#hi you all receive zero fucking context for what any of this means

[aetherose]

She would free herself of this thing, no matter what. Ever since the day she was shackled to it, she determined she'd be free someday. No matter how long it took. And with the power of a Wellspring, she finally had her chance to break away, even if it meant severing herself from this world.

As if she cared. This world was rancid to it's core. She failed to protect Seele when that orphanage fell, and robbed her of the only good thing she had, and the despair led her down a worse path than she'd ever imagined. And even before that, all she'd ever faced was abuse, Seele being the only one to reach out to her.

No, this world could rot. She only cared for her freedom from this Heart of Despair.

And so, she forcibly cut herself off from her world, from that thing. But of course, it came at a cost. Her body. If she wanted to survive, she had to find and reside in someone else's, in another world. An alternate her would be most preferable.

What luck that because of that thing, she had only one Mirror World as an option, and the her of that world was in some weapon. Ha. Figures that's some twisted universal constant.

Then, she saw her. Seele. Not hers, but the her of this world. This world seemed to have events play out at different times, but in the end, that incident was occurring again, and there was no Veliona this time to protect her. To protect Seele when her orphanage was attacked, and she witnessed her fellow children and caretaker all be slaughtered by some twisted monsters.

She didn't remember what they even were now. Well, not like it mattered to Veliona. They were scum all the same. Toys to be broken for what they did in another reality. Perhaps she should've thought more before she made the decision she did, but she didn't hesitate.

She awoke within her body. Seele's body. She could hear Seele in her mind screaming and crying. She always was a crybaby...

"...Haha...I'll enjoy breaking every last one of you!"

This time, she was strong enough to obliterate. Every. Single. One. She ruthlessly tore them apart with her crimson claws, and the creatures evidently were caught incredibly off-guard. Not like it mattered too much; they were fodder for her. And in the end, she'd stand before their bloody corpses with a twisted grin.

This time, she protected her.

But when she found her control slipping and her claws faded away with her control over the body, she heard the screams of terror of the girl she just entered the body of.

'Will you quiet down before you attract who knows what else that wants to kill you?'

Seele went dead silent, looking around her at first to try to find the source of the voice.

"Who...are you?! W-where are you?!"

'I thought you'd be smart enough to deduce I'm in your head. But I guess you're more of a dummy than I thought. Hmph. Whatever.'

Veliona grumbles, before continuing.

'Anyway, it doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that my newfound residence in your body has granted you power. Power that no doubt will attract the attention of all kinds of things. Threats beyond your comprehension.'

"Wh...what? Nyet- you-"

'So I'm going to need you to first off, get the hell out of here. And second off, be ready for...that thing, in case it's invading this world too.'

"Th-this...this can't be real...I have to be dreaming-!"

Seele tries to pinch herself, wincing a little at the small pain she feels, accidentally pinching too hard due to her severe stress.

'I'm not lying to you-'

Seele wasn't even listening anymore. She'd began running as Veliona had suggested, but not for that reason. She didn't want to believe any of this was real. That everyone she ever knew and loved was gone, that she had this...voice in her head that just...took control of her?

She doesn't even know. She doesn't want to know.

'Just sit down and listen to me for a second, idiot! If you run recklessly into the Backstreets you'll-'

Ah.

Organ harvesters.

She froze in place, staring on in horror before she slowly backed away, just as they started to approach her.

She tripped, and she screamed. They drew closer, sneering as they raised their blades.

'Ugh.'

And suddenly, the claws manifested again, and the organ harvesters became nothing more than minced meat.

'You're a real nuisance, you know that? But I'm stuck with you, and you're stuck with me, so listen to me for a second. Because you're not going to survive if you don't.'

As control faded away from Veliona once again, Seele slumped onto her knees upon the ground as she stared at the carnage Veliona wrought.

"I...I-I just want to go home..."

'If you want to ever find a place you can call home again, then you're going to have to work with me here.'

"...Wh...what do I have to do...?"

'Find somewhere safe, first off. This place is crawling with things that'll try to kill you. Then I'll tell you more.'

Seele looked on for a short time longer at the deceased organ harvesters...before she shakily stood up.

"...O...kay..."

And she slowly walked away, to find somewhere to reside for now.

[aihoshiino]

Between Akane, Kana, and Ruby, which do you think is the best written, and has more depth outside of their relationship/crush on Aqua? The argument I’ve been seeing most often from diehard fans of any of the three girls is that the other two (or one of the other two) don’t have any depth beyond liking Aqua. Been seeing this especially from people who hate Kana, but also from Akane haters and Ruby haters

Anon I truly believe you sent this with nothing but good faith in your heart but never before have I received an ask that looked more like the internet equivalent of someone handing me a baseball bat and pointing me in the direction of a hornet's nest. AND BROTHER, I'M ABOUT TO START SWINGING!!!!

In order from best to worst I'd say right now, it goes Kana -> Akane -> Ruby. If you'd asked me this question in a pre-123 world I probably would've said it's Ruby -> Kana -> Akane but… well i'll be getting into what existing in a post-123 world has done for ruby's character soon enough anyway lol.

I fully expect to be hit with accusations of bias in this regard both because I just have generally always liked Kana and fandom lately has been so fucking weird about her but the reason I like Kana is because I think she's the most consistent and fleshed out beyond the scope of her relationship with Aqua. Like, to be clear, all the girls definitely revolve around him way more than they should - to a degree, this is just kind of the nature of the beast in a story like OnK where a lot of characters' foothold into the story are their personal relationship with the protag. But so much of their screentime and story relevance is eaten up by the romance subplots that it ends up coming at the expense of giving the viewer a strong sense of who they are outside those relationships.

This is the trap I think Akane falls into, to the detriment of her character writing. On paper, she's a super interesting character with a lot of potential to add to the story's themes and overall commentary but her actual role in the story and the context within which she's allowed relevance is purely just Being Aqua's Love Interest. Hell, her foothold into the cast period is just that she and Aqua are fake dating and Akane is catching both feelings and a sense of indebted gratitude towards him, so she's totally down to match his freak about it. There's a reason I think Tokyo Blade is her best post-LoveNow arc and it's because while the developing relationship between her and Aqua is an important part of the story, it's absolutely not Akane's focus when compared to everything else she's got going on with Kana. After this arc, though, she's given basically zero plotlines or things to do that aren't wholly predicated on Being Aqua's GF and the interesting underlying issues suggested to exist in her character go largely ignored in favor of her serving Aqua's story. She doesn't really have any relationships with the other cast members outside of Kana and even that ends up devolving into love triangle slop. The result is that, based purely on what exists in the text of the story, Akane is isolated from any other character that she could interact with to create a sense that she has a life and interior world unrelated to Aqua.

