Because then it would make sense for earth to pick up the survivors and provide support for them. That puts Katsuki in a brilliant position to be placed into earth's foster care system.

Which is a horrible place for a half-vulcan who's got really big feelings about everything (like vulcans do) and all of this sensory/mental input from the other kids and people that he encounters because humans are very tactile creatures who have no understanding of vulcan physiology since the race is so secretive which leaves Katsuki with no one to guide him through the process of learning to control all of it.

And thus: explosive Katsuki who's very angry about things and super aggressive to keep people the fuck away from him so he can have some peace in his own damn mind is born.

Cue him having a really rough life that is fraught with conflict since he's all at once leaps and bounds smarter than all the people around him but has a hairpin trigger on all of his emotions because there's no one around to teach him control and he's is constantly being mentally assaulted by people touching him and is generally "othered" by all of his peers.

Big points for an estranged vulcan Dadzawa here teaching him how to regulate his emotions and pushing him into starfleet where rank and professionalism will keep people from being overly friendly as well as a broader knowledge of alien species and their customs. Besides, Katsuki is bright as hell and doesn't back down from a fight. With a little bit of guidance and some structure he'd make a great officer.

Which is how he ends up in starfleet and meets Izuku. A bubbly, smart, compassionate, and determinedly fierce human who's pursuing a captaincy once he's completed command track.

A human who Katsuki eventually finds out is his t'hy'la. Which definitely happens during some disapproves disasterous ordeal where Katsuki has to mindmeld with Izuku to save his life and they form a weak bond right away that he can feel buzzing around in his head even after they've separated. He doesn't know that Izuku is his t'hy'la until they've been dancing around each other for a few months and he finally gets a chance to speak with dadzawa again and Katsuki brings it up because he just can't figure it out.

Obviously it ends with them getting together and formalizing their bond via a mix of the human traditions that they both grew up with and some vulcan ones that just feel right to Katsuki (after some research and discussion with dadzawa). Overall the ending would be the toothrotting fluff they deserve after a lot of struggle.

I think Izuku's childhood would be much the same as it is in canon. Pretty much single mom raising him who works a lot. Nerdy and scrawny as a kid. Super smart. Super hard worker. Super determined. Mocked for saying he was going to be a starfleet captain one day. Didn't have a lot of friends or good adult figures. It's probably inspired by All Might, an admiral in starfleet who captains a ship and he up in Izuku's town. He's done great things. They met once when Izuku was little and he was so inspired by his stories that it immediately captured all of Izuku's ample imagination.

[fairiesthrum]

reader who can’t stand satoru but then he gets hit by a curse that turns him into a cat. you find him, to his dismay, and take him home, only for him to realize how different you are when he isn’t around to pester you.

at first, he causes a lot of trouble. breaking things in your house, tearing up the pillows. he just wants to be a human again, but nobody can understand him! but you still take care of him and coddle him no matter how much trouble he causes, so different from how people treat him normally, as if he were a nuisance (which he kind of was on purpose). and he finds himself falling for you without realizing it.

so he stops being a bad cat, steadily losing hope that he’ll ever be human again. and satoru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy how you stroked him while you read a book or let him sleep beside you at night. maybe it wasn’t so bad? so he decided then if he was going to be just a cat, he was fine with being your cat.

the higher-ups had taken note of his absence, obviously, and he only knows cause you’ve mentioned it to him. you had this endearingweird quirk where you’d talk to him as if he were a real person.

throughout his stay in your home as a house pet, satoru finds out a lot about you. you’ve always kept to yourself, but you vent your frustrations out to him while he’s like this, and he offers his comfort the best he can. which you appreciate, rewarding him with kisses that he secretly enjoys.

once he turns human again, by some miracle, his first thought is to go and find you. and when he does, you give him the cold shoulder like you used to, and it surprises him. before he realizes that, ah, he wasn’t your pet anymore. he was gojo satoru.

satoru realizes his feelings for you in that moment. when he feels the ache in his chest from your dismissive behavior, it leads him to starting his most important mission yet—winning your heart once more.

but this time, it’ll be as a person, not a damn cat.

