#garbage fest fics

[nana-mizu-shiki]

: Them together would lead to so much chaos, mischief, revenge, and CHAOS!!

Like they would bond over the amount of Trauma they have. They were all bullied/Discriminated against in some way, you cant tell me otherwise. Shinsou for his 'Villainous' quirk, Midoriya for their lack thereof, Hatsume for 'being crazy', Monoma for their 'Weak' 'Villainous' or 'might as well be nonexistent' quirk, and Nezdu for being a quirked animal.

Like, I'd love for them to be beasties and terrify everybody in UA when they're together. Like it's fine when Shin & Mono are walking in the hallway, or Mido & Hatsu, or Hatsu & Nez, but Mido & Shin & Mono & Hatsu together leaves students splitting like the Red Sea trying to get away from the 'IzuCrew', the 'Gremlin Group', the 'Chaotic Course Reps'.... Man I really wanna write a fic now...like, ShinMonoMido, Quirkless Mido, DadMic, BakuBark Bashing, Gen-Ed Mido until the Sports Fest, where the four of them DOMINATE the second round together, The Garbage Grape gets expelled, UGGH!!

I'll write more on this. I will.

Edit: From the future, I can tell you I abandoned this as I got sucked into a new fandom, but anyone can use this prompt as long as you tag me! Ty! <3<3

★ MHA Masterpost: https://www.tumblr.com/nana-mizu-shiki/783020662190227456/mha-fic-recs?source=share

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Weird (M, cold)

Do you ever get such an insane urge to write something that you literally can't focus on anything else until it's done? Well, that was me with this fic lmao. HI here I am again, back with another Greyson cold fic bc I live to write the same thing one million times over. It's a big cold-denial drama-fest, my personal favorite lol. In it, Greyson gets sick on an important day and tries like hell to deny it. That's basically it! If ya read it, I hope you like it. It was a fun write.

CW: Male cold/snz, contagion, light mess, cold denial. I think that's it, it's pretty light for me lmao.

5K words under the cut. As always, I'd love to hear what you think! <3

Weird

Every year, Greyson looked forward to one event and one event only: Five Boroughs F&B Weekend.

Elliot’s, for being a small stand-alone, did a good number of events every year – from charity galas to full festivals, Elijah was near-obsessed with getting the restaurant in front of as many people as possible. Most of the events were, to put it lightly, complete and total nightmares; they didn’t provide you with food, or they gave you students to ‘help out’ which just slowed the entire process down. Once, at a huge New Orleans festival, Greyson had to cook 1,000 mini sliders on someone’s literal backyard grill. After that one, Elijah promised Greyson they wouldn’t do any more out-of-state events.

But the Five Boroughs weekend was always a fucking blast. Chefs all throughout the city got together to come up with their weirdest, chefiest dishes and the guests who bought tickets were the type of people who actually appreciated food. Not to mention the fact that there were three after parties – one for each night of the festival – with open bars that only closed when all the booze was completely gone. This would be Greyson’s fifth year at Five Boroughs and absolutely nothing could ruin it for him.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Reed said, backing away from his boyfriend. Greyson didn’t lower the can of Lysol he was pointing at Reed until the other man was clear across the living room. “Far endough?” Reed near-shouted from the Greyson-mandated fifty-foot berth.

“Honestly, I don’t think it is far enough,” Greyson said, spraying the can into the surely-already-infected air. “Maybe you should sequester yourself in your office.”

From the far side of the room, Reed deadpanned his boyfriend. “Are you fuckigg serious?” he asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “I don’t even have a couch in mby office. Also, you already slept with me last ndight so…”

“I didn’t know you were sick last night.” Sprrtz, a spray of Lysol as Reed took a step forward. “You didn’t tell me you were sick last night.” Sprrtz.

“Could you stop with the fuckigg Lysol?” Reed asked, annoyed. “I’mb like half a mbile away from you.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Greyson shrugged. Before setting the can down, he gave one final spray in front of himself, a curtain of disinfectant mist that settled on the tile in a sticky puddle. Reed pulled his hand down his face, leaned into the wall, and sighed.

“This isn’t very ndice, you kndow,” he said. “I’mb always ndice to you when you’re si­ihh – hhITSZCHH-ue!” Reed snapped forward into his palm, then grimaced at the mess he’d apparently made. Giving his boyfriend a watery glare, he sulked to the bathroom in search of tissues. Begrudgingly, Greyson followed behind, grabbing the Lysol bottle on the way.

“I never claimed to be nice,” Greyson said, making eye contact in the bathroom mirror with Reed. From behind the tissue, Reed rolled his eyes.

“You are ndice,” he said, throwing the tissue into the tiny garbage can. “I mbean, ndot today. But usually.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh, let his boyfriend out of the bathroom. “Babe, I’m sorry,” he said, following Reed to their bedroom. “I’ll make you tea, I’ll bring you meds, whatever you need just… I cannot get sick for this event.” Reed, who Greyson knew understood where he was coming from, despite the pouting, gave a curt nod. He shivered then, an involuntary shake that gave him the appearance of a child left out in the cold. Poor Reed, Greyson found himself thinking; very little was more miserable than a cold at the height of summer, a time when his boyfriend should’ve been drinking spritzes on a patio while writing his latest review. He’d been running himself ragged at a new job with the New Yorker as their resident food writer, and it was a great gig but the man definitely wasn’t getting enough sleep, or enough sun, or – ironically – enough food lately, so of course he’d picked up some nasty bug. The timing certainly couldn’t be worse; with three days until Five Boroughs, Greyson was not only obsessed with not getting sick, he was also wildly busy prepping for the event. Reed had probably been coming down with something for days, and only now had Greyson noticed. Fuck.

Greyson set his teeth, lips pressed together, caught between the worst rock and the shittiest hard place he could imagine. Sighing, he set down the Lysol bottle and turned towards the closet that held the winter blankets they’d put away months ago.

“What are you doigg?” Reed asked. Greyson gestured to the bed that Reed was perched on the side of with one hand, the other cradling a fleece down comforter.

“Get in bed,” he said. “I’m only exposing myself to you for the next two minutes, so you’d better make it count.” Reed smiled a little; coughing into his shoulder, he burrowed beneath their thin summer quilt. Greyson unfolded the comforter and spread it across the bed. Against all his instincts, the chef cupped Reed’s face in one hand and kissed his forehead. “Tea?” he asked. “Your majesty?”

***

Something was off about Greyson.

It was day one of the Five Boroughs event – what was essentially his Superbowl – and he just seemed… weird. Quiet. Un-Greyson-like. Elijah had been with the chef for this event every year, and every year he was bouncing off the walls, unable to stop talking, and packed into the van two hours before they even had to leave. This year? Not so much.

“Chef, are you almost ready?” Elijah called from the front office. Greyson was in back with Matt, still, at twelve-oh-five, prepping the scallop sashimi they were presenting at that evening’s walk around event despite the fact that Elijah told him multiple times they had to leave right at noon. When no answer came from the back, Elijah groaned and stood. He’d throw on an apron if he had to, get everything sorted and packed for Greyson, whatever it took to get them out the door. C’mon, Grey, how long does it take to put some fish in a 100 pan?

“Grey, are you ready? We have to go,” Elijah called as he walked towards the back kitchen. Again – no answer. “Are you even back here, where the fuck-”

“I’m here, I’m ready,” Greyson called as Elijah rounded the corner. The chef put a lid on a final pan and pulled his hair to the top of his head, securing it with a Sharpie as he regarded his boss. “Sorry, just… running behind today,” he said, stacking the pans. “Matt, help me get these into the van. Please.”

The sous chef nodded and grabbed a stack of pans, while Elijah gave Greyson a confused look. “What?” Greyson asked as he moved past Elijah to get to the back dock.

“Nothing,” Elijah said, following behind them. “I just – are you okay?” he asked, prompting Greyson to glance backwards before placing the pans into the van’s trunk.

“Yes?” Greyson said, raising a confused eyebrow. “Why?”

“You’re acting weird,” Elijah said, crossing his arms. “And not like… normal you weird. Are you not excited for the event? This is usually like Christmas morning to you.”

Greyson pressed a hand into one of his eyes and rubbed for a moment before deciding how to answer Elijah. “I’m good,” he said, finally. “Just a little tired, I guess. I’m excited, I just need an energy drink or something.”

Elijah nodded. Let it go, he said to himself, though he was having the hardest time doing it. Something was weird, he could feel it, and Elijah knew to trust his feelings. “We can stop at a gas station or something on the way there,” he said, prompting a nod from Greyson. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Let me just grab a fresh coat, give me five,” Greyson said, pushing through the back door of the restaurant before Elijah could protest.

“...okay,” Elijah said as the door closed in his face. He turned to Matt, who was also strangely quiet today. “Did something, like, happen with you guys?” he asked. Matt looked up at Elijah and shook his head.

“No, boss,” Matt said. “All good.”

Elijah nodded, unconvinced. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks, Matt. Will we see you at the after party tonight?”

Matt smiled a little. “Maybe,” he said. “Depends what time I get out of here.”

Just as Elijah was about to answer, Greyson burst back through the door, buttoning up a new chef’s coat. “Okay, let’s roll. Fuck, it’s hot out here, why the fuck do they have this thing on the hottest day of the fuckin’ year?” He grumbled, slamming himself into the front seat next to Elijah. The GM said nothing, just nodded to Matt and closed his door. Turning the engine over and glancing briefly over at a sweating Greyson, he backed out of the alleyway. Something is off, he thought again as they drove away. What the fuck is his problem?

***

From the moment his feet touched the ground that morning, Greyson knew he’d caught Reed’s stupid fucking cold.

His head ached, his throat burned, and the buzzing deep in his sinuses, he already knew, was going to be an issue. Before Greyson could sneak out of their bedroom, he snapped in half with a volley of forceful, painfully-stifled sneezes. “NGTZCH! Hh-ITZCH! NTSH!”

Behind him, Reed tutted his sympathy. When Greyson opened his eyes, the tissue box that had adorned Reed’s side of the bed the last three days was at his side. Just shoot me, he thought, sniffling.