This is also why I say Ruby is the worst hit by the Love Triangle Brainrot Disease out of the three heroines because she had an interesting, lively character with a full world and social life that had nothing to do with Aqua only for 123 to come along and infect her with terminal love interest brainrot. Honestly, Ruby being Like This with Aqua right now is probably the biggest singular issue with OnK at the moment, because it means one of the series' primary protagonist is stuck in this malformed relationship cul-de-sac where the feelings we've spent the entire series building up and fleshing out have somehow simultaneously taken over her entire character at the expense of all her other ongoing plotlines while also going entirely unaddressed by the narrative. 123 essentially wiped Ruby's slate clean of anything that wasn't the AquRuby stuff and then proceeded to treat it like a massive joke for literally 20 entire chapters - once again, at the expense of what was a genuinely really necessary arc for her. Ruby's so-called 'revenge' peters out with a wet fart because all the moments leading up to it that should have given any of it weight are offscreened in favour of yet another panel of Ruby splooging over her brother. But despite this being like the one singular thing her character has going on right now, Akasaka is simply refusing to address the massive incest elephant in the room, which means that both Ruby as a character and the story as a whole are robbed of opportunities to develop and be developed by an exploration of how that massive taboo intersects with and affects… literally anything! Since 123, we've gotten exactly one chapter that bothered to even pretend it was taking Ruby's feelings seriously but despite it ending on perhaps one of The Biggest Status Quo Shifts in the whole series… it too has gone entirely unaddressed!!!

Both Akane and Ruby are trapped in this bog of having their entire characters reduced to revolving round Aqua while being disallowed from meaningful development that would probably advance or give closure to that relationship. Akane… sort of gets this with her whole "i'm his mom now btw kana you should suck him silly" thing and her big dramatic haircut but even then, she's still orbiting Aqua and his revenge quest because apparently she has nothing better to do. Ruby, meanwhile, is in this baffling place where the story is having to twist itself into so many pretzels to avoid addressing whatever the hell is going on with her and Aqua before the Akasaka ordained Most Dramatic Moment that she is not getting any moment-to-moment development that might even risk letting her address or untangle any of this stuff. She and Aqua are not allowed to have any direct on-screen interactions and even when they did in 157, it just felt plastic and artificial and honestly kind of forced because of that failure to so much as acknowledge UH, HEY, REMEMBER WHEN RUBY STUCK HER TONGUE DOWN AQUA'S THROAT?

anyway. ALL THAT UP ^ THERE ^ is the reason I think Kana is the character who feels the most fleshed out beyond the bounds of her relationship with Aqua, ironically because of having comparatively less romantic focus and explicitly romantic interactions with him. Because less of her screentime is taken up by romance drama, it allows her to just breathe and exist as a person without her entire role in the story being Aqua's Love Interest. Her major moments of development are all built on Kana's own backstory and baggage which has basically nothing to do with Aqua and everything to do with her own insecurities, her history of abuse and abandonment, her obsession with acting and her fervent desperation to cling to the entertainment industry even when it has made clear that it doesn't want to make a place for her anymore, because so much of her personhood is warped by and tangled up in her childhood growing up in the public eye. That's not to say Aqua isn't involved in Kana's arc and he has an undeniably huge impact on her, but when you look at the ways his interactions with her push her story along it very much feels like Kana is just having her own arc that Aqua is serving and sometimes intersecting with rather than the other way around (as it feels for Akane and Ruby).

WITH ALL THAT SAID… it is just blatantly a bad faith reading of the series to the point of flat out lying about the contents of the story to say any of the three heroines have nothing going on outside their relationships with Aqua, even if we don't get as much focus on that stuff as I'd like. Ruby has her whole history as Sarina and the experiences of abuse, disempowerment and abandonment that have created the bullheaded high-energy Ruby of the present day. Akane struggles with low self-worth and tendencies towards creating narratives for herself and other people in her head that don't always survive impact with reality. Kana has… well, I rambled about all that up there lol. In fact, all three of the heroines are interested in Aqua for imo, at least hypothetically well developed reasons that have observable and tangible roots in their own histories and personal baggage and how Aqua, as a person, has impacted them.

The issue is not with the girls themselves or their feelings for Aqua. The issue is that Akasaka is a romcom guy flying by the seat of his pants trying to write a murder mystery character drama and it's just not what he's cut out for. So he falls back on what he knows - the romance stuff - regardless of how it does or does not cohere with the arcs of the characters involved or the wider story at large. He simply doesn't have the chops to balance both halves of the story at once and his clear interest in playing shipping drama for all its worth has ultimately compromised the integrity of the surrounding story, to the detriment of the characters involved.

[spacerockfloater]

House of the Dragon, Season 2, Episode 1: Discussion

Overall, I did not like the episode at all.

First of all, am I crazy or was the whole scene at Winterfell and the Wall purely fanservice so that HOTD can gain the sympathy of old fans? I mean, it lasted like, 2 minutes, and added nothing to the plot. Cregan’s speech was amusing though.

Daemon didn’t let a single moment go to waste before he started acting like a king. Typical and at least consistent with his character.

Sigh. Preparing myself for the backlash I’m going to receive for this. I did not like the way Rhaenyra’s and Jace’s emotions were portrayed. Where was the shock? The agony? The horror? The pain? Too much silent grief for someone who just found out that their son/ brother was murdered. Hell, Rhaena showed more emotion than both of them combined and we saw her face for merely a second.

Good for my girl Alicent for finally getting some I guess, but the Alicole sex scenes were weak as fuck. No passion, no chemistry. It was robotic as shit. All that subtle tension between them during the first season led to nothing. Rushed as fuck and not at all what they made us think it would be. Provided absolutely zero context. Boring as hell, too. Thank fuck that it was leaked because it would have been a jumpscare. Nothing could have prepared me for it, it came out of nowhere.

Alicent standing her ground against Otto was surprisingly very good. I loved seeing her take the lead. And it was touching to see her light a candle for Luc, too.