[likeshipsonthesea]

you make me

bucktommy ficlet. had a convo about love. had some feelings. gave them to buck. enjoy~

The entire loft is soaked in the hazy blue light of pre-morning. Buck can hear the mechanical thrum of garbage collectors, a handful of singing birds, quiet but steady breathing. His body is sore, from work and then from Tommy, a satisfying reminder of a yesterday well spent. Everything is warm and soft like Saturday morning, even though he's fairly sure it's Tuesday.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it's much too early to get up for a Tuesday, so he turns over to get comfortable and ends up face to face with Tommy's sleep-slacked expression.

Buck watches him in that way that's only creepy if you're not in love. Takes note of his eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks, his lips shadowed by the slant of his nose, how the dawning daylight catches on the angles of his face. He wants to touch, but not enough to disturb the serenity of sleep on his boyfriend's face.

Eddie tells him he says that a lot. My boyfriend. "We all know his name," Eddie says, tone harsh but a creeping smirk giving away the joke.

When Buck brought it up with Dr. Copeland, she asked him why he thinks he says it so much, but it was towards the end of their session so they didn't really get into it. Buck thinks it's probably something to do with his self-image problems, or maybe his abandonment issues? Dr. Copeland's better with the answers than he is.

Calling him Tommy is fine, but saying my boyfriend says my meatless lasagna needs more starch just reminds Buck that Tommy's his and, even more novel, Buck is Tommy's.

Buck likes being Tommy's boyfriend.

Tommy's boyfriend knows Tommy's coffee order, and drops it off along with a savory treat for him at the start of a long shift. Tommy's boyfriend always knows exactly where Tommy left his blue-light glasses and grabs them before they head to bed so Tommy can read another chapter of the cheesy historical fiction novel on his tablet. Tommy's boyfriend is the one Tommy goes to after a hard shift, to talk to or hug or just sit in the same room with until the rest of the world is less heavy.

As Tommy's boyfriend, Buck is still all the things he was before--firefighter, brother, friend--but knowing there's someone who trusts him enough to sleep beside him and let him stare at their face like a creeper in the early hours of the morning--there's this unfathomable freedom to it.

It's like--if Tommy loves him, he must be worthy of it. It's a truth and a prophecy, self-fulfilling. It's this ever-turning cycle that bolsters Buck to be the best version of himself, and none of it feels like work because it's all tangled up with joy.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Buck startles out of his internal monologue to find Tommy's left eye open. The right is buried in his pillow along with the lifted corner of his mouth.

"Probably a little too long," Buck admits, staring fixedly at that corner of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's lips part to release a sigh before settling into a smile. "Evan. Go back to sleep."

"In a minute."

Tommy shifts closer on the pillow, his nose nudging Buck's, his morning breath awful and his eyes so close Buck thinks their eyelashes might tangle. "You worked a 24-hour shift yesterday. You need to sleep. You can stare at me tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Tommy brushes their lips together. "Promise."

Buck finds Tommy's hand between them and laces their fingers together. "Alright," he says, settling back into the mattress and letting his eyes shut as he brings their hands to his sternum. "Tomorrow."

[not-rab]

fic idea ~

it’s nearing 9 years after the Marauders, a popular boyband consisting of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, announced they were taking a ‘break’ to pursue solo careers

less than a month before the Grammys, the guest list was released to the public, displaying all four of the boys as nominees for their individual work

this will be the first time in almost a decade that the whole of the band have reunited to the public eye after their ‘divorce’ as it’s known to fans

what’ll the outcome be?

OKAY I DID SOMETHING

[bibewilderedandbuck]

I feel like tommy would say such cliche stuff but make it sound new and good and hot and what I’m saying is i hope he tries all the oldest tricks in the book on buck

Yawning arm stretch to cuddling. “You come here often.” Etc etc

i will add when i think of more but i just thought about tommys smile at the coffee date scene again and i need a second

[titanlord231]

"- and did you know that a group of sea otters is called a raft, while a group of river otters is called a romp!" Buck said as he enthusiastically continued walking down the aquarium hallway while staring at the otters swimming about.