“Bless, babe,” Reed said, placing a hand on Greyson’s shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

At the care, the concern, the immediate knowledge his boyfriend had of his illness, Greyson felt himself bristle. Pulling away from Reed’s touch, Greyson pushed himself to his feet. He turned to regard the other man, hoping he didn’t look as miserable as he felt.

“I’m fine,” Greyson said, tossing the tissue box back to Reed’s side of the bed. “Keep them. I’m not sick.”

Reed cocked his head a little to the left, confused. “Okay,” he said, coughing into his hand and pressing himself to a seat. “Sorry? I mean, good that you’re not sick, obviously. Sorry for assuming.”

Greyson grunted, annoyed, and headed for the bathroom without another word. Immediately, he turned on the shower to the hottest setting he could handle and submerged himself. Fuck you, body, he thought, scrubbing his hair. We are not getting fucking sick today. He leaned into the water as it hit his back, then turned to press his face into it, hoping it might loosen the congestion he could feel building behind his eyes.

Tonight was night one of the Five Boroughs festival, and of course it was the night that Greyson had signed up to cook, to make a thousand portions of a dish and smile at guests all evening. To work all day and then drink all night, as was tradition – the first night was always the best one, the one that the celebrities and Michelin-starred chefs from around the country showed up to, and only the chefs who’d done the festival multiple times before were asked to cook for it. It was the first year Greyson had been asked to cook for night one of the festival; it wasn’t going to be the last.

When the hot water finally ran out, Greyson begrudgingly turned off the shower and stepped onto the cold bathroom tile. He regarded himself in the mirror; at the moment, he looked fine. The worst part about the start of a cold was how shitty, how run-down and exhausted he felt – the best part was that unless he said something, he was fairly sure no one could tell he was sick. The chef combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and patted cologne on. If he wasn’t going to feel well, he was at least going to look good. He scoured the medicine cabinet as well, swallowing as much Dayquil as his body could handle without gagging. That’ll have to do, he thought, quietly replacing the medicine.

Dressed and secretly medicated, Greyson left the bathroom in search of coffee and a clean chef coat, ready to get out the door before Reed could fully assess him. He opened the cabinet where they kept the coffee beans, and when he closed it, Reed’s face appeared.

“Jesus Christ,” Greyson said, jumping at the sudden appearance of his boyfriend. “What’re you, sneaking around the house now?”

“No, I’m not sneaking around the house, weirdo, I wanted some coffee too,” Reed said. Greyson noticed that – annoyingly – Reed sounded markedly better than he had the past couple of days. Apparently, the old wive’s tale about passing along a cold making someone better held true – at least in this house.

“Oh,” Greyson said, pouring the beans into the grinder. “Yeah that makes sense.” He sniffled a little then, an involuntary action that made Reed raise his eyebrows. Greyson said nothing; just filled the coffee pot with grounds and started the machine.

“Are you excited for tonight?” Reed asked, thankfully avoiding the subject that had already set Greyson off once this morning. The chef shrugged.

“I’ll be excited when it starts,” he said, rubbing the back of his own neck. “Still a lot of work to do this morning.”

Reed nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “Is it still okay if I come tonight?” he asked as Greyson poured coffee into a thermos. “I mean, is my name still on the list and everything?”

“Mmhmm,” Greyson hummed. “Yeah. It starts at seven.”

“I remember.”

Greyson grunted again, closing the top to his mug and grabbing the pressed chef’s coat Reed had left for him on the back of one of their bar stools. “I gotta get going, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss Reed’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Greyson,” Reed stopped his boyfriend just as the chef was about to head out the door. “You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well, right?”

The thunk of Greyson’s heart into his stomach was so intense, he was surprised Reed couldn’t hear it across the room. Normally I would, Greyson thought, though he wasn’t sure if that was true – he thought back to his time with Collin, all the times he was ill or upset, all of the times he reached out just to be tossed aside in return, then pushed the thought away. Reed wasn’t Collin; Reed actually gave a fuck about him. But he couldn’t miss this event, this day that he waited for all year long. Whether he would or he wouldn’t under normal circumstances, for now, Greyson gritted his teeth and lied to his boyfriend.

“Of course I would, babe,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

***

“If this is how you’re going to act all night, I’m going to kill you by the end of this thing.”

Looking up from the plates he was arranging, Greyson gave Elijah a furrowed-brow look. “What are you talking about?” he asked, annoyed. The GM closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

“You’re being fucking weird, Greyson,” he said, punctuating both fucking and weird by slapping a hand onto the setup station between the two of them. “You’ve barely said a single word to me all afternoon, and everything you have said has been you being annoyed with me. The fuck did I do to you? I feel like I’m in a fight with a fucking wall.”

The chef pressed his lips together, his face betraying nothing. Elijah took a deep breath in through his nose; this was supposed to be a fun day, and though he knew he was being petulant – childish, even – in demanding Greyson enjoy it, he couldn’t help himself. They so rarely got out of that fucking restaurant; they really ought to be enjoying themselves.

“Do you want a beer or something?” Elijah asked before Greyson could say anything. “Help you loosen up? Are you nervous about the whole being-here-night-one thing?”

Greyson swallowed compulsively, gave a little wince. What was that? Elijah thought, but before he could mention it, Greyson spoke up.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to his plates. “A beer would be great. Thangks, Lij.”

As he went to walk away, Elijah’s ears perked up. Was he…?

“Are… are you sick?” the GM asked, turning back to face the chef again. Greyson’s face flushed.

“Ndo,” he said, congestion lacing the word. Greyson cleared his throat quietly – though loud enough for Elijah to hear – and shooed his boss off with a hand. “I was promised a beer,” he said, attempting a smile. Elijah chewed his bottom lip, but nodded and walked towards the bar. An illness really would explain everything – the annoyance, the quiet, the lack of enthusiasm – but since when did Greyson hide being sick from Elijah? Maybe when they first started working together, back before they knew one another – but now? Now Greyson would walk into the office and cough directly into Elijah’s face just so he wouldn’t be alone in being sick.

Maybe he wasn’t, then; maybe he was just in a bad mood. Greyson hadn’t mentioned anything going on at home with Reed, but Elijah knew his friend’s boyfriend was working a lot lately, and Greyson certainly didn’t do well when someone he loved didn’t have time for him.

As he arrived at the bar, Elijah smiled at the kid standing there, who handed him two shitty light beers from a cooler behind him. Handing the kid a twenty, Elijah turned on his heels and headed back towards their booth, silently wishing that Reed would be able to make it to the event tonight. Maybe that would get Greyson out of his mood.

When he returned, two beers in hand, Greyson was facing away from him. “Here’s your beer, princess,” Elijah said, placing it on the serving-side of their booth. Greyson didn’t turn. “Hellooo, did you hear-”

“NGGTSH!” Greyson’s whole body shuddered, the sound he made both choked and desperate. Elijah wasn’t sure if it was a sneeze or a sob or a laugh or something else entirely. He raised an eyebrow, picked the beer back up, and walked around to the other side of the booth, where Greyson’s hand was pressed against the bottom of his face.

“Bless you…?” Elijah said, handing his friend the beer. Greyson grabbed the beer with his unoccupied hand, roughly rubbing his nose back and forth with the one he’d just sneezed into.

“Thangks,” he said, chugging half the bottle on first drink. Elijah gave Greyson a look. “What? I’mb thirsty,” the chef said.

“Uh huh,” Elijah said, sipping his own beer. Without thinking, the GM reached up to touch Greyson’s forehead – an instinct, after all their years spending nearly every day together. Greyson stepped back to avoid the touch.

“Don’t touch mbe,” he near-growled, pointing the bottle at Elijah. “I’m already hot and in a shit mbood. Don’t piss mbe off by mother-henning mbe, too.”

Ah, Elijah thought, pressing his lips together and lowering his hand. “So you are sick,” he said, taking another sip of his beer. Greyson rolled his eyes.

“I’mb ndot sick,” he said, convincing no one. “I said I’mb hot. Because it’s fucking hot in this fucking conference roomb because it’s fucking hot outside. Okay? Yes, I’mb annoyed. I’mb trying to keep a hundred pounds of scallop cold on a hundred degree day. I don’t wandt to feed Thomas Keller or fuckigg Zendaya or whoever shows up to this thing tepid sashimi. So I’mb in a mood. But I’m ndot sick, and I’m ndot acting weird so please just drop it, Lij. Okay? I’mb – NGTZCH!” Greyson directed this poorly-stifled sneeze into his elbow, sniffled wetly immediately after. Elijah sipped his beer.

“You were saying?” he asked as Greyson stood to his full height again. The chef chugged the rest of his beer, slammed the bottle on the table, and pointed at Elijah.

“Fuck off,” he said, “and go get mbe some mbore ice.”

This time, Elijah didn’t prod further. He put his beer down, raised his hands in front of him as if in surrender, and said, “Yes, Chef,” before turning to walk towards the conference center’s kitchen. As he filled a bin with ice, he could feel his teeth grinding together in frustration. So much for a fun day out.

***

Whatever it was Greyson usually found fun about this event, he couldn’t for the life of him remember.

He was in the fucking weeds; he hadn’t sliced enough scallops back at the restaurant because he was too busy dipping into the bathroom every five-fucking-minutes to blow his nose, and now he was so behind that people had started skipping their booth altogether. Elijah, for all the shit Greyson had given him earlier, was the only one pulling his weight on their two-person team; he was stood at the front of the booth laughing and chatting with guests, while behind him Greyson sliced and plated to order like it was his first time ever doing a festival.

Eventually, he pulled himself out of the muck and the wave of guests slowed to more of a river, and Greyson was actually able to look up from his food and survey the event around him. There really were a ton of recognizable faces out there – from Food Network celebrities to institutions in the industry, it was a who’s-who of food-famous people that Greyson was embarrassing himself in front of. The chef ducked under their booth, the three seconds of rest he’d given his body apparently enough to get it to rebel against him immediately.