Aegon II was very entraining. Refreshing to see him try to be a good king, actually care for his subjects and love his son. Distracts you from the fact that he’s still a stupid unseasoned teenager. Looking forward to some more character development on his part.

Now, what the actual fuck could Aemond ever possibly have to be angry about? Didn’t he just have his revenge? Who is he so pissed at?

Daemon and his murder cloak are the strongest ship in HOTD, which they should rename to “House of Misunderstandings” at this point.

I nearly pissed myself when Cheese’s super secret hidden path through the castle, that only he as a specialist knows, was crossing the fucking throne room on their tippy toes. Did they sneak back outside to meet Daemon the same way while leaving a bloody trail behind them? Are the writers actually insane? Who gave that shit the green light? Why does the door to Aemond’s room open by a lever? Is he Batman? Where the actual fuck was literally everyone? The guards? The servants? The ladies of honour? How was the fucking queen all alone?

And lastly, speaking of the queen… Oh my God. This was the most anticlimactic scene in the whole episode. I nearly fell asleep. I don’t know what’s Helaena’s deal, like is she neurodivergent? Is she just not fazed by anything because she has already seen everything play out in her head before it actually happens? It’s never explained and it makes it so infuriating that she looks just… concerned. Not traumatized or shocked, just perplexed and worried, lol. She pointed to her son faster than lightning. Did she just want all of it end as fast as possible? No idea. All the tragedy of the situation was removed. Luc’s death was much more impactful and shook the audience. This seemed so underwhelming and stale. And then Helaena quietly goes to her mother’s room, walks past her riding Criston like this happens to her every Tuesday, sits down, refers to her own son as “the boy”, and looks slightly distraught. Dian Doesn’t even shed a single tear. Nothing like the mourning woman gone mad by grief we saw in the trailer, though maybe we just have to wait I suppose. Like, lol okay. This was not giving like y’all promised it would. The only grotesque thing about it was listening to them sawing Jaehaerys’ head off.

The episode felt rushed as fuck and has severely reduced my interest in hating or loving any of the characters. There’d better be some top notch acting next Sunday or I’m dropping the show.

All opinions are welcome, just please be civil to one another!

[tenander]

Decided to do this NSFW questionnaire for my four current main Tavs.

Since it's massive, I gotta do it in four (!) parts.

Part 1

What is your Tav’s sexuality/orientation preference? Crim is exclusively attracted to men. He is not put off by people of other genders in a sexual context, but there is zero attraction. Solstice can find anyone attractive, but he prefers men to be with in any meaningful way. Zaphir can't think of anything less important than gender or parts, but he has had his better experiences with men and prefers them.

What are their biggest ‘NOs’ they will never consider doing during sex? Crim: ravishment or any other activity that combines sex with coercive aggression Solstice: being 'mean' aka humiliation, degradation, punishments, whether through words or actions, even if it's just pretending Zaphir: used to not have any specific ones, but due to recent developments, mind control, whether real or pretend, is now a hard no.

Are they a Top/Bottom/Switch? Crim: Tops from the Bottom by telling you exactly what he wants you to do to him and you're gonna like it Solstice: Complete Service Top, there is nothing better than doing your favourite things that will make you lose it for you Zaphir: A Switch in the sense that he doesn't care about his position as long as he gets off

Favorite Position? Crim: All of them, but being horizontal is nearly always better than vertical. Solstice: Anything that has him being able to see his partner's face is chef's kiss. Zaphir: He likes riding a guy a lot.

Do they prefer giving or receiving? Crim: Receiving, hands down. Solstice: Giving, hands down. Zaphir: Receiving, it's just more practical and easy.

Tits or Ass? Crim: Tits are great, he likes to put his face in. Solstice: Okay, if he were forced at gunpoint to NOT say face or mouth… ass is fine. Zaphir: He quite appreciates a nice tight ass. Novel: He likes a nice tiddy alright.

How experienced is your Tav? Crim: So-so… he has tried a lot of things at least once in the span of about a year. He knows what he wants, but he doesn't know much about the variety that comes with varied partners. Solstice is at once more and less experienced than he has any right to be… he has done everything you can think of (and probably a few things you can't) at least once, he has had the time to explore many of them very thoroughly, and he has put a lot of thought and care into it all. … but all of it with one person, over a century ago. Zaphir: Pretty experienced, he has had countless partners, paid and not. Novel: He has barely done anything at all yet that's why he isn't in most of these answers =B

Do they have any traumas around sex? Crim: Not at all, at least as far as he knows. Solstice: He's had some minor mishaps in the past due to his physical strength that have left him a little overly-cautious in the present, but nothing bad enough to call trauma. Zaphir: No, but he is basically living with ongoing trauma that does heavily colour his sex life as well.

Do they have any taboo kinks? Crim: Nope, his most daring kink is Halsin's shapeshifting. Solstice: No, he's honestly quite tame as far as kinks go. Zaphir: He doesn't have time for kinks in the first place.

Would they want a polyamorous relationship? Crim: You better believe he does, he's in one. Solstice: I can't just do the PotC quote again… Zaphir: He got jumpscared by the 'amorous relationship' part and roundhouse-kicked it. Novel: He thinks that sounds fun to try out.

How do they feel about voyeurism? And would they do it? Crim: He doesn't really get much out of doing it, but being the subject of it is pretty hot. Solstice: Loves to watch, and doesn't mind being watched. Zaphir: Why the hell would he watch someone else fuck, who the hell would want to watch him fuck. Novel: Sounds exciting!

How big is your Tav’s sex drive? Crim: Yes. Solstice: God yes. Zaphir: Bigger than he'd like to be. Novel: He's starting to get a lil pent up, to be really honest…

How many rounds can they last? Crim: Yes. Solstice: However many his partner wants, he's a healer, he can make it work. Zaphir: Generally one or two… not for lack of stamina but because he gets antsy after a while Novel: Let's be real, probably one for now.

[frankiensteinsmonster]

VENT POST About my Job don't mind me

🥰🥰🥰 reporting my dickwad manager for fucking yelling at me for rules I did not know and causing me to have a panic attack so bad my entire body hurt and I almost passed out

All he had to do was be normal and tell me to put my phone and headphones away even though I had worked basically my whole shift, meeting multiple Other managers and having zero fucking problem

But instead this man who's never interacted with me before. Ever. Decided to fucking yell at me with no context and then when I had a panic attack, hyperventilating and nonverbal, has the fucking Audacity to crowd around me and try to ask me what's wrong and shit?? Eat shit.