While he and Eddie were practicing Muay Thai, Tommy had gotten a notification letting him know that the shark exhibit at the aquarium was reopening after repairs. Eddie saw the message over his shoulder and recommended that he take Buck since Buck loves the otters there. That is how Tommy had ended up on a date with Buck at the aquarium while he was ranting about different otter facts.

"You are adorable when you get going about something you care about Evan." Tommy said catching up.

Buck starting blushing " Otters are awesome. Did you know that sea otters have the bite force of a black bear, and that river otters can form packs that can take down jaguars and crocodiles!!!"

"That's pretty cool, not as cool as sharks, but pretty cool."

" Oh yeah, well sea otters have fur so dense they have it can reach around 1-2 million furs per square inch."

"Yeah, but Sharks have sandpaper skin that scratches anything that touches them. And they have special organs on their noses called Ampullae de Lorenzini that let them detect electrical signals."

"That means that sharks are much harder to pet, I think that's point for Otters Tommy."

"Okay how about we agree both are cool, and watch the otters for a little longer before heading to the shark exhibit Evan?"

" Sounds great."

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

A little ficlet based on a prompt that @autisticbuckley gave me about Autistic Buck talking to Tommy about his special interest of Otters. I of course had to bring in Autistic Tommy to talk about sharks because I love them (Both Bucktommy and Sharks). Everyone please remember to take your favorite autistic friend to the aquarium for some enrichment every once in a while!

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[snowviolettwhite]

Eddie has never lived on his own. He has either lived with his parents or at the army base with a bunch of other people or with his child Christopher. Christopher who he had when he was basically still a child. He was only nineteen. Kids graduate high school at eighteen and nineteen. Young parents grow up with their kids, even if they are legally adults. Eddie has never been completely on his own. Does not know what it is like. Having to live on his own must terrify him.

Helena and Ramon not showing concern for Eddie upset me. Their child started seeing someone who looks exactly like his childhood best friend and late wife. Their child who has a history of mental health issues. Helena and Ramon are the grandparents of Christopher but they are still the parents of Eddie. Grandparents and parents love their grand kids and children but it is a different kind of love. Eddie is their child. He is their baby boy. Eddie is basically their Christopher.

-----

Idea for a fan-fiction.

Eddie being nerotypical is debatable. It is a popular headcanon that Eddie is autistic. There is obviously ableism Christopher has dealt with at the hands of his grandparents.

What if it was obvious to his parents that Eddie is autistic and that is why he is often times still treated like a child by them? What if they were told there was a possibility when he was little? Or what if he was diagnosed as a child and never told? What if that was part of the reason they wanted him to stay in Texas? They want to spend time with and love their grand kid but want keep an eye on their kid as well?

Even the people who love you can ableist even when they mean well. People with physical and/or mental disabilities deal with ableism and infantilization.

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(278) Rodimus Prime reformats into a flight frame. In his mind this is a relatively straightforward procedure to understand (if not to execute): he's always wanted to fly under his own power, and now he'll be able to go so damn fast doing it.

It turns out that everyone has opinions about this, ranging from 'good for you, buddy,' to 'this is a waste of everyone's time and precious resources,' to 'isn't this just more attention seeking dramatics?' And, as with people everywhere in time and space, they are all determined to make sure Rodimus hears their thoughts in full.

Except for Megatron, who usually takes any opportunity to expound upon Rodimus's pathological unsuitability for leadership roles. In this one, singular case, he has become... annoyingly mute.