“NTSHH! Hh-! IGTSZCH!” Greyson attempted, once again, to stifle the sneezes into submission, succeeding only in making his own head spin. God, this was getting old. From behind him, Elijah grumbled a bless you under his breath; Greyson set his teeth to keep from snapping at his friend.

“You sound awful,” Elijah murmured, not turning towards Greyson. “You’ve sneezed like ten times in the past five minutes.”

“Mbaybe if you weren’t counting the ambount of timbes I’ve sndeezed, I wouldn’t sound awful,” Greyson muttered, standing. “Ever think of that?”

“I think, maybe, if you just let yourself sneeze like a normal human,” Elijah said, glancing over his shoulder, “you wouldn’t have to sneeze so many times. Hmm?”

Greyson rolled his eyes and turned back to the food. “I don’t have timbe for this conversation,” he said, plating another portion and handing it to Elijah. “Leave mbe alone.”

They continued like that for another thirty minutes or so, speaking only when Greyson had food for Elijah – food behind – or when he had to duck under the table – bless you, Chef – until finally, Reed stepped up to their booth.

“Reed!” Elijah exclaimed, stepping out from behind the booth to hug Greyson’s boyfriend. Greyson, preoccupied by plating, didn’t turn around.

Side-stepping the hug as graciously as possible, Reed gave Elijah an apologetic smile. “Lij, it’s so good to see you. Sorry, I would hug you but I’ve had a bitch of a cold all week. Wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

At that, Greyson bristled; for a moment, he stopped in his tracks. Fuck.

“Ohhh,” Elijah said, turning towards Greyson just as the chef peered over his shoulder at the other two men. “So that’s where he got it.”

Reed’s eyebrows knit together, confused. “Where who got what?” he asked. Beside him, Elijah gave Greyson a sidelong look.

“Grey?” he asked. “Did you have something you wanted to tell us?”

As if it wasn’t humiliating enough to be slicing his scallops basically to order, wasn’t embarrassing enough to have to turn guests away because he was so damn slow today, now Elijah was going to out him as sickly to his boyfriend in front of a gaggle of famous chefs. Greyson’s head throbbed in time with the music being canned in overhead; he whipped around and got as close to Elijah as he could without touching noses.

“Do you really thingk,” he whispered, voice low and husky, “that now is the timbe for this conversation?”

Elijah was unphased. “I really do,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been an ass all day. You’ve sneezed yourself hoarse, and you very clearly have a fever. I think the least you could do is fucking admit that you’re sick.”

Just as Greyson was about to snap back at Elijah, Reed walked closer to the booth and addressed his boyfriend. “Babe?” he said, worried. “Shit, did I get you sick?”

The gut punch that was the upset in Reed’s voice nearly knocked the wind out of Greyson. He looked so sad, so genuinely concerned, that the chef immediately forgot what he was going to say. “I…” he started, before having to dip back behind the booth for the millionth time. “HTSZCHH! NGTSZH-uh!”

“Well,” Elijah said from above him. “There’s your answer.”

Rubbing his nose on the back of his hand, Greyson stood and turned to face his boyfriend and best friend. “I’mb okay, honey,” he said, ignoring Elijah completely. “It’s ndothing.”

Before Reed could reply, a new wave of guests made its way over to Elijah and Greyson’s booth; immediately, the drama between the two of them was forgotten as they once again took up their front and back of house positions, making and passing out food. By the time Greyson was once again out of the metaphorical muck, Reed was nowhere to be found. While Elijah was busy schmoozing a guest, Greyson pulled out his phone to see a text from his boyfriend.

I’m sorry I got u sick :( I wish you would’ve told me, baby. I could’ve at least brought you some medicine.

Guilt and shame tore through Greyson’s body as he clicked his phone back off. I’m such an ass, he thought as he returned to plating. Such a fucking stupid ass.

***

“So, when are you planning on admitting it? Because I’m honestly starting to get annoyed.”

Elijah handed Greyson a glass filled to the top with bourbon as he got back to the booth they had snagged the moment they got to the afterparty. Grateful, Greyson snatched the glass with one hand, while the other flew to his mouth.

“NGTSZCH-uhh! Hh...HRTSCH-oo!” The rough attempt at a stifle nearly spilled his drink, and lead to a fit of sticky coughs; Elijah grabbed the glass back from his friend, held it until Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sniffled, fruitlessly. Shot the chef a knowing look. “Alright,” Greyson muttered, taking the glass back and knocking back half the bourbon. “I’mb fuckigg sick. Happy?”

“Mmm. Happy? No, not particularly,” Elijah said, sipping his own drink. “But certainly satisfied.” “Whatever,” Greyson said, rolling his eyes. “You’re an ass.”

Elijah barked out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “An ass who’s always right.” Greyson huffed out a little laugh, too, careful not to laugh hard enough to start coughing again. “You gonna admit the other thing, too?”

Greyson raised an eyebrow. “What other thing?”

“That you were being a dick today. That you were, in fact, being weird.”

Another eye roll from the chef, this time one that ended in a wince of pain. He rubbed an aching eye with his palm, musing. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess I was.” Greyson sighed, before slamming the rest of his drink. “I just… this is the only evendt I really care about. Y’kndow? I wait for it all year. And tondight was supposed to be...different. Better than this.” His second palm met his other eye, rubbing until Elijah started seeing stars on his behalf.

The GM blew air through closed lips, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Grey,” he said as Greyson finally pulled his hands from his eyeballs. “I know you were really looking forward to this. I mean… shit happens.” He shrugged at Greyson, whose head was perched on his hand, elbow on the table. “It was still a great dish. No one complained. Despite your best efforts, it was technically a successful event.”

Greyson laughed in earnest, punctuated by more coughs. “Thangks, Lij,” he said, grabbing Elijah’s mostly-full drink from his hand and slamming it before his friend was able to comprehend what was happening. “Can always coundt on you to mbake mbe feel better.”

“You dick,” Elijah laughed, elbowing his friend. Suddenly, Greyson stopped laughing, turned away from Elijah.

“Huh-!” he lifted an elbow to his face and pitched forward with little warning. “HuhhETSCHHH-ue! HUHHESHH-ue! Hh-! Hh...HRRSHHH-ue!” Finally, after an entire day of trying to hide it, Greyson let out three painful-sounding, throat-scraping sneezes. “Fuck,” he said, attempting to clear his throat. “God, I feel like fuckigg shit.”

Elijah tutted his sympathy. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you also sound and look like fucking shit,” he joked. Greyson choked on a chuckle.

“Least I’mb consistent,” he mumbled. “God, I have to go hombe and apologize to Reed, too,” he groaned. Elijah furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why would you have to apologize to Reed?” he asked.

“I lied to himb,” Greyson said, pulling a hand down his face. “He asked if I was sick this mborning, and I lied to his face.”

“So you have to apologize to Reed for lying, but not to me,” Elijah said. Greyson gave him a pointed look.

“Correct,” he said. “I actually lied to you just for the pure pleasure of it. The thrill of the gambe, as it were.”

This time, it was Elijah’s turn to choke on a laugh. Just as the two men recomposed themselves, Matt – who apparently did have the time to make it to the afterparty, despite his non-answer to Elijah earlier – snuck up on them and slid into the booth. “There you guys are,” he said, placing his drink on the table in front of him. He glanced at Greyson’s sallow face and grimaced. “Did you finally have to admit it?” he asked his boss.

Once again, Elijah burst out laughing. Greyson, not nearly as amused, deadpanned his sous, grabbed the man’s drink, and for the third time that evening, chugged. “Hey-!” Matt protested.

“Mbatt, you have ndo idea the evening I’ve had,” Greyson said, slamming the glass onto the table. “Ndow go get your ailing boss andother fuckigg drink.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but scooched out of the booth and headed towards the bar nonetheless. When Elijah finally recomposed himself, he regarded Greyson with bemused concern. “Do you really think you should be drinking so much… sickie?” He asked, elbowing his friend once again.

“Hondestly, boss,” Greyson said, rubbing his nose, “I do. I really, really do. HGTSHHH-ue!”

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 21 of @hprecfest - a fic rated M

flashback, warm nights by warmfoothills - M, 13k, 2020

Summary: “What’s killing me is that I actually quite fucking like Christmas, festival-for-a-personally-irrelevant-religion-turned-commercialised-garbage-holiday though it may be, and now I’m stuck in the perpetual almost-there of it all with an idiot who gets himself cut up every time no matter how differently I try and do things!” “Killing you?” Potter asks. “I thought I was the one who’s about to get my torso sliced into?”

Excerpt:

“You need to go faster,” Draco cuts her off. Potter’s eyes are half-lidded already, and it’s scaring him. “Seriously, Granger. He’s going to pass out and then I’m going to pass out and either he dies or I wake up back on that street and have to do this all over again.”

He doesn’t care that he sounds insane. He’ll explain it all properly once he’s sure Potter’s not going to die in the back of a car. He knows magic and he knows that, whilst he might be about to loop back to the start again, it’s equally possible that this has just been a one-off, a random blip, and if that’s the case, this is his only chance to make it right.

“Don’t yell at her,” Potter says beneath him, quiet.

Draco’s chest fills with dread when he looks down to see Potter’s eyes are closed. “I’m trying to save your life here, Potter.”

“I know,” Potter mumbles, sleepy and indistinct. “S’nice. But it’d be nicer if you stopped yelling so I could sleep.”

“You can’t,” Draco says, swallowing around the lump in his throat, but Potter just shushes him softly, and everything goes dark.

All you want for Christmas is... a festive Horcrux-hunting and Death-Eater-battling super romantic timeloop Drarry fic. Right?! Gosh, what a coincidence! Have I got the perfect gift for you!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

day 18 - a fic that makes you laugh

day 19 - fanart

day 20 - a fic with fanart

[sunaddicted]

Instead of a 2024 fic review, in honour of 2025 being my 10th year posting my writing on ao3, I thought it would be fun to do a little recap year by year of my most liked fics.

It's fascinating to see which fandoms came and went and which turned out to be there to stay!