And when some other managers (??) came over to help me, bc I can't fucking breathe and I'm shaking and shit. THEY have the fucking nerve to vouch for him and be like "ohhh he's not usually like this! Ohhh he thought you were trained and knew the rules, we have some people who are really stubborn and so blah blah blah" and I was like?????? I've never spoken to this man in my Life, I don't even know his Name. If this is the way he treats people that needs to change across the board. That's Not how you talk to your employees!!!!!! I told them I was incredibly disappointed with the treatment I received from this dude and asked them if they had training on how to handle disabled employees and they said they didn't know like HUH?? That was supposed to be rhetorical but now I guess you should suck my dick because that's Fucking Bullshit what do you mean you "Don't Know"??

And tHEN these people start trying to warn me about another guy who's particularly stern and I'm like??? So this is something that happens often enough that there's specific people you can point to and good These Folks Are Rude and they're In Charge Of You. Fuck off! I'm reporting that I'm not going to sit here making a dollar and change under the living wage where I live getting treated like shit at a basketball game where I was Doing My Job Just Fine. Fuck you I'm NOT doing this shit. Fuck you, I literally don't know what else to say. You don't get to treat me like this, you don't get to treat Any employees like this. You don't own any of us. I have a panic disorder. And maybe?? Make sure you ask someone something more than once before you decide you're fucking pissed off that them. You dick.

[arathergrimreaper]

J*hnny D*pp is untouchable garbage, ik, but there's one older movie of his I think about a lot called Benny & Joon, where he does this Buster Keaton sort of routine and after Joon sees it, she asks, 'Did you go to school for that?' and his character responds, 'No. I was kicked out of school for that.'

This scene and the underlying, probably unintentional, meaning of it sticks with me. For context, I'm not that talented at anything no matter how many hours I dedicate to it, but I've received compliments and more than a couple wistful 'I wish I could find time to do that's from people who've seen me crochet or draw or pole dance or what-have-you. There seems to be this misunderstanding that these things are doable for me because I have a plethora of time and resources or energy others just...don't.

This could not be further from the truth.

I make time to do these things. How? By sacrificing quality and time dedicated to the things society tells me should be the ultimate priority. Example? My crochet work drastically improved after years of false starts and finally finding the right teacher (Youtube) by...taking it to certain lectures with me in college. I would sit there and work on it even if it was large and took up my whole lap rather than taking notes. I still participated in class discussion. I still took my tests and did my essays (when ADHD and perfectionism didn't prevent me from turning in boring crap nobody gave a damn about). Classmates would look at me like I was insane, but not a single professor bothered me about it because my grades and class participation were solid.

Same thing with work. My current job is...well, I need money like many of you and 'beggars can't be choosers' yadda yadda. The point is, I have a lot of downtime in between duties and assignments, most of which only have to be done on a monthly basis. So I write. Fuck, I've written nearly three books worth of words since starting here nearly two years ago. One of which I did in a month (i was going for sterilization surgery consultation and wrote up 100 reasons and elaborations why i needed this surgery, just in case). And I draw. If anyone sees me at it (my back faces the door and there's high foot traffic by our office -_-), they don't say boo to me because I get my work done (and some of theirs too, lbr) and growing up with strict parents made swapping tabs and hiding chat rooms child's play. Thank Hephaestus for Firefox and adblockers.

I'm also not close with the majority of my blood family in the emotional or geographical sense. No real obligations there. Friends? The majority of them are...well, here. I regularly talk to and interact with 2 whole people in 2 different states. Even the effort of trying to meet more isn't a priority to me even though I make shallow attempts a couple of times a year. I'm not close to any coworkers either because I never feel I can trust them due to problems with gossipy coworkers in the past and, ofc, the current climate of people playing shoot-em-up when work pushes them past their breaking point.

Make no mistake, I am taking a risk doing these things. I risk write-ups and firing and dying alone and all kinds of shit...because I'd rather be doing art. Something I am never going to be able to live off of so I have to steal time from other things to be able to do it. When I go home, I barely have the energy to cook, clean, run errands, and do some meatsuit maintenance before I have to come back the next day. There have been so many times I've fallen asleep before I could get even partway through what I planned for the night, right at my computer or next to my sketch book.

I have to snatch back the time taken from me, there is no other recourse. Lunch breaks are not enough when we even get them (in OH, employers are not legally obligated to provide those. found that shit out at a factory i used to work at where i also wrote fanfic in a notebook between machine unloading). There are zero guarantees of a better afterlife or reward for continued suffering in this life and maybe it's the neurodivergency talking, but I refuse to waste more of it than I already have pretending the things I am forced to do are inherently better or more fulfilling than the shit I want to do.

TL;DR All this is really just to say: get sneakier. STEAL time back where you can. Else you're just going to keep wishing for more time you're never going to get.

[signoraviolettavalery]

It's Wednesday 💛💛💛!!! I know you already gave us some of your Malex Ocean's Echo story, but in case you have any more written 🙏🙏🙏???

ask and you shall receive, nonnie. I have no idea if this makes sense out of context because it draws on a lot of worldbuilding from the book, but here goes:

“Are you actually strong enough to write me without a sync?” Michael asks.

Alex levels him with a cool gaze, and for a split second, Michael things he’s about to get a demonstration. “Yes,” Alex says. “They do tests for these sorts of things. I’m a Rank Zero.”

Michael’s only ever heard of Rank Ones, and those were the most powerful he’s ever encountered. A Rank Zero is – strong enough to lay a compulsion on him, probably. A long-lasting order, rather than just an immediate one.

Alex is – well, Alex is a walking weapon. A fucking supernova contained only by his apparent moral compass. And one that could easily control him without a sync, by the looks of it, so he assumes the military only thought one was necessary because they wanted to be extra sure.

“I make a point of not doing it unless it’s life and death,” Alex says. “I have no intention of doing it to you.”

“You might have to,” Michael says. “I know what being written feels like, and I could probably passably fake it, but if anyone’s looking too closely, or if it’s the kind of thing I can’t fake – “

“No,” Alex says, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Alex,” he says patiently. “If anyone finds out, it will be very bad for you, but it’ll be even worse for me. So I would much, much rather be written by you than deal with what will happen to me” – and to Isobel, but he doesn’t say that – “if they find out. So please get over your goddamn scruples and just do it if its necessary, for both our sakes.”