[meowdy-all]

You know how we do the whole 'Buck has a secret past as a Navy SEAL, but doesn't like talking about it' in fanfiction? What if we did the same thing for Eddie? I know his past in the army is well known, but at the same time, he doesn't like talking about what happened, so it makes sense for them to not know what fully happened. Him being a medic on a Black Ops Army Ranger tesam, which is basically the army equivalent of a SEAL, is a wonderful idea for an au. Maybe one where an old enemy takes the 118 hostage and Buck and Eddie use their SEAL and Ranger experience to take the guy down, and the 118 is just like 'what... just happened'

Buck: i was a seal so... but idk how eddie did all that

Eddie: Yeah, i was on an army ranger black ops team :] nbd

Just an idea i had

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary:  Have you ever seen the tiktok where that guy brings a typewriter to his class because his prof doesn't allow laptops? Yeah, it's that, but you are the source of the typewriters. In other words, you're Reid's worst nightmare. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings:  Descriptions of emotional vulnerability from a student to a professor, reminders that the world sucks and Gen-Z is fucked when it comes to housing. The reader is. Kind of Mean to Spencer, but I won't say he doesn't deserve it. Enemies to Lovers, but they're just Enemies right now.

♥ A/N: a couple things about this fic. 1) i have no clue when this takes place in the criminal minds timeline???? i just know reid took a some kind of leave from the bau, and this is what he's doing with it 2) reid isn't actually in this one that much. my bad. 3) i've got no clue what university these two teach at. i researched typewriters extensively for this, but i didn't bother googling universities.

♥ Word count:  2371

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Alright, my little chilli babies, that’s about it for today. If you have any questions, office hours start now, and please remember there’s an exam next week. It makes me sad when you forget. Got it? Got it. Cool.”

Your students immediately began to stand and file out of the room. They left in groups. Some of them chatted amongst themselves softly, and some called out a farewell to you, but most of them were silent. One or two lingered behind to ask about the administration process of the PCL-R, but that was about it.

Except for this one girl.  

You were pretty sure her name was Opal. She sat near the back of the room in the second to last row. She got good grades and performed well on tests and projects- although she was a touch shy during the one presentation project you assigned during the semester.

Usually, Opal was one of the first to leave, practically running from the room, but today she just sat there, staring straight ahead. You watched her for a second, vaguely assuming that she had a question or something. She didn’t get up to ask, though. She just sat still, staring at her laptop.  You paid her no mind.  Sometimes your students just needed a second, and that was usually nothing to worry about.

You were just about to pack up your own things and head for your office when you heard a sob. You looked up again to see Opal just sobbing into her computer. You winced. A pang of sympathy hit you dead in the chest. University was just like that sometimes- and she wasn’t the first or last student to cry on campus.  

Shit, you cried on campus. Like, all the time. As a professor.  The previous Tuesday you thought about the two-headed calf poem too hard and you ended up sobbing in your office.  

You headed for the back of the room, leaning a hip against the back of the seat beside her. She didn’t seem to notice your presence. Her laptop screen was covered with detailed notes- it was honestly an impressive collection.  

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay over here?”

Opal gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes, “I-I’m- I-” she sobbed again, “I’m so sorrrrrry.”

“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m crying in your classroom, and I’m so overwhelmed, and my next assignment is going to be late, and I’m so sorrrrry.”

The poor thing put her face in her hands and hunched over in her seat. You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. University is stressful. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and crying can provide a cathartic release from that.”

“I- I know. It’s just so- so embarrassing.”

“Again, don’t worry about it. I literally cried in here last week.”

“R-really?”

“Mhmm. Now, if it helps, I can provide an extension on that assignment. Your feedback might be a little less in-depth, but that’s really nothing to worry about. Your work has always met a high standard.”

Her eyes somehow got even wider, “Are you- are you sure, professor?”

“Absolutely. It’s not a big deal- it might not fix your whole problem though,” you pulled your legs up onto the chair, sitting criss-cross facing your student, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, the school provides free counselling services. They can help you feel less… whelmed.”  

Opal nodded, wiping her eyes, “It’s really just- just this one class I’m in. Our professor doesn’t allow laptops so I have to take notes by hand. But my- my writing is really messy, so then I have to figure out what I wrote, and-”

She was working herself back into a frenzy. You had to intervene. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Which prof is it, maybe we can ask about getting an accommodation made?”