If you're as curious as I was and maybe want to (re)discover some of my older fics, some links and stats await you under the "read more" 💛

2015

My resolution for the new year is to go back to my origins and start writing again for the Tolkien fandom!

Enthralling (Silmarillion, Angbang) is hands down one of my best fics to this day, despite the fact that my English wasn't as good as it is now! If you want to read about Mairon seducing the mightiest of the Valar, this is the best take I wrote on it!

~

2016

Sentient Reflection (DCU, Superbat) not only was the first superbat fic I wrote but it also was my first one in the DC fandom and folks, as you very well know, I've been digging this particular hole deeper and deeper with no signs of hitting rock bottom.

One sour note, is seeing Selfish Prayers (James Bond, 00q): I'm sorry to everyone who followed it and was a fan but it will never be finished 😔

~

2017

It was the year of James Bond AUs! Omega!Bond and alien!Q clearly were the favourites, with The Odd One (James Bond, 00q) - the first instalment of the omega!Bond series - being one of my most liked fics ever in the fandom.

Aside note: in 2017 started my descent into the garbage fire that was Gotham (my beloved) and I've been steadily writing for this fandom for years and none of what I think are my best Gotham fics - my best fics in general, actually - ever made it to the top 5 😱

~

2018

Superbat won hands-down that year, what can I say? Not to toot my own horn but I did write some bangers.

*peach emoji* (DCU, Superbat) is all about Bruce's ass - enough said, right?

~

2019

Superbat kept winning 😮‍💨 Whipped (DCU, Superbat) is there for you if you want to have a laugh.

~

2020

My Bond fics showed up (I did participate again in the 007 Fest after many years of absence so, that probably helped)! Alas, as the rare pair gremlin that I am, Everything They Said (DCU, Superwonderbat) came to eat - if you're in the mood for some delicious Trinity angst, all in Bruce's head, you're definitely going to enjoy the fic!

~

2021

Daniel Craig bowed out of the franchise with a movie I absolutely, 💯% despised and if your liking of Unfixable (James Bond, 00q) shows anything, is that a lot of you hated it too 👼🏽

Honourable mention to Between Us, In The Dark (WWDITS, Nandermo) - I wrote like.. 4 fics for this fandom and still one of them made it to the top 5!

~

2022

Finally, some of my Gotham fics got to the top 5! And they're not as good as some real fucking bangers I wrote hahaha

Dancing in Circles (James Bond, 00q) got top spot and with a good reason: old geezers in love, dancing circles around one another? They will pine for forever, sign me up.

~

2023

You can pry my rare pairs from my cold, dead hands 😮‍💨 Three of Cups (DCU, Superwonderbat) is the soft Trinity smut we all deserve.

~

2024

Listen, it was a bad writing year: writer's block has been kicking my ass to hell and back relentlessly.

But you know what? I still write some damn good superbat smut! Fire on Fire (DCU, Superbat) is filthy and loving and a take on alpha/alpha relationships I don't see much of!

I hope you had as much fun reading this little review as I did discovering all of this! 🤩

[thestalwartheart]

007 Fest 2024 Masterpost

It's 11:59pm here on the 31st of July, and I'm signing off from Fest 2024 feeling like this:

Fics

toothpaste a cup runneth over the wait the quiet whisper i can't get no the hour before tea he's a little bit

Misc

Moodboard: TEXAS HOLD 'EM (00Leiter) Moodboard and ficlet: A little bit Alexis Bond Poem: first impressions

RADI00Q: 31 Songs for Bond and Q

A full playlist of every song featured this month is available on Spotify (thanks @eleanor-is-fine!) and YouTube.

Want to relive the moodboards? Here they are:

Song 1: Good Luck, Babe - Chappell Roan Song 2: Will We Talk? - Sam Fender Song 3: I Saw - Young Fathers Song 4: This Is The Last Time - The National Song 5: Everything - MUNA Song 6: Little Red Corvette - Prince Song 7: I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You - Tom Waits Song 8: Blue Monday - New Order Song 9: Love Calls You By Your Name - Leonard Cohen Song 10: Catherine Wheel - The Whitlams (covered by Megan Washington and the SSO) Song 11: Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground Song 12: England - The National Song 13: Phobia - Nothing But Thieves Song 14: Sunday Best - Megan Washington Song 15: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift Song 16: I Touch Myself - The Divinyls Song 17: The Heart Is A Muscle - Gang of Youths Song 18: Want Me - Baby Queen Song 19: Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens Song 20: Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys Song 21: Call Your Girlfriend - Robyn Song 22: I Wish I Was Sober - Frightened Rabbit Song 23: The Walls Are Way Too Thin - Holly Humberstone Song 24: How Soon Is Now? - The Smiths Song 25: Ocean Blue - Kita Alexander Song 26: Maybe You Know - Holy Holy Song 27: Writer - Paolo Nutini Song 28: A Sunday Kind of Love - Etta James Song 29: Linger - The Cranberries Song 30: Overcome - Nothing But Thieves Bonus song: Tears For Fun - Griff Song 31: 'Til Forever Falls Apart - Ashe & FINNEAS

--- GUEST SPOTS ---

Voice In My Throat - Pearl and the Beard Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex It Had To Be You - Frank Sinatra Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift Shameful Company - Rainbow Kitten Surprise Splinter - MYRNE & salem ilese Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter Drive You Home - Garbage Hold Me Closer - Cornelia Jakobs The Ocean - Dar Williams Starlings - Elbow Talk - Hozier

I am genuinely so thankful to everyone who hyped up and supported me this month. You’re all angels.

And if your song didn’t make it to RADI00Q this month: I’m so so sorry! There were a few I didn’t have the spoons to get around to. But stay tuned - August and September might bring a few surprises 😘

[riceisgood123]

I originally wrote this as a thread fic on twitter, but liked it so much I decided it deserved a cleanup and to be posted to ao3. It’s short and sweet, a giant fluff fest really.

After the election results last week, everything has been garbage and I just wanted to write something that felt good and might make people smile, even just for a moment. So I come bearing soft klance.

It might be rough, but we’ll survive. Stay strong ❤️💙

[katyawriteswhump]

Bed of Roses (steddie love month, day 17)

For @steddielovemonth, Day 17 prompt: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost (@yournowheregirl ) Thank you <3

Rating: M. CW: prostitution, unwanted kink/abuse/pet-names (NOT between Steddie) alcoholism, substance abuse. Tags: rockstar Eddie, rent-boy Steve, make-up fic, angst, shameless perversion of Bon Jovi lyrics. WC: 2,000.

...

“'Cause a bottle of vodka's still lodged in my head…”

In his dressing room, pre-show, Eddie grasped his second bottle of vodka in an unsteady hand.

“…and some blonde gave me nightmares; I think that she’s still in my bed.”

This was NOT GOOD. Eddie had gotten sap-fest Bon Jovi lyrics slithering around his brain. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his own lyrics.

“Hey, Amigo,” he announced to the vodka. “I got a venue of ten thousand to entertain, and you’re literally my Obi-Wan—my only hope.” He caressed the bottle’s label. “80% proof, huh, Baby?” 

I’m serious, Eddie, you’ve had enough. You WANT to follow Kurt Cobain into the 27-Club?

Riiiight. That was not a Bon Jovi lyric. That sounded more like Steve Harrington, in sensible-parent mode, hands planted on his slender hips.

The tears struck fast. Eddie clonked the bottle onto the dressing table then followed it, pressing his heavy head to the glass.

He seriously didn’t want to die. However, he was so through with this life. Of any life, without Steve. The cavity where his heart once lay veered between grating emptiness and an unbearable pain. 

His fingers twitched toward the bottle. Screw it, the show must go on, and he’d lost his only light in the darkness…

“… as I dream about movies, they won't make of me when I'm dead.” 

That still wasn’t one of his own darn lyrics. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single goddamn word of any of Corroded Coffin’s songs.

A sharp knock on the dressing-room door had him squealing like a little piggy. An old guy poked his head in.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You hired me, Mr Munson. Dirk Gordon—Private Dick?” 

“Ah… Yeah, so I did.” Eddie’s rotten heart hammered way too fast. “Have you..?"

“Yes, Mr Munson. I believe I’ve found him.”

…

“What do you mean, you're not gonna pay me?” Steve wrapped his arms tight around himself. The only heating in his boss’s rundown office came from the guy’s endless chain of cigarettes. “I spent the whole evening simpering at that old dragon. You told me she liked music—I talked music endlessly.”

“You yammered on about some death-metal garbage. She likes Wagner.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “What’s Wagner? That crusty old film-star?”

“Oh, Steve, Steve, Steve. What am I gonna do with you?” His boss sauntered around the desk and hooked an arm around him.

Jesus, you stink.

“You’re good-looking, kid, you’re charming, but you simply can’t cut it with that kind of high-end client.”

“She seemed happy.” Steve shrugged his shoulders, failing to shake the guy off him. “She paid you, right?”

“Not the full whack, and you got a fancy meal out of the bitch. Look, I’ll give you your cut, if you do better tonight.”

He squeezed the back of Steve’s neck. Steve tried not to shudder. When his boss produced a piece of paper and wedged it down the back of Steve’s skin-tight jeans, he stopped trying to hide his revulsion.

“Details are all there. He’s a banking exec, early forties—no more dinners and dances with Doris, you’re spending the night at his house.”

A dry lump clogged Steve’s throat. “Is he gonna want..?”

“Sex? Christ on a bike, what trade do you think you’re in?” He squeezed Steve’s butt.

“Jesus fu—” Steve bit his lip, fixed on his damp sneakers. 

“Believe me, Steve, your hair ain’t your best asset. You’re gonna have to sell that plump lil’ ass for real, sooner or later.”

Steve flinched, then schooled his features as blankly as he could. 

“This guy’s got a few kinks, but as Johns go, he’s a pussycat.” He lifted Steve’s drooping chin with his knuckles. “Show him what ya got, Sport.”

Steve couldn’t get out into the drab morning fast enough. He retrieved the paper from his underwear, shoved it in a pocket unread, then stumbled, zombie-like, into a diner. “Black coffee, please? It’s an emergency.” 