It’s surreal, trying to convince Alex to agree to write him, when twenty minutes ago all Michael had wanted to do was provoke the man he thought had no compunctions about taking over his mind.

Alex nods. “Only if absolutely necessary. I promise I won’t – take advantage in any way. I don’t suppose you have any reason to believe me, but…I’m not like that.”

Michael reaches out again, and again there’s nothing but honesty, though he doesn’t dare going deeper. He can practically feel how strong Alex’s mental walls are.

“Oh, I believe you,” he says.

Alex jerks back slightly as he realizes what Michael means. “Oh,” he says, but doesn’t seem angry. “Well, given the circumstances, I suppose you were within your rights to read me.”  

[bionic-penis]

hey uhm.. I don't know how to tell you this.. but Sk8 has been spreading rumors about you being a groomer among other things on a few servers, mostly through voice chat when they've gotten him talking about artfight. so i was just wondering.. why are you sticking up for someone who spreads heinous rumors about you?

Hi. I has a question. Do you guys think that when someone says "proof" they mean "testimony"? Or are you all just willfully ignorant? Fuck if words alone were enough to condemn someone we'd all be in jail.

No but in all seriousness, this is one of three asks I came home to, all one right after the other (yeah.... that's not curious at all....). Two of which mentioned (alleged) grooming allegations against me. So I think I deserve a lil bit of a long response.

See, the thing is, even if Awodee was saying that about me, I would not change my stance. The fact of the matter is no actual evidence has been provided for the claims made against them. Not in the original journal made by CandyRotten, the subsequent asks sent to an (admittedly) mismanaged drama blog, nor in the asks that have been sent to me regarding the situation (save for the initial ask that just.... linked the "evidence" in the journal???). Even if Awodee DID do what people are claiming they did, you can't claim that someone did something without proof. It sets a horrible precedent and can make it more difficult to help and support victims in the future.

That's not even mentioning the doubts I have that these alleged rumours are even being spread. I have had zero contact with Awodee on any platform and even have them blocked here on Tumblr. The only way they'd know about me is if they found me before the block, or if someone else helped them get my info. Regarding Artfight, Awodee hasn't been active for a month so... yeah I doubt they'd be talking about me in accordance to Artfight (especially since my handle is different there than it is here). Whatever it is, I don't care. It wouldn't make sense considering spreading rumours about someone who is defending them would in turn make themself look worse.

This is all ignoring just how fucking internet-poisoned you have to be to come into a third party's inbox in order to bark at him for false rumours being spread with absolutely zero evidence.

This is the sixth ask out of eight that I've been sent regarding this situation and the fourth one in an inbox of six. All anonymous. All with various levels of aggression. One even posited that I knew Awodee. I haven't been answering those asks because I don't find it productive and because I thought that, given enough time, y'all would leave me the fuck alone. Clearly that is not happening since the first ask I answered was on September 10th meaning it's been almost a month. I'm hesitant to call it harassment but....

For a while it was fine and even a little funny. I would screenshot the ask, send it to a group chat, and me and my friends would take turns poking holes in the arguments presented. It's not funny anymore. The asks I have received have been manipulative, lacking in empathy, and antagonistic. One of the asks I received today even said that they thought it was "kinda hilarious" that I've been (allegedly) accused of being a groomer considering my defense of Awodee.... So you admit false grooming allegations are funny as long as you view the victim of said allegations as someone less than or opposed to you?

Below I've included a screenshot of said ask with full context and image description. Even with this, take it with a grain of salt as screenshots can be faked.

You guys want to stake claim to some kind of moral high ground, but you are so lacking in so many departments you've contradicted your own sense of moral purity. Because if Awodee WAS saying something like this about me, someone who had defended them, wouldn't that make me one of you guys? A victim? Someone who had fallen prey to Awodee's nasty, manipulative behaviour? But instead of compassion or sympathy you come into my inbox with the intention to make me feel bad for my choices. Then again, this isn't the first time I've seen victim-blaming behaviour pop up in this whole situation. Not only that but.... if they're so bad why are you hanging out with them?

But to answer your question: I'm "sticking up" for Awodee because I looked at the evidence, analysed the journal and subsequent asks sent, and came to the conclusion that the evidence was flawed, that the asks were simply testimony (or hearsay in other cases), and that there are other factors clearly at play. Again, even if they are spreading rumours about me I would not change my mind. Even if I hate someone that doesn't mean I can condemn them for something that that haven't been proven to do. That's irresponsible and, again, sets a bad precedent.

TLDR: You have no proof of any of the claims made in this ask, but you are also one of MANY anon's I have received asks from over an extensive period of time. I doubt these rumors are being spread, but even if they were my stance remains unchanged until actual evidence is provided. Also you all fucking suck for trying to turn this shit around on me when I would be the victim in this situation. Also you're bad at evidence.

[shotorozu]

hello! i love ur writings <3

wanted to request a hc of todoroki, deku, and bakugou and their reactions to the tiktok trend where those two girls are laughing and ppl put their friends/family members in the camera thinking it’s their friend or something 💀 (here’s a link to one of the videos https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe6oFVx5/ )

once again, love ur work and hopefully i did this request correctly 😩🙏🏽

s/o’s friends laugh at them

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk’s not specific

headcanon type : crack, fluff (x reader)

note(s) : i always say that i’m going to upload more, since i haven’t in a day but i’m going to keep my promises this time. and maybe after my content dump, that’s when i’ll fix my masterlists

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

this prank was very risky just like the other pranks you’ve pulled on him but that doesn’t stop you at all

you decided to do this prank after seeing it on the fyp— and also because of the prank’s simplicity since all you needed to do was download the tiktok

you called katsuki over when he finishes working out, and it all seems innocent “katsuki! come over here.”

katsuki, irritated— as he had just finished his exercise, he marches over to where you’re seated “what now, dumbass?”

“i want you to meet my friends!” katsuki only raises a brow, because he’s PRETTY sure that he’s met all of your friends

“now??” he sighs, “i thought i met all of your stupid friends.”