“It’s-” she sobbed, “It’s Professor Reid.”

You froze. Opal continued to sob as a dark, heavy storm cloud rolled into your brain.  

“That fucking bastard,” you hissed, effectively shocking Opal out of her stupor.

“Wh-what?”

“This isn’t the first time he’s- okay, come on, follow me, we’re going to my office.”

Wordlessly, Opal put her things in her bag. You ran to your desk to do the same, snatching your keys and water bottle before heading out into the hallway. Opal followed diligently, but she struggled to keep up with your purposeful strides. Her face was still tear-stained, but now, instead of sorrow, her expression was the ultimate picture of confusion. When you reached your office, you swung the door open wide and ushered the girl inside.

In all honesty, you were quite proud of the space you had created. It was warmly lit, a necessary contrast from the harsh white lights of the hallway (you fucking hated those lights). The walls were decorated with your doctorates and neat little art pieces you found in various places. It was colourful and pleasant, and now was not the time to focus on your choice of decor because you were on a mission.

Opal remained near the door, watching as you rounded your desk and reached for something below it. With a slight groan of effort, you quickly emerged with your prize.

A vintage typewriter.

A heavy vintage typewriter.

You placed the thing down on your desk as delicately as you could. Opal stared at you in confusion as you beamed at the fine piece of machinery.

“Which room is his class in, I’ll have someone bring this to you.”

“Professor-?”

“You use it for one class, just one, and I guarantee he’ll let you use your laptop. Damn, technophobe.”

“I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”

You placed your hands on the desk, leaning forward on it, “Okay, come here then, I’ll show you.”

Opal timidly made her way towards you. You made sure to leave her lots of space as you ran through the tech tutorial. She picked up on it quickly, being the good student that she was. When you were done, you collapsed back in your chair, another bright smile on your face. Opal looked significantly less distraught, but still vaguely confused.

“Can I ask why you’re doing this for me? You- you didn’t even have to give me an extension. Why are you-?”

“Because you aren’t the first student to have this problem.”

It was true. This was the seventh sobbing-student-style complaint you’d had about him in as many months- and Reid had only been there for seven months.  You’d received emails, phone calls, and office hour meetings where desperate and devastated students would explain to you that they were falling behind. It broke your heart a little bit- and it pissed you right off.  

It was ironic that Doctor Reid had come straight here from the FBI- his technophobic nature was slowly but surely murdering your students, and now, you were going to murder him.

“Now about that extension, does five days sound good?”

Opal handed in the assignment two days into her extension. You smiled as you looked over her incredible paper. Your little scheme had worked. You hoped that Reid was pissed.

–

He was! Kind of. Not really.  It was a bit of a disappointment to be honest.

You had only known Doctor Spencer Reid for the seven months he’d been teaching alongside you, and boy howdy were you starting to hate his fucking guts. At first, everything was fine. He’d seemed sweet, and polite, and you were willing to overlook the whole FBI profiler thing to maintain the peace.

Then one of your students passed out during class.  

Thanks to his high expectations and fear of computers, there was a lot of shit for his students to cope with. The worst part was, you agreed with some of his policies- of course, you didn’t agree with the tech thing, that was stupid- but there was other stuff that you liked. He taught your students things that could help them improve- but at what cost.

Your formerly dim-eyed and sleepy students (let’s be real, they were never going to be bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, they’re fucking college students) were now going through life in a state of anxiety that was not good for their long-term health. That was enough to make you hate Spencer Reid.  

And then one night, over a very full glass of wine you looked up his FBI career. You learned that the BAU used a private jet.

A private. Fucking. Jet.

They didn’t need to use the private jet. They could’ve used trains and it would’ve done the same thing. Shit, they didn’t even have to leave Quantico. They could’ve done their job from their main office. Most profilers do their job from their main office.  Instead, Reid’s team had dumped fucking jet fuel into the damn atmosphere because they fucking felt like it.  Not to mention just. FBI. Ew.