The waitress smiled. “You want breakfast, Steve?”

He shook his head, though his stomach grumbled.

He ended up slumped on the table, his face pillowed in his arms. Christ, ‘male escort’ had never seemed like a great idea, but he’d figured the pay would beat waiting tables. So how come he was still behind on his rent, and that he still couldn’t afford to eat some days, let alone buy his pain meds?

He muffled a miserable laugh in his elbow. He genuinely wished he could afford to get smashed, get high, because nothing could fill that gaping black hole of pain. Even worse, one of his fave Bon Jovi songs was playing on the radio, and SO not helping:

“Tonight I won't be alone, but you know that don't mean I'm not lonely.” Shit! He was fighting back dumbass tears already. “I got nothing to prove, for it’s you I’d die to defend.”

Why the hell did he run away? He can’t recall any reason that mattered anymore. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” he mumbled. “I miss you so much.”

Somebody touched his elbow, and he jolted up. “Sorry, hon,’” said the waitress, “we need this table for dine-in customers.”

“Right.” Steve swiped any tell-tale moisture from his cheekbones.  “I’ll clear outta your way.”

...

“Ready for playtime, Bunny Rabbit?”

Steve’s skin crawled, and his face burned. He’d gotten his head in the client’s lap, and the guy was playing with his hair. It would be tolerable, he guessed, if he’d not so often laid in Eddie’s lap like this, and… Christ, Eddie! Steve shut out the unwanted touching and began to drift. He was so beyond tired. And that song from the diner crept back:

“Now as you close your eyes, know I'll be thinking about you. While my mistress—she calls me to stand in her spotlight again…”

The pinch on his cheek startled Steve back to the present. “You kipping there, Bunny Rabbit?”

“Uh… er, sorry, Daddy.” Uuuuuuurgh! “Whatever you want, Daddy.” He dared sit up. “I’ll grab a condom and, uh… stuff.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” When Steve went to rise, his arm was grabbed, and he was held in place. “I don’t like rubbers, Cutie.”

“You heard of this thing called AIDS?” Dipshit!

Steve wrenched his arm free. The guy raised his hand and slapped him. Which wasn’t exactly out-of-the-blue, because face-slapping had been listed among this repellent son-of-a-bitch’s kinks.

“I’m paying top whack for you.” He leaned over Steve, suddenly kinda huge and scary, not least because Steve now saw double. “Your pimp said you were clean, so I’m gonna have you any way I like.”

“I… uh…” Steve kicked the bastard’s shin and shoved him hard. “Go to hell, asshole.” 

He fled out into the night, still dizzy from the blow. He pulled his mesh vest back on over his head. The icy wind bit, and he realised he’d left his only jacket behind.

“Jesus Christ! JESUS CHRIST!” He kicked a lamppost, holding back on venting the true force of his feelings. Still hurt.

He limped off up the street, fast as he could. The ache in his toes at least distracted him from the ringing in his ears. An hour later, he stumbled around the corner of his block, thinking only of throwing himself into his bed, while he still had one.

He was so close, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood suddenly on end. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he realised a car crawled up the gutter behind him.

Had Mr Happy-Slappy-Sleazebag come after him? Then again, Steve’s pursuer could be anybody. After all, he was walking through a red-light district, shivering his ass off.  Dressed like the whore I am. Hahaha!

The car pulled up right beside him. A blacked-out window rolled down.

Steve ran, turning sharp up a dark alley, then… Shit, shit, SHIT AGAIN! He was only a hundred yards from his digs, and yet he was so messed-up that he’d sprinted up a dead-end.

He nearly kicked the bricks. Instead, he punched them, as if that would blast through the solid wall. He turned about, bit his grazed fist, and sank slowly onto his haunches. 

Two figures approached up the alley, silhouetted against the lights of the street behind. Get up, Harrington! GET UP! His legs wouldn’t obey, and his breaths came only as rapid gasps. Nothing felt real anymore. Am I gonna die..? I’m gonna die!

A hand stretched out of the gloom.

Steve stared at it—at the familiar chunky silver rings, which couldn’t be real. He glanced up, and… wtf? It was Eddie, apart from it wasn’t Eddie. This dude looked more like Eddie’s ghost. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

Maybe I scored some Benzos after all, and totally ODd.

“Stevie?”

No mistaking that voice. If this was a trip, it was a good one. Steve pried an eye open, and Eddie’s hand was still there. Steve took it, let it help him to his feet, because… Why not? Suddenly, they were in each other’s arms, clasping each other tightly. This is real. You’re real!  Eddie reeked of booze, and also of something devastatingly comforting and familiar. Somebody’s wretched sobs shook through them both.

“I’m s-sorry.” Steve sounded broken. “I-I honestly don't know why I left anymore. I was such an idiot.”

“No. I was the idiot. I’m sorry, too. So very fucking sorry.” Eddie sniffed hard, lifted his tear stained cheek from Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve not been doing so good without you.”

Steve blinked the moisture from his vision. He wondered if he looked as wrecked as Eddie—red-eyed and waxy pale, under the distant glimmer of the streetlamps. Probably. If he hadn't leaned against Eddie, his legs would’ve given out again.

He laughed, without knowing why. Eddie laughed too, and it warmed Steve’s soul. “Gonna be honest, Eddie—not been doing so good without you, either.”

…

When Eddie got out of rehab, Steve waited on the steps of the clinic, hand stretched out to take his. He pulled Eddie close, and then into a sweet, lingering kiss that renewed Eddie more thoroughly than even a lengthy booze-free sleep.

“I’m never going through that again,” said Eddie, his lips still brushing against Steve’s.

Not least because I never ever want to be parted from you again, even for a fortnight.

“Yeah, but you’re dry, Eddie, and you’re alive. I’d say that’s goddamn metal of you.”

They started back to the car, hands still clasped tightly. “Not gonna take credit, Stevie. You’re what got me through.”

“You might’ve got me out of a fix, so we’re even.” Steve’s sigh rode on a wistful sadness. “I mean, I was so lost. Thinking of you was all that kept me… I dunno, alive, I guess. You know, I kept on thinking about that Bon Jovi song.”

“Uh, you know how I feel about Bon J—"

Too late. Steve burst into song: “Well, I'm so far away, each step that I take is on my way home. A king's ransom in dimes I'd give each night to see through this pay-phone—”

Eddie pressed fingers to his boyfriend’s parted lips. “As much as I hate cutting you off in your prime—two teensy-weensy issues. Firstly, I had no idea where you were, and you never called! Second, what’s wrong with my blood-and-death drenched lyrics?”

Steve took Eddie’s fingers and kissed them: “Hurt too much to think about them.”

“You know what, Sweetheart? Hurt too much to sing them, without you around. Even though none of them are actually love songs.” Eddie raised his gaze to the heavens, and looped his arms around Steve. “Go figure.”

“You sure they’re not love songs? C’mon—they’re all secretly about me, right? Only coded or something. I’ll crack it one day.”

Steve’s gently mocking smile destroyed him, in the best possible way. They tumbled into a French kiss, and he resigned himself willingly to the only thing that mattered: 

“And the truth is… Baby, you’re all that I need.”

...

Thanks for reading <3 Likes, comments and reblogs always much appreciated :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on ao3).

[rubywingsracing]

I NEED to collab with someone on a Landoscar/Supernatural Au for @hypersoft-fest week 3. Would love someone to write a case fic and I’d provide the art! Obvi would be a ghost/poltergeist fic to go with the paranormal theme. Praying that the Supernatural and Landoscar fandom overlap in the writer category. For the artist challenge this week I immediately thought of these books:

Not sure how niche they are but I used to have a few of them and they were total garbage and each a diff case but I loved them, and the cover art is such a specific vibe that is so nostalgic to me!!!!

So pls pls pls hmu on the discord or on tumblr or even on insta i beg of you

[poppypickle]

Half-Finished Fic Fest

Back with more old fic. I think I wrote this around 2012, probably as a fill for this prompt during a Gossip Girl promptathon:

No, no, I think it's more like a ghost That's been following us both Something vague that we're not seeing Something more like a feeling

I think I never posted because I felt like others had already done post-canon Dair reunions more justice. But begone, self-doubt!

There's a dream in my brain that just won't go away Dan/Blair  1162 words

Blair tells herself she's happy. Because happy is what happens when your dreams come true, right? When you get everything you ever wanted? Yes, of course she is happy.

She does not think about what ifs — does not imagine any other path but the one she has chosen. No Frost-ian ruminations about roads less traveled for her (no poetry whatsoever, in fact). Because what would be the point? She has finally (finally) won Chuck's heart, and Blair is blissfully, perfectly happy thankyouverymuch.

It's just… Maybe she expected the happiness to feel a little bit different. To be less heavy.

But it does not do to dwell, so Blair clutches the sparkling diamond ring around her neck until it leaves angry red imprints on her palm, and reminds herself that she is very, very happy.

***

Dan tells himself he's over her. He dabbles in revenge for a little while, writing nasty tell-all essays about everyone in his life and hoping they will fill the aching hole inside of him where her pithy insults about his hair used to be. He lets it all drain out of him like a thick, infected puss until he wakes up one morning and discovers there's nothing left but a nasty scar. And suddenly, he is sad instead of angry.

So Dan throws himself into new pursuits — he re-enrolls at NYU, gets another internship, dates as many tall blondes and redheads as his schedule allows. He rents a new apartment and does his best not to feel sentimental when he finds three of her DVDs and a pot of La Mer face cream tucked away in the bedside table he's cleaning out.

Tossing everything into the garbage with a purposefully casual flick, Dan thinks of Blair only in the abstract. They were together until they weren't. It was wonderful until it wasn't. Until she decided it wasn't.

Whatever, he's over it.

***

It's five years later when they see each other again, at a Saturday Film Forum matinee, of all places. Blair hears herself calling out his name before she can stop herself, and when Dan turns around he looks so perfectly like himself (messy hair, a knowing half smile pulling at his lips) that it nearly takes her breath away.