“not all of them,” you grin “c’mon please, katsuki?” and it’s over when your eyes twinkle, and he can only sigh— sitting next to you

“okay, let me meet them” he asks, and you pull up with your phone (that’s now filming, and with the video playing) and show him your ‘friends’

“this is katsuki! my boyfriend,” you introduce him to your ‘friends’

and he’s SO offended when your friends burst into laughter, “WHAT THE HELL’S SO FUNNY, EXTRAS??”

man was really about to explode your phone into pieces— and i’m serious about that part 🧎‍♂️ his hands were creating mini sparks out of anger

you had to coax him that it was just a prank, and they weren’t actually your friends

katsuki’s just 😐 “what did i expect from you?”

promise him that the video won’t go viral, and it won’t be seen by thousands and thousands of people.

you were wrong, and the video AND the audio ended up going viral. and katsuki had to hear his voice on tiktok for WEEKS.

“YOU TOLD ME IT WOULDN’T GO VIRAL DUMBASS” he fumes, red irises zeroing in on you.

“WELL SORRY— I DONT CONTROL THE ALGORITHM, but at least you’re famous!”

“fuck off,” he doesn’t mean that. but he just needs to learn how to not fall for your shit again, despite being really whipped for you

midoriya izuku

you’d feel bad because izuku’s ALWAYS at the receiving end of your pranks 💀

similar to bakugou, you decided to prank him because of the simplicity of the prank— and he wouldn’t get TOO offended by the prank’s nature, right? wrong 💀

izuku swings the door open, a couple of snacks held in his arms, “hey Y/N! i brought some snacks— what did you need me for?”

“oh, i want you to meet my cousins!”

he immediately goes red, setting down the snacks he brought to your room “your c-cousins? oh no no no, Y/N why didn’t you tell me? i could’ve showered before hand— i could’ve fixed my face and wore something different—”

poor izuku. he’s gesturing to his post workout state, since he was in such a hurry to get to your room with snacks.

but you brush his concern off ��don’t worry, izuku! it’s through call. they won’t be able to smell you anyway.”

he calms down, and this when you decide to start the tiktok. “i’m going to call them,” he only nods, quickly hurrying over to your side— to meet your ‘cousins’

“say hi, izuku!” he nervously smiles, showing his face to the camera and waving his hand— totally oblivious of the intentions

he’s stammering on the introduction, and that’s when the rather hysterical laughing starts

he blinks, the feeling of defeat courses through his entire body— the green haired boy immediately moves away from the view

why exactly is izuku genuinely sad from your ‘cousins’ laughing at him? well,, it was always a thing for him to try his very best to be likeable to your relatives

your parent(s)/guardian? they adore him. siblings (if there’s any) they’re also very fond of him. so while you say that they’re your cousins— it still means a lot if he made a good impression

“i,, should’ve changed!” he sulks, the fact that the laugh was quite hysterical didn’t aid the issue, “your cousins will never like me,,”

his mind is put at ease when you tell him it’s a prank— and they’re not actually your cousins. so he doesn’t need to do any redeeming, regardless of the fact that he ‘just met’ them

he sighs in relief, actually glad that it was all just another innocent tiktok prank (that did make his heart race 10x faster)

the video blows up, his distraught reaction being splayed across the fyp, it eventually getting onto twitter— his face being used as an reaction video

“you’re viral, izuku!”

he’s content, despite his distraught reaction being spread across the internet. but he just wishes that your actual cousins don’t see it 💀

todoroki shouto

is most likely aware of your tiktok pranks— but please 💀 this one looked realistic to him, so how was he supposed to tell??

anyways, you decided to do this prank because you wanted to see how he’d react to your ‘family members’ laughing at him. his reactions are golden though

it’s harmless, in a way— it’s mostly a harmless prank. shouto knows how to not take things too seriously, but you just wanted to see his reactions.

“shouto, could you please come over here?” you call for him to sit right next to you, patting his usual spot next to you.

“what is it?” he asks, getting comfortable next to you, kissing your temple— and that’s when you pull out your phone

“i want you to meet my siblings!”

shouto’s puzzled, because one— he always prefers to meet your family members in person, and two— he didn’t know you had siblings (or more siblings)

“we’re not meeting them in person?”

“oh wait! i forgot to mention that they’re working abroad. so we can’t really schedule a meeting in person.”

shouto’s skeptical, but you reassure him further “it’ll be quick!”

the dual haired boy chooses to believe you which was honestly really wrong of him, “alright, i’ll meet them.”

he moves next to you, peaking at the screen “say hi to shouto!”

he was expecting a few things but,, them breaking out into hysterical laughter was just something else

shouto’s so confused 💀✋ someone please help him, it’s like you spoke to him in simlish. that’s what his reaction would be like.

and he’s just thinking things like— why are you guys laughing? is there dirt on my face? i didn’t even say anything funny??

“why are they laughing? love, i didn’t even say anything funny??”

oblivious shouto. he’s not even aware that it’s all just a tiktok prank. but he must say— he’s a little bit disappointed that he already has a bad impression on your ‘siblings’

it’s your turn to laugh, making his thinking at a vague state— shouto’s trying to think of pieces of dialogue he might’ve missed

“it’s a prank, shouto— look,” you replay the tiktok of the girls laughing, and it comes clearly to him now

“oh.” 🧍 honestly, why is he so shocked? it wasn’t the first time you managed to prank him in such a similar nature.

he’s not mad though— rather, shouto’s impressed. “love, i adore you— but i’m not sure on why i got surprised.”

“right? i’d think that you’re used to this but i guess you’re not!” nah, he just believes you a little bit too easily.

but that doesn’t mean he WON’T be suspicious when he actually has to meet your siblings.

“these,, are actually your siblings? no pranks this time, right?” he just wants to make sure. he won’t fall for your potential pranks again!

also, the video does well, the comments being filled with “LMAO HE LOOKED GENUINELY CONFUSED” “shouto todoroki being confused for 20 seconds straight 🤠❓❓”

shouto is very confused on why the girls were just laughing, putting everything aside— he just doesn’t know the context of that tiktok 🧎‍♂️

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma��am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[riphimopen]

your takes are stellar bro..... you're so correct. i love havin fun with these characters and being silly and babying them etc but sometimes being serious is also so sexy. anyway. i love the end note about freddy i do agree that he's just a fucked up funnyguy and the tragic backstory from the final nightmare (?? or whatever) is a load of horseshit that they put together last minute just for shit and giggles and i don't care for the canonicalness of it all but i AM wondering if you have any ~serious~ thoughts about him forreal? or since we're here, i'm mainly inch rested in hearing anything you might have concerning bubba or billy? best regards hugs and kisses

oh hugs and kissessss king thank you lmaooo. i try not to have a lot of serious thots abt freddy bc like? i think he deserves to just be a fucked up freak with zero depth, we all need one of those in our lives.