So, yeah. Fuck Reid’s three PhD’s, and fuck his ability to teach. You didn’t give a shit about any of that. You hated the man. You wanted to eat his heart in the main atrium, and given your way, you would.

Taking all that into consideration, it was only natural for the expression on your face to morph into one of absolute joy when Reid came to your office with the typewriter in his arms, and his tail between his legs.

“Doctor Reid,” your smile was a plastic thing, a false beauty with venom hiding beneath it, “What can I help you with.”

“Please stop sending that typewriter to my class.”

You opened your eyes a little wider, playing dumb just to fuck with him, “Typewriter? Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine anyone in this century would even own a little antique typewriter like that thing there.”

“Little? That thing has to be over a hundred pounds- and it’s not antique, it’s-”

“It is literally thirty-three pounds.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded. It was very clearly a ruse, “But how would you know that unless you own the typewriter?”

“I do a lot of research. That’s a 1960s Vintage Royal Empress Typewriter measuring about twelve inches in width and weighing thirty-three pounds and eight ounces. Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ve actually been in the market for a vintage typewriter.”

You put your elbows together on the desk and placed your face in your hands, “You wouldn’t know where I could get one would you?”

“Dr. (L/N), this is your typewriter.  Please stop sending it to my classes.”

“Hm, I guess it doesn’t pay tuition, that’s not fair to the other students,” you opened your laptop, “What class do you teach again? I’ll sign it up and pay the price in full.”

Doctor Reid let out the most exasperated sigh you had ever heard in your life- and that was impressive. You taught college kids.

“Why are you like this?” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I said-” he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, “I said, ‘Why are you like this?’”

Your smile split your face from ear to ear. You emerged from behind your desk slowly, carefully, like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Why am I like this, Dr. Reid? I’m like this because in the past seven months, I have had to deal with seven emotionally wrecked students, and what did they all have in common? Was it personal tragedies? The pure state of the world and everything in it? The knowledge that very few of the students at this school will be able to afford houses once they enter the working world?  No, Dr. Reid. The thing they had in common was you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Implying- what are you implying, he asks me,” you muttered, “I’m saying that your fear of computers is fucking over your students.”

“Studies have shown that handwritten notes-”

“No, no, stop. You don’t get to talk.  I’m talking now. Handwritten notes might be better for long-term memory retention, but not everyone writes as fast as you talk. Most of these kids don’t have time to switch their notes to a digital format! And that doesn’t account for shit getting lost, or students who get sick and miss class. Look, I get that computers might be scary for you, but in a climate where most of your students are full-time students, who take a mind-numbing amount of courses that cover incredibly difficult material, go home and struggle with the steaming pile of shit that is reality, and then head out for their part-time jobs- or, in some cases, their full-time jobs- you might want to have a degree of sympathy.”

Reid stared at you. He seemed unaffected. You wondered if that was because you were like, an entire foot shorter than him. You pulled up a chair and stood on it.

“Let your students use their laptops, or I swear to god, I will never stop sending the typewriter to class.  You will hear the incessant sound of keys clicking in your nightmares, got it?” 

He paused, his eyes darting across your face from your lips to your eyes and back.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re standing on a chair like a child. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Now get out of my office.”

He did as you asked. You could see a small smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him. The sight of it made your blood boil, and there and then, you decided you were gonna keep sending the typewriter anyway because fuck that guy.

Still, over the next few months, you never heard another complaint about Spencer Reid and his technophobic habits. Your students went from extreme emotional agony to regular, day-to-day emotional agony. He’d stopped making them take notes by hand.

You were still gonna kill him just… maybe a little bit less.