It takes four long strides for him to reach her, and just like that Dan Humphrey is standing in front of her again, two steaming cups of coffee clasped in his hands. For a split second, Blair imagines that they are 22 again and that one of those cups is for her. She flicks the thought away with a sharp intake of breath.

"Blair," Dan says finally, and it comes out far gentler than she expects. "Are you here to see Rebecca?"

"Of course," she says, fidgeting idly with the edges of her skirt. She forces her fingers to still against her thighs. "It's a classic."

"Hitchcock's best, some might say."

"Some might say. Not me."

Dan smiles in spite of himself. "North by Northwest is still your favorite I assume?"

Blair cocks her head to the side. "And you preferred –"

"Vertigo," he nods.

She smirks in spite of herself. "You always did have a weakness for blondes."

"A long time ago," he acknowledges.

"How have you been?" she asks, and it seems like such a silly thing to say that she finds a blush creeping up her cheeks. But Dan just tilts his head to the side and smiles.

"I'm good," he says simply. "How are you? How's work? Chuck?"

"Work is wonderful, busier than ever," Blair smiles. “And Chuck is…Somewhere in Europe right now, I think. It didn't work out."

Dan's eyes crinkle. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She shrugs it off with a wave of her hand. "It's fine."

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Dan murmurs, “I only ever wanted you to be happy, you know…”

It’s such a Dan Humphrey thing to say. A shade too earnest. A little wounded. Perfectly sincere.

Blair feels a lump rise in her throat. She opens her mouth to reply, but just then a petite woman with an auburn bob slides up next to Dan with two matching striped bags of popcorn in her hands.

“The line was so long. I hope all the good seats aren’t taken.”

Dan seems to startle ever-so-slightly before remembering himself and sliding his eyes away from Blair to smile down at the other woman. He fumbles with the coffee cups in his hands, passing one to her as he takes one of the bags of popcorn in between his long fingers. 

"Blair, this is Tess. Tess, Blair. Blair and I…went to high school and college together."

Blair’s eyebrows lift before she can stop them, but she quickly schools her face into something more neutral. “Nice to meet you.”

"Are you seeing the movie?” Tess asks, her smile wide and bright. “I'm a Hitchcock virgin."

Blair purses her lips, an insult on the tip of her tongue before she catches Dan's knowing smirk and stops herself. "Well you'll love Rebecca. It's the only one of his movies that ever won Best Picture.”

"That's what Dan was saying."

"Go grab us some seats and I’ll be right in,” Dan says, and Blair tries not to notice the way he puts his hand against the small of Tess’ back before she walks away.

“Girlfriend?” Blair asks after a moment, when it’s just the two of them again.

“Not yet.” Then, “It’s new.”

“But it could be something?” she presses, unable to stop herself.

“Lots of things could be something,” Dan says vaguely, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. Then he lifts his chin to look her right in the eyes. “If you get the timing right.”

They stare at each other for a few long moments before Blair finally says, “It was good to see you.”

Dan looks like he wants to say something else, but then he seems to think better of it. “Yeah, you too,” he says, then turns toward the theater doors.

Blair rocks back and forth on her kitten heels, staring at Dan’s back as he walks away. When he opens the doors and starts to disappear inside, she hears Joan Fontaine utter that haunting first line.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Blair sucks in a sharp breath and turns away from the theater. She’s not in the mood for a movie after all. 

***

Four hours and two glasses of wine later, Blair texts him, her fingers trembling over her phone. Maybe he doesn’t even have the same number.

Funny thing, I wasn’t happy.

Dan’s reply comes almost immediately.

Funny thing, I thought I was over you.

Blair bites the inside of her cheek, her heart racing as her fingers hover over the phone keyboard. Then:

Maybe we could get the timing right this time.

Maybe we could.

Want to get coffee tomorrow, Waldorf?

I thought you’d never ask, Humphrey.

[hp-confessions]

I honestly just fully believe that HP is just too big to die

JKR is a garbage human, she's horrible, she's disgusting, the moment she drops dead I'm going to be so damn happy

But the thing is that at this moment HP has 519,075 fics on Ao3

That's a stupid large amount the only thing bigger then it is the MCU

Any random side character you get attached to in HP you will likely find at least 300 fics for

Rolanda Hooch? 1,126 

Hannah Abbot? 3,616 

Charlie Weasley? 11,490

So like yeah you should read other books but unless you get lucky and really end up loving like LOTR or ASOFAI it's just not the same

It's just sometimes when it comes to fandom it doesn't actually have as much to do with the source material as you think

yeah i could read/watch 100s of other magic based series and i do! But I end up falling back onto HP because fandom wise it's just not the same

Merlin (BBC) for example is one I've seen thrown around as a replacement and one I have seen and read/write for

Merlin has 63,610 fics but out of those 32,933 are the top ship Merthur with the closest after being a little under 5k

So like great if you like Merthur this fandom is perfect for you

But anything else?? not really. you can maybe find a few things if you get lucky and end up loving a canon ship or something but there's just not much else and I know from writing most people here don't want to read much else either

which is fine and fair but means I don't fit very well

which is a similar issue with another series people like to recommend

Little Witch Academia

it has 3,205 fics which is a good amount for a random anime imo

but looking at the numbers its similar to Merlin in that the fandom seems very decided on what ship they care about with the top ship having 2k vs the second place romantic pairing at 310

So again if you love that ship Great! you will fit right in. If not? well that fandoms not for you then

And yeah Fic numbers are not everything and should not be everything but when something is that big??? you really just think it's going to fully go away? like honestly? is it just wishful thinking or what

like I could go into how fandom fests seem to be happening at all times in the hp fandom

Like i think the Marauders side of the fandom popping up so heavily from TikTok of all places is proof enough that it won't

I don't know i just think it's never going to die out like some people like to hope and that it's better to have people in the fandom that hate JKR then for all people with a conscience to leave and let it become a TERF wasteland

I just don't think its a good idea to leave TERFS to feel safe here because I do fully think that as long as all those fanfics exist there will always be more people finding it

People who are less online who don't know as much about how horrible of a human she is

In my opinion i think the best possible thing we will get is if people stop buying things she makes to the point where it's no longer even profitable and she just stops

i don't think that's really possible either but a guy can wish and hope

~

[itsaash]

Pumpkin Spice

@noots-fic-fests thank you for including this prompt so I can take something that happened in my life and turn it into something decidedly better, ha. Enjoy some fluffy, domestic Jily! And I believe sweater weather Harry was born in March? So he'd be 8 months old the next October

Lily had just wanted to make something nice. Sure, sure, the days are long but the years are short. But when you’re in the thick of having a 8 month old people could just fuck right off with that advice. Because the never ending loop of naptime, nursing, introducing solid food, play time, diaper change, and repeat made some days interminably long. And James was an amazing partner and an even better dad, but the season had started up again, and Lily was not in the groove of solo parenting. She was skidding on one wheel on the edge of the groove threatening to fall over at any moment. 

When she was nursing Harry, cuddling his warm body close, she’d sometimes scroll on her phone and cooking videos were some of her favourites. She’d be lulled by the perfectly aesthetic backdrops and clean kitchens. The process of turning a group of ingredients into something new and amazing. Her feed knew her well and alternated between plans and ideas for baby food, and delicious looking snacks and drinks. Being October, pumpkin everything saturated the videos. Bread, muffins, cookies, stew, coffees, all featuring pumpkin. She didn’t have much time or energy for more time in the kitchen after the essentials of baby food and basic meals. But maybe a pumpkin spice syrup was achievable? 

So after forgetting to get canned pumpkin at the next two grocery store runs, Lily finally remembered and was excited to make something for herself. Harry went down for his afternoon nap, and after stepping carefully to sneak out of his room she went into the kitchen to make the syrup.  The can opener, pumpkin, vanilla, and spices were lined up on the counter, and she measured  the sugar into the water for a double batch. She stirred the sugar in with her little purple whisk and watched it dissolve. She checked the recipe again, ok, it needed to reduce for a while. She turned down the heat and went to the bathroom. 

Then went to move the laundry into the dryer. Shit, that was a pile of clean laundry. The clothes got put away, and she tracked down the new box of trash bags for the garbage in the laundry room that she had emptied the lint trap into. May as well take out the other bathroom garbages while she was at it. Weird, this bathroom smelled bad. She looked around, had a diaper fallen behind the trash can or something? There wasn’t an obvious culprit so Lily finished emptying the bins and brought them all downstairs to the main garbage in the kitchen. 

The kitchen was a haze of smoke. 

“What in the ever loving pumpkin fuck of goddamn stupid pumpkin fucking shit…”

A string of incomprehensible curses continued as Lily dropped the trash bags and raced to the stove to turn off the burner. The water had long since evaporated and the sugar was beyond burned with her cute little whisk melted sadly to the side of the smoking pot. The smell hit her senses like a freight train as she put on an oven mitt and carried the pot outside and left it on the porch, slamming the door just a bit on the way back in. She turned the hood fan all the way up and went around opening every window she could get her hands on. Thank god it wasn’t too cold outside yet. 

Lily hardly knew if she should laugh or cry. It smelled truly awful. How had she not realized that smell was a burning smell? How could she have forgotten this one thing she had wanted to do for herself so quickly? And how had the stupid fucking smoke detector not gone off?? Although now in hindsight, with no major harm done, and the smoke already dissipating, she supposed she was glad to not have a baby awoken from a nap by screeching added to this situation. She walked away from the blaring sound of the hood fan and sunk to the floor under an open window on the other side of the house. Which is where she was when James got home. 

“Hey Lils love! I’m home — oh shit wow you’re right there! You scared me,” James said. He came in the door and was startled when he turned to take his shoes off and saw Lily sitting there. He set down his bag and walked over to her and slid his back down the wall. “Why are we sitting on the floor?” he asked softly, nudging her with his shoulder. 

Lily waved her hand vaguely at the house, cheek resting on her bent up knees. “I ruined our house with this awful fucking smell. Can’t you smell it?”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t seem to be panicking, so I figured it’s not an emergency.” He scooched even closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and Lily turned to tuck her face into the warmth of his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened? You ok?”