AS FOR THESE OTHER TWO KINGS.......

so bubba is a FUNDAMENTALLY TRAGIC character on the basis of manipulation and the dynamic we see in the sawyer home, but i mean all four sawyer brothers are absolute pinnacles of tragedy. the desolation of the home. the decline of the craft. the thematic elements of time, age, and the era....... alongside being a wacky fun horror film, tcm is a sad movie for sad bitches lmao. like. eldest-daughter-syndrome drayton. desperately seeking outside enrichment chop and nubbins. and bub himself being transformed into a slaughtering machine in the name of keeping his family afloat? its.......................................................... they're all just trying to get out of that godforsaken house without realizing it. something abt struggling siblings holding onto each other and dragging each other down in the process. i think we need more drayton and bubba content and i think both of them are horribly frightened people driven into the dirt by the combined heels of industrialization, tradition, and upbringing. and drayton was once as young and full of life as nubbins and chop top, and he was saddled with three kids and a crushing familial responsibility to take up the trade. and then nubbins and chop were young, were teens, were adults, were looking for somewhere over the rainbow to escape from the very real terrors of home (because lets be real, even as a sawyer, you aren't born with an immunity to repulsion and fear), and the both of them went off the deep end in very visible behavioral ways, unattended and unwanted, or treated as such. and bubba. autistic king trying to keep his crazy little family together and do his best to stop his older brothers from killing each other. deep sigh. the UPSIDE, though, is that these sawyers stick together for better or for worse and while they drag each other down plenty of the time, those bonds ensure that they'll always have someone watching their back. i think bubba loves a lot and is loved a lot but his family is having a very difficult time keeping the house stable. hhh god i just wish the sawyers could be happy lmao

now BILLY................................... frankly i like it when billy is left as a nonentity, i think the lack of detail in the original really lends itself not only to the terror but to our sympathies? idk like you would expect it to be the reverse, you'd expect that the 2006 remake draws more audience emotion (which i mean that story goes hard asf for no damn reason its heavy), but i find 1974 billy almost more sympathetic; i think its the fact that we only receive snippets of information abt him as the characters do and its,,, he's very real, this way, when we DONT know whats going on with him. when the only context we have is that hes a nutcase in the attic and something is very very wrong in his tone. like bubba hes an extremely tragic character and the anonymity of his actions really highlights how foreign he is to the sorority house, to the warmth and cheer of the celebrations.... idk like giving him a backstory was all good and well but i like watching the original and really just going god,, thats just some guy. no one knows whats wrong with him and hes all alone and even we as the audience dont know whats wrong with him, we couldnt help him even if we wanted to. hes a freak and hes desperately asking for help and we have no ideas where his problems stem from, and THAT is really what makes me much more sympathetic to him idk. idk the fact that the working title was Stop Me always gets me jusssst deflated like a rubber ball lmao

[kenzumekodma]

18+ only, minors do not interact

pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader, politician au

warnings: power imbalance, degradation, oral (m receiving), fingering, cum swallowing, finger sucking, teensiest bit of praise, one instance of canadian spelling

summary: if this was going to happen, you might as well commit to it. there were worse people to fuck on a monday morning than shouto todoroki.

wc: 2.5k

His father’s the highest ranking politician in the prefecture, you remind yourself. Just grit your teeth and bear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Shouto. No, he didn’t like you, was more like it. Ever since you took on the job as his assistant you’ve shouldered this feeling that absolutely seeped from him, this feeling that he was inherently superior to you and you were nothing. A means to an end.

At first his quiet indifference bothered you, but as the weeks wore into months, into nearly a year… really you just stopped giving a shit. Sure, you’d gone into this job bright eyed and bushy tailed, answering with a quick yes sir, no sir to any questions he asked you. Slowly, though, your energy dropped, your output matching Shouto’s.

Coming into your work anniversary, a time when you’d imagined you’d be kicking your feet up for a night and enjoying a lighter workload, if not a night off, you walked into the office to a more chaotic scene. You groaned into the plastic lid of your to-go coffee. The hot liquid was your only saving grace. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose, steeled yourself as you held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled through your mouth, lips closed into a small ‘o’. With renewed nerves, you open your eyes and walk into the elevator, making your way towards Mr. Todoroki’s office.

Large solid walnut doors met you a few short strides away from the elevator. Balancing your coffee, Mr. Todoroki’s tea, and your work bag precariously but with the confidence that comes with practice as you turned the brushed bronze handle. As expected, Mister Perfect was sat behind his desk. Larger than it really needs to be, you thought, like so many things tend to be when you’re living off the bank of Daddy’s Popularity.

“What’s all the fuss about downstairs?” you asked, setting Shouto’s tea down on the coaster he had waiting for it, just like he had every day for a year. He shrugged.

“Elections are coming up. My old man wants me to run for a seat on council.”

You nodded. “And that’s why I woke up to an email this morning from Endeavor offices saying Mr. Todoroki Sr. is scheduled to come by at 10:30 today with exactly zero context.” Shoto nodded once.

“There’s no point in stopping him. He has the knowledge and I need it, I guess.”

You sighed, resigned to planning a last minute visit for the man who’s effectively your boss’s boss.

“It’s too bad,” he started, pausing to take a sip of tea. Deadpan expression still resting on your face, you quirk a brow at him, a silent what? hanging in the air. “Too bad that my old man will have to see you like this. You’ve changed since he hired you for me,” Shoto said as he stood, tea placed flawlessly in the centre of its coaster. He stalked around the desk, getting ever closer to you. Instinctively, you went to place your coffee on the desk, but you caught yourself, putting your work bag on the floor, bending to pick up your planner from it. You missed Shouto’s eyes grazing down the back of your form, hesitating at your thighs, where their plushness was accentuated by the hem of your tight, light grey skirt digging in slightly. You slid your planner onto the luxury desk, using it as a makeshift coaster for your cup.

The corner of Shouto’s lip turned up almost imperceptibly. “You used to be so polite, y/n.” He took another step towards you and you froze in confusion.

“I…” you trailed off.