[tunastime]

“My hands are cold” “is that a pickup line?” And roasting marshmallows 😂

"My hands are cold." "Is that a pickup line?" / roasting marshmallows (917 words) (x)

Behind the monolith, within the ruins of the old castle restructured for flavor and texture to the busy land around them, Etho stokes a fire. The red orange laps at the dark sky above him, haloing a good thirty feet out from him in a warm, amber light. It licks over Bdubs' features, too, shifting the face he knows, catching his shadows, making caricatures. He only glances up every now and again, watching the way Bdubs' eyes find the flame, and find the stars the thin bands of smoke threaten to blot out. Satisfied with the health of the campfire in front of him, Etho shuffles on his knees over to him. His knees are smeared with dirt and grass by the time he collapses back onto his hands near Bdubs' hip and kicks his muddy boots out to the edge of the small ring of rocks holding the fire. Bdubs raises an eyebrow at him.

"Fancy seeing you," he says, a smile playing on his mouth. "Thought you might spend the whole night babyin' the fire."

"No," Etho drawls, shuffling back to sit beside him. "No, I wouldn't."

"I dunno, Etho," Bdubs protests, earning him a solid sock to the shoulder. He wobbles and so does Etho.

"You keep punchin' me and I'm not sharin' my snacks, you meanie-head."

Etho sticks his tongue out. With the mask off and shoved into his jacket pocket, jacket long discarded and tossed to Bdubs' left, he's welcome to make all sorts of faces to annoy Bdubs. It comes with the caveat that Bdubs will actually see him, but regardless. Worth it in the long run.

After a beat, Etho sighs. He tips himself over and back, the back of his head colliding weakly with Bdubs' shoulder. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound as he does, but immediately turns to rest his cheek on the tufts of white hair spilling out of Etho's braid and over his shoulder. 

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho hums, tucking his face a bit into his shoulder, the fluff of his mossy coat. He smells a bit like damp grass. With the moss and dirt and what not. 

"Hi, Etho," Bdubs replies, sighing to himself. 

Etho holds his hands out, palms out. 

“My hands are cold.”

Bdubs snorts.

“What, ‘s that a pick up line?”

Etho giggles, shaking his head.

“No, I’m genuine about that,” he says through laughs. “They’re just cold.”

Scoffing to himself, Bdubs takes his hands in his, making a noise like he’s frowning much too deeply to be good for his face. He rubs his thumbs against the backs of his hands, squeezing them. Etho sighs, letting Bdubs hold his hands and soaking in the little body heat he can feel through the moss. 

Bdubs drops his hands with one last squeeze. "You want a snack?"

"Are you deciding to share?" Etho hums.

Bdubs snorts. "Am now. Can't eat all these damn things by myself."

He rustles around for a moment, clearly searching in the small bag beside him as Etho lets his eyes wander to the sky. Though it's somewhat hazy by the smoke, it still sparkles like it always does: mostly void, partially stars. Eventually, Bdubs nudges him with his elbow. Etho sits up slightly, now just leaning into him, rather than pressing himself into his coat. Bdubs raises his eyebrows, holding a marshmallow out to him. Etho makes a small, amused sound.

“Is this what you wanted to make a fire for?” He plucks the marshmallow from his hands.

Bdubs shrugs.

“Maybe,” he grins. “You gotta problem with that?”

Etho shakes his head. Leaning away from him, he pats around for a stick from the kindling, something with a sharp enough edge to stab into the marshmallow. When he does, he sticks it properly, and sticks it into the fire. Bdubs wriggles away to find his own stick, moving about in Etho’s peripheral as Etho watches his marshmallow with a careful eye. Can’t risk it burning.

“How many of these did you even bring?” Etho asks, glancing over at Bdubs an arm’s length from him. Bdubs isn’t watching his marshmallow in so much as he’s watching the fire. It flickers over his face, lighting up in his eyes as he glances up to Etho. 

“Enough,” he shrugs, a small smile playing on his face. Etho pulls his stick from the fire, weaseling the now-toasted marshmallow from it’s skewer, getting melted fluff all over his fingers as he attempts to stick it entirely in his mouth. He laughs through a full mouth, watching Bdubs’ marshmallow char around the edge. Bdubs yelps, blows the small fire out, glares over his now-burnt marshmallow at Etho. 

“Gotta pay more attention, ‘Dubs,” he garbles through a full mouth. Bdubs waves his stick at him, picking off the bits of charred sugar.