Lily wasn’t crying, but her voice was thick and she was just so tired. 

“I just wanted to make pumpkin spice syrup. But then I got distracted and immediately forgot about it and it’s such a stupid thing to have done and now it smells so bad.” Her breath hitched at the end and she heaved a breath in. “And my little whisk and the pot are totally ruined.”

James just tightened his grip on her shoulders and hugged her close, let her breathe and be still and cry. 

“It doesn’t smell that bad,” he said, finally. 

“Fuck off, yes it does.”

“Ok, yeah it does.” He took in a theatrical sniff and winced. “That’s what burned sugar smells like? It’s nuclear level.”

“It was even worse 20 minutes ago,” Lily muttered. 

“Want to go cuddle on the furthest couch from the kitchen until Harry wakes up?” 

Lily laughed but nodded, and then moved to the couch in the theater room, which was quite separate from the rest of the house and had a baby monitor in it. James laid on the couch and Lily cuddled into his side, making herself small. James ran his fingers through her hair over and over. 

“You know it’s ok, right Lils? You’re fine, Harry’s fine, the house is fine. It’s ok.”

Lily hummed noncommittally. 

“Ok, but can you tell Loops about it? So that I can tell Sirius how bad sugar can smell? Because, honestly, who would’ve thought.”

James smiled to himself when Lily let out a real laugh and reached for her phone. She texted him, a smile quirking on her face. 

my house smells like sugar. And not the good kind like in cookies. Like the awful burned kind and it’s truly terrible. 

I also need to test my smoke alarms. 

These two things may be related.

Not one minute later her phone was ringing. James laughed and kept running his fingers through her hair as she talked to Remus. She told him the story, after reassuring him they were all fine, and her voice lost some of its tightness as they joked over the lengths they’d go to for a PSL and Remus threatening to come smell it for himself while the smell was “fresh”. She, laughing, said fuck off and good bye, hung up and turned to cuddle into James chest even closer. He smelled like the soap from the rink and like himself and when she breathed in deeply she didn’t smell the sugar at all. 

“I’m sorry I made our house smell terrible.”

“I literally don’t care, Lils. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted it to.”

She let his breathing soothe her as his chest rose up and down under her cheek. 

“You can close your eyes if you want, flower. I’ll get Harry when he wakes up and I’ll go out with him and get a grocery store special for dinner.” Lily knew that meant a rotisserie chicken, a truly bizarre combination of the pre-made side dishes, and probably something sweet from the freezer aisle. But it was always perfect. She hugged him tighter and nodded. And she drifted off.

Lily woke later to the sounds of James and Harry coming into the house. James was keeping up a running conversation with Harry, talking to his son like he was much older than his 8 months. Lily stretched under the blanket that James must have laid over her, and the smell hit her nose. She cringed, but tried not to dwell and went to see her boys. 

“Mommy’s awake, Harry, look!” Harry babbled happily and Lily took him from James, kissing all over his face. 

“Did you two go on an adventure?” she said to Harry in an animated voice.

“We sure did,” James replied, picking up bags and heading to the kitchen. “To the wilds of Target. And we totally scored.”

Lily watched as he pulled groceries from the reusable bags like a magician pulling a never ending scarf from a sleeve. First came the expected rotisserie chicken, a container of spinach and artichoke dip, two options of chips, a pre-made spinach salad, and a few other grocery essentials.

“Wow, good choices, Harry!” Lily cooed. “I’ll be breaking into that dip immediately. Hopefully the terrible smell doesn’t ruin all this good food Daddy got us.”

“The power of spinach and artichoke dip can overcome anything,” James reassured her, and moved to take Harry from her. “Can you open up that bag, Lils?” he asked, pointing to one. Lily raised an eyebrow, but went to the bag and looked in. She paused for a long moment before reaching in and pulling out a wicker basket filled with all sorts of treasures. 

“James! What is this?!” she exclaimed as she freed the basket from the bag. 

“It’s a boo box!” James said happily. “You’ve been doing such a good job taking care of Harry when I’ve been on roadies, babe. And I love you so much, you do so much for us, so Harry and I wanted to do a little something for you.” He came over and leaned in to press a soft kiss below her ear and Harry pulled her hair happily.

“Thank you so much,” Lily said thickly. 

“You're welcome,” James said easily. He turned and settled Harry in his high chair, and got some blueberries and a mini cucumber from one of the bags and washed them to pass to Harry for him to gum. 

Lily looked through the basket. There was pumpkin spice syrup, of course there was. She huffed a laugh but was thankful for the easy version of the fall treat. Next she touched the new whisk, red this time, and sent James a small smile still tinged with sadness. There were also smaller bottles of brown sugar cinnamon, apple, and chai syrups. She set those aside and found three of the tubes that have all the ingredients you need for different soups, a foot mask, a lip mask, and finally underneath all of that she pulled out a crew neck sweater. It felt creamy and soft in her hands, with cute fall themed charms all over it. She hugged it to her chest and looked up at James. “James, baby. This is so nice.” James stepped close and took her into his arms, wrapping her in a hug from behind, his chin hooked on top of her head. He reached around her to point at some of the treasures. 

“Lots of syrups to try is fun, right? I’m so going to try that apple one in something. And look how funny that lip mask is. Harry laughed so cutely when I held it over my mouth and pretended to talk with it. Let’s see the sweater on, isn’t it so soft?” he rambled. 

Lily smiled with her eyes prickling as she pulled the sweater over her head. It was a bit oversized, the sleeves hung perfectly so she could scoop the cuff into her hands and feel the softness. James hugged her again, trailing his hands under the sweater to rub her back and feel the softness of the inside of the sweater. 

“I love it James, thank you.” 

“Love you, Lilyflower,” James said and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Lily turned and pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, thanking him too. He burbled happily back at her with purple fingers and mouth. James pulled out his phone to take a picture when the doorbell rang. He set his phone down on the counter.

“I’ll get it! But I’m so getting a picture of you in that sweater with Harry when I’m back.” He pointed finger guns at her as he walked a few steps backwards towards the front door.

Lily laughed and watched James’ back as he turned around and walked down the hall to open the front door. Her thoughtful, giving husband. The smell of burnt sugar still undeniably hung in the air, but it was fading. Her guilt was fading too, replaced with love for her family. 

“Hey! Oh wow no way,” she heard James say from the door. 

“Who is it?” she called as she started to put away the soups and syrups into the pantry. 

James didn’t answer and she walked back to the side of the kitchen from where she could see the door. 

“James? Oh!” 

He surprised her, he was right there when she turned the corner, a big box in his hands.  

“No one was at the door when I opened it. They must’ve just delivered the box and left.”

“What is it?” Lily asked.

James placed the soft cardboard box on the counter and opened the lid, revealing 6 of the most beautiful cookies Lily had ever seen. They were huge, fluffy and delicious looking. A chocolate chunk on, one that must be red velvet, one that looked like it might be peanut butter, and more that she could only guess at the flavours, but couldn’t wait to taste them and find out. 

“Oh my god. They’re beautiful. Who are they from? Did you order these too?”

“Nope, not me, oh here’s the card,” James replied. “Awww, they’re from Loops, see.” He passed the card to Lily.

To Lily

I hope these drown out the burned smell!! Congrats getting through the day without a kitchen fire!

Re

Lily laughed. “That little shit.”

“I’m surprised he went with cookies and not some sort of fire extinguishing blanket,” James laughed. 

“Don’t suggest it, or at least 2 will be at our door as fast as he can get them shipped here.”

“Actually, I think that’s kind of genius? I’m going to order one. I’ll send them one too.” He broke off a piece of the chocolate chip cookie and popped it into his mouth as he opened up his phone. “No harm in being prepared.”

Lily could only nod along with that logic, and she reached out and broke an orange cookie apart, and yes, as the taste of pumpkin spice cookie filled her senses, the burned smell finally faded away.

[fictionfixations]

self indulgent fic

okay. so. you know in my white rabbit fest part 2(?) post (where i showed screenshots of funny and/or notable parts basically)

i went

"I want to write yuu fucking decking him because apparently no one else is"

okay

so

what i didnt say was right after that i wrote it

and honestly its kind of garbage. and it has a bunch of canon dialogue

but

this was the moment i really let go and said whatever i wanted. so it was truly self-indulgent. (i actually got asked if i was gonna make another part to this lmfao. ...actually i got an idea im gonna speedrun part two rq LMFAO)

but anyway i like some of the insults i put in here.

and i like yuu having a spine

so. um.

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

For the ask game: 🙌, 💪, 🥘

🙌: What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

Ahhhh, this is such a difficult question for me, I personally struggle with rereading my fics because during each reread I cycle between thinking it's total garbage or that it's not so bad, and it's just too stressful for me to look through usually. But I did write a poem about spring the other day and there was one part that I really liked so I guess I'll include that:

Help my sweet April Guide me to warmer days Bring me to late night sunsets So I can fall asleep to the sun's dying rays

💪: What motivates you to write?

I have a general need to do something creative every so often and I have fulfilled this through drawing, painting, knitting, and of course, writing. Whenever I feel the need to do something creative it doesn't really matter which one I do, so that's one motivator for writing.

More specifically though, I am best motivated when I give myself strict deadlines. For example, for my eras fest fic, I had the due date for the event to keep in mind (plus for this fic I was also motivated and decided to start working on it when she actually played as a surprise song the song I was planning on basing it on Buenos Aires, Argentina night 1 was my sign lol). Another example of this was for my fic All Along There Was Some Invisible String, where I gave myself "word quotas" or amounts of words I wanted to write in a day. I'm not suggesting this method for everyone but it definitely helped me.

🥘: What wip are you most excited about?

I've been really busy these past few weeks so I'm not currently working on something, but I do have a few Adrinette April ideas that I'd really like to write if I had the chance/time and I also really want to write my Snekmouse "This Side of Paradise" fic idea (it plagues me every time I hear the song 😭)

Thank you so much for the ask <3

ask game

[raxistaicho]

Man i hope you're taking a long, long break once you're done with the cursed torment of Cardboard Edelgard. Subjecting yourself to so much garbage can't be healthy. Besides, her "Edelgard-On-Thracia" fic isn't really worth talking about, just more of the same.