“You what?” he goaded, getting closer to you again. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the aforementioned not giving a shit, maybe it was the surprise stress of Enji Todoroki’s insistence on the election, but you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and speak your mind to your boss for the first time.

“I just, I know that you think of me as lesser, and it’s true. I am. I know that, you know that. You’re political royalty and I’m just trying to make rent. So what’s the point in trying to get you to respect me with pretty words?”

“Lesser, is that so?” he murmured. He was upon you now, slender hand reaching out to take your chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. A mixture of confidence and careful carelessness swirled behind Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes. Bicoloured hair slipped from its place to frame his sculpted cheekbones as he looked down at you.

“I’m a means to your end, and likewise for you. If we’re going to use each other we should feel good too, right? Now, wouldn’t you say the best place for inferior little girls like you is on their knees?” His eyes flickered to your lips, to your eyes, to your lips again. The last three honeyed words dripped from his lips and straight to your panties making you clench around nothing. The span of four minutes and he’d already flipped everything you thought about him on its head.

In your doe-eyed stupor you hadn’t even noticed how fucking wet you’d gotten although it was undeniable when your thighs rubbed together as you shifted your weight back and forth.

“Well?” Shouto asked, voice quiet. You nodded, bringing his hand up and down with your face. He patted your cheek. “That’s what I thought. Down,” he commanded. Shame rose in you as you dropped to the floor, flush crawling up your neck making you feel as red as half of your boss’s hair.

You looked up at him for further instruction to see him unbuttoning the top two buttons of his expensive linen shirt. Instinctively you lifted your hands to unbuckle his designer belt, but he swatted them away.

“What makes you think you’re worthy of touching anything of mine? This costs more than your salary,” he sneered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Sorry what?”

“Sorry, Mr. Todoroki,” you corrected yourself.

“Not quite. Try again,” he tutted. You felt the heat rise from your neck to your cheeks, causing you to turn your gaze downward.

“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled.

“I can’t hear you all the way down there. Speak up,” Shouto demanded.

“I, I’m sorry Sir,” you said, louder this time and with more confidence. If this was going to happen, you figured you might as well commit to it. There were worse people to fuck on a Monday morning than Shouto Todoroki.

“Better,” he said approvingly. He slipped his buckle and belt off with ease, unbuttoning his charcoal grey slacks. Your eyes followed his hands downwards and it finally hit you just how big of a dick print was practically staring you in the face. He pulled up the once tucked in shirt tails and bunched them up around his toned stomach. Agony, his pace freeing his cock was absolute agony. His length was impressive, on the longer side of anyone you’d been with before. And his girth. It was a lot like the man himself, surprisingly thick but beautiful. The vein running along the underside of his cock made your mouth water with anticipation.

He let it out of his hand and it rested heavily on your lips.

“Please, Sir…” you said, licking your lips just enough to tease him with the sensation of your tongue. Shouto bit back a groan but nodded his head. You gave his cock an exploratory lick up the underside. A low noise rumbled in his chest, which you took as encouragement to continue. Hesitantly, you lifted a hand up to his waist and dragged your nails down his abdomen lightly, causing him to weave his fingers through your hair and grip tightly. God forbid the political Prince Charming be anything but in charge.

He guided your head up an inch or so. Holding his length in his other hand, he tapped the flushed tip against your cherry lips and you comply, parting them without a thought in your head besides Shouto’s cock. You close your mouth around his head and suck lightly, savouring the ever so slightly salty taste of his precum against your tongue. Shouto guided your head back for a better view.

He’s been watching and waiting for months, wondering what your lips would look like wrapped around him with every sharp barb that rolled off your tongue. The reality of it was better than he’d imagined. The silky wetness of your mouth just fueled his lust further. What would your sweet pussy feel like around him? Would you let him in?

His facade faltered, and he bucked his hips into you. Your throat tightened around him and your eyes watered. Something in the way he treated you ignited a fierce competition within you. If his actions were a challenge, you took it and one upped him, taking as much of him as possible. Your nose nuzzled into the base of his cock, taking in the musky scent of his sex with every breath you tried to take. Bracing yourself with your hands on his chest, you swallowed around him. Shouto shudders and his fingers leave your scalp. He pets your hair gently, and for a split second as you looked up at him with curiosity, you saw genuine fondness written across his face. Whatever prompted it, he shoved it aside and gripped your wrists together in his larger hand, pinning them against him above your head.

His movement took you by surprise. Surprises normally caused dread to pool in your tummy. This particular surprise caused arousal to bubble inside instead, it caused you to rub your thighs together as best you could for just a tiny bit, any bit of delicious friction you could get. It wasn’t enough, and you let out a half moan, half whine sound that vibrated up Shouto’s cock.

“Pretty girl’s a little slut, huh? Likes being helpless? Keep going.” he sneered at you.

You nodded as best as you could without letting off of his dick, drool pooling at the sides of your mouth. God, the absolute debauchery of what this man would have you do for him, it made your thighs clench. Desperation evident in your actions, you moan around him, moving yourself as much as your tight little skirt would allow. Shouto shuddered and took your jaw in his fine, slender hand.

“Enough,” he hissed, pulling your mouth off of his cock. His breath came in shallow pants, the only tell that he was as affected as you were. The way you licked your lips as soon as they were unoccupied made him bite back a moan. You looked fucking delicious in that moment, a summer fruit ripe for the picking.

“Up,” he commanded. You tried your best to stand up with your balance off kilter. Really, Shouto ended up pulling you to your feet more than anything else. He turned you around, advanced on you until your ass was bumping against his desk, and then he took one step further, leaving you no choice but to shimmy up onto the surface.

“Is… is this okay?” you asked, and Shouto let out a chuckle.

“You’re just asking that now? I should be asking you instead,” he said. He leaned down and latched his lips onto your neck. “Well?” he murmured into your skin, fingers dancing at the hem of your skirt. “You wanna be my own little whore?”

“Yes… please, Sir,” you whimpered. That’s all he needed to hear to lift you up just enough to slide your skirt past the swell of your ass, letting it bunch up around your waist. He probed a finger along your covered slit. He stops at the wet patch over your aching core.

“Excited, are we?” he teases, moving your panties to the side and circling his finger around your hole, stopping just shy of dipping inside. “Tell me who this belongs to.”

“‘s yours, Sir. ‘s all yours, I’m all yours, belong to you, please, wanna be full,” you whined.

“That’s right, this belongs to me. I’m gonna take what’s mine,