“If I didn’t have’ta fix this thing, oh I’d—Etho—”

Etho squeaks.

“Just eat the burnt bits!” he says as he finally swallows. “You’ll live!”

Crinkling his nose, Bdubs shoves the marshmallow in his mouth. The frown on his face stays stuck as he skewers another marshmallow. Etho watches him for a second, still giggling as Bdubs’ eyes stay glued to the stick and his marshmallow, intent on not burning it. Shifting a little closer, Etho holds out his hands. Bdubs hands him another marshmallow.

“Thank you, Bdubs,” Etho hums. Bdubs makes a noncommittal sound.

“‘M tryn’a focus,” he says. Etho nods. 

Right, Etho smiles. He’ll leave him to it.

[stunticonbreakdown]

I think people should consider more ideas about why Breakdown and Bulkhead hate each other so much that isn't "Breakdown betrayed the Wreckers" because there are so many more things that could have happened, and here are some of my ideas:

>They fought 1v1 once because Breakdown was just being Breakdown, but after being beat, he kept trying to win against Bulkhead, starting a rivalry between the two.

>Breakdown wants to kill every one of the Wreckers but this one guy just won't die and he has to stick to his list of Wreckers in the order he wrote them in.

>Following up from that, Breakdown killing several of the canonically deceased Wreckers mentioned by Wheeljack and Bulkhead in Prime, making Bulkhead want to avenge their deaths.

>Cross-faction dating gone wrong (**not clickbait**)

>Secretly started meeting up as buddies during the war, but then Bulkhead found out about messed up shit Breakdown had done and they started to fight as enemies rather than secret friends.

>Met each other during a heated Autobot-Decepticon bar fight. Then they saw each other on the battlefield and beat each other up again.

>Friends before the war and wanted to stay friends during the war despite being on opposite sides, but then once again, Bulkhead seeing the things Breakdown did during the war.

>A bit boring but most likely; Stunticons and Wreckers just being rival teams in the war. No personal feelings they all just hate each other because they're the same team on opposite sides.

[hannigramislife]

amen to bottom tommy kinard (re one of your posts), insert praying emoji here, but more importantly, i need to know: how does tommy like to take it, and what exactly about top buck make him really horny? insert curious eyes emoji here

Ohhh, I love these types of asks!

Bottom Tommy is definitely where it's at right now, for me, and I imagine what he likes the most is how enthusiastic Buck is about it.

Like, Tommy is a 6'2'' beefy firefighter who looks like h could bench press you without breaking a sweat; I'm willing to bet his previous partners/hook ups expected him to be the top. Hell, some guys probably approached him for that exact reason.

And now with Buck, who is similarly built, but so, so new to a gay relationship, Tommy probably thinks he has to take the lead, to gently teach Buck how sex between two men works, to make sure he has a kinder experience than Tommy himself did.

Except for the fact that Buck, the overeager little shit with a curiosity streak the size of Texas, a bottomless sex drive and a people-pleasing personality, wanted to absolutely devour Tommy. He probably would be such a service top, especially at first, making it all about Tommy, checking in every other moment, rambling even in the middle of going at it because he can't shut up, it's all "How is that? Am I doing good, Tommy? Does it feel good?"

Meanwhile, Tommy's brain is melting right out of his ears.

[sparkyblizz]

now someone tell me why I kinda wanna write a fic where Taranza is a playwright and writes a romance play and the two that audition for the lead male role are Meta Knight and King Dedede, and they're competing for the role, but Taranza decides on a whim to rewrite the entire play so that the romance is between two men like "you can both be leads!" and Dedede and Meta are both too proud to back down so now they're competing to be the better thespian

this gets funnier to me the more I think about it, just picturing Taranza wearing a beret and being so proud of his amazing play, Haltmann Co. funding it (cuz Susie just felt like it) so she's just Taranza's right-hand woman like "are you sure this is a good idea" as he on zero sleep having rewritten his entire play in one night is like "I can't think of why this wouldn't work!"