Honestly, a lot of the remaining material looks like massive skim-fests, just Reyna fight scenes, and her fight scenes are terrible.

She also seems to have mostly abandoned the Edelgard-in-Thracia spinoff.

[rynrising44]

What's up!

I'm Ryn (She/Her) and I'm an Autistic Veterinarian who loves aquatic animals and has a Carol Danvers hyperfixation on the side. (Solely putting Autistic in the descriptors because YES! you can be neurodivergent and still be a doctor.)

I can't see anything in my head. (Complete Aphantasia)

I have read every single Carol Danvers comic that is currently in existence (Even Civil War II, which we just won't talk about).

I drink a lot of half-sweet DB cold brew iced coffee.

I like the Fast and Furious movies unironically (I can't explain it. I love them. I eat them up so hard).

I have cPTSD which influences a lot of what I write.

AO3: RynRose4 - Works | Archive of Our Own with most of my works focusing on trauma, internal struggles, found family, and healing. I am first and foremost an AO3 'The Marvels' writer. ValCarol is my top pairing (as evidenced by the existence of this entire blog) and as such, they are most of what I post/reblog.

But NCIS Sydney is slowly creeping up there...

(Above is my own personal flerken)

I'm also a part of the lovely @character-a-character-b discord server. We host flash fests every month as well as Bingos. It's a great little community! You should join!

My tags for this blog:

#iasfos: any kind of post to do with my long fic "It's a slow fire of sorts" including thoughts, funny quotes and pics (Valcarol fic)

#rynrosewrites: my writing blog/thoughts about AO3 in general

That is all. Thanks for reading. If you follow me, I will probably spam your feed with Captain Marvel/Valkyrie content, NCIS Sydney garbage, and late-night Carol Danvers thoughts. Or just Queer thoughts in general <3

^ I love them so much

[andypantsx3]

hi Andie!!!

Happy writing anniversary!!! ♥

Ficlet request for you: Bakugo (predictable, I know).

Prompt: “Not you again.” or “Are you this stupid on purpose?”

Do not wants: please no angst.

Tiph my love!! I'm sorry it took me this long to get my shit together, but here you go!! I hope you like it!!

Destruction (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

Word count: 1.6K Rating: SFW, some implications. Prompt: “Are you this stupid on purpose?" Tags/Warnings: Misunderstandings, Pro Hero AU Notes: This is unedited because I am excited to finally get it out, but I will come back to it and clean it up in the future!!

It started on a Tuesday, when Bakugou Katsuki glared at you as though he meant to bore a hole straight through your head. And then he threatened your very existence.

Ordinarily, this would have given you no pause, as Bakugou’s default setting seemed to be aggression. There was no dialing down the intensity with him, and he looked at almost everything like he meant to burn it to a crisp with just his eyes alone, never mind the kind of mouth he had on him. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d glared at you hotly enough to leave scorch marks, and it wouldn’t be the last.

No, the issue was that he’d kept glaring at you—constantly, and deliberately. And the threat had come after what you’d thought was an improvement in your working relationship.

Over the past couple of weeks, it seemed like every time you looked up, Bakugou was hovering nearby, wearing the pissiest, most constipated look on his face ever. Every time you turned a corner in the office, he was there, looming like some phantom threat–red eyes pinning you in place. You’d tote a pile of spreadsheets into the conference room and he’d follow after you, watching you hawkishly, as though he didn’t trust you in the halls of the Dynamight Agency alone.

It was all very intimidating and very, very suspicious, and you didn’t entirely know what to think. Especially when paired with the threat this morning, which you couldn’t make heads or tails of.

It was kind of like he wanted to destroy you.

“It’s kind of like he wants to destroy me,” you told Mina–pro hero Pinky–who was the agency’s number four hero, and also an occasional drinking buddy. She was the office angel, friends with everyone from your inimitable leader Bakugou, down to the lowest criminal profiler–namely, you.

She was also a constant distraction, much like she was right now, as she stole your absent deskmate’s chair and rolled it right over to your desk.

“Oh he wants to destroy you alright,” she said airily, kicking her boots up onto your desk.

You did not appreciate the cheery tone in which she pronounced this, or the shit-eating grin pasted across her pretty face.

“You could be a little concerned,” you told her. You were friends, after all. And coworkers, and she’d used your work to make like seventeen arrests at this point. You were worth keeping alive.

Mina made a little noise in the back of her throat, stretching out a violently teal-and-purple leg, and made sure to set her boots down directly on the pile of spreadsheets you needed for tomorrow.

“You’re no help,” you muttered, settling sulkily into your desk chair. “You were there when I came in this morning! You saw it! He was right there, heading out onto patrol and he stopped and opened the door for me.”

Mina’s dark eyes roved over your face, a pink eyebrow raising judgmentally. “And?”

“And what?” you cried. “He stared down at me like he was trying to channel his quirk through his eyeballs and sautee me like an onion. And then, he leaned down and threatened me!”

Mina scoffed. “He did not threaten you–I’ve heard him threaten people before and it usually involves extremely visceral descriptions of their innards suddenly being yanked out of places no innards should come out of.”

You shuddered. Okay, Bakugou hadn’t said anything about pulling your entrails out of, well, wherever, but he’d been intimidating enough!

That morning, he’d been on his way out to patrol as you’d come in, and your mouth had dropped open as he’d yanked open the door for you–especially as his bicep had strained against the fabric of his costume as he’d done so.

This was unexpectedly nice. You’d worked with Bakugou for years, and you’d thought you’d maintained a mostly neutral relationship, as thirsty as you were for him. He was too handsome and too devastatingly competent for you to dismiss your interest, as you would have if you’d been smart.

But regardless, you’d had a neutral relationship.

He was the head of the agency and you occasionally worked with him on criminal cases, helping profile suspects and suss out criminals. You’d actually thought your most recent case had gone extremely well, in which the two of you had worked incredibly closely, pulling several all nighters together, stuffed together in his office, working through all the investigation details over vending machine coffee and snacks.

You’d thought you’d gotten along swimmingly, actually, but that impression had been blown to smithereens this morning as Bakugou had held the door open over your head, and then leaned as you tried to duck under his arm, growling, “You and me. Six tonight,” and then disappeared into the grey winter morning outside.

“Oh my god he’s gonna murder me,” you moaned, sliding down in your chair. “He’s gonna put me in a body bag.”

Mina inspected her fingernails idly. “Oh he’s gonna put something in a body bag,” she intoned happily.

Which was so unhelpful.

“Stop making comments like that,” you complained. “Why are you even here?”

It was nearing six, the aforementioned murdering hour, and you wondered if she was just here to watch.

“I’m just here to watch,” she said. You frowned at her, upset, but before you could respond to her, a noise arrested your interest.

Under her smug tones, you caught the scrape of the boot in the hall, the familiar tread of the Thursday boots your head of agency preferred when he was off duty. And he was apparently headed your way.

He didn’t even bother with his hero costume to take you down!

A head of wild blonde hair turned the corner, and then he was leaning on the side of your cubicle, looking absolutely sinful in a dark high-collared jacket, his Thursday boots, and a dark-wash denim jean that hugged the planes of his muscular thighs in a way that went straight to your nether regions. He was sex on legs—extremely powerful, murdery legs.

“Do I get any last words?” you asked as he turned two scarlet eyes on you.

“What,” he growled flatly.

“You know, before you murder me,” you said. You heard Mina muffle a laugh at your side.

Bakugou’s brow creased, and he wore a pinched expression. “Who the fuck is murdering you, you little idiot?”

You gestured at him helplessly. “Isn’t that what you meant at the door, earlier? Or…is this a meeting of some kind?” you asked. Then a horrible thought overtook you. “Oh my god, are you gonna fire me?”

Bakugou looked at you like you’d just rolled up in a clown car. “Are you this stupid on purpose?” he demanded.

You had absolutely no idea what he meant. You and me, six tonight was not enough information to go on. It sounded like an invite to a duel. You and me, pistols, at dawn.

Before you could register what was happening, Bakugou was yanking you out of your chair and stuffing you into your winter coat, completely ignoring Mina’s presence.

“I am taking you on a date, you fucking dumbass,” he growled, seizing you by the collar and dragging you bodily from the room. You just barely managed to grab your bag as you were hauled out, and Mina gave a happy little wave.

“Use protection, kids!” she called, and the tips of your ears went red hot.

“Fucking busy body,” Bakugou muttered as he steered you through the halls and out into the chill of the winter evening.

“Wait, you asked me on a date? You mean you like me?” you asked incredulously, the idea too good to be true.

It was one thing to work with him, and another entirely to picture something intimate. Your brain buzzed pleasantly.

“Yes, you little idiot,” Bakugou said, glaring down at you. “What the hell did you think?”

“I thought all those mean looks were because you wanted to destroy me,” you admitted.

Bakugou scoffed, reaching over to aggressively adjust your jacket collar, covering you more effectively from the cold. “They weren’t mean looks, you freak,” he said, sounding sulky. “And there’s no getting rid of you, you’re too smart and good at your job.”

It sounded like it pained him to spit the words out, but the compliment lit you up from the inside.

“Wait, did you realize you were into me on that profiling case?” you asked, suddenly delighted.

The tips of Bakugou’s ears were red, and you were sure it wasn’t the cold that had kicked in that fast.

“Whatever,” he growled, pulling you into step beside him. “You don’t need to yap on about it. Now let’s get going.”

You fell into step beside him, a whirlwind of surprised and pleased emotions swirling inside you. “So it’s a date then,” you said happily, matching your step to his. “You won’t be destroying me.”

Bakugou turned to you, a wicked smile on his mouth. And then he leaned down and put his mouth to your ear, entirely short-circuiting your brain.

He rasped, “Only if you ask nicely.”

That's right, finally another Garbage Fest fic!! Y'all thought I forgot?? No, I have just been torturing myself over my inability to write them in a timely manner thus delaying them even further lol. Anyway I hope you like it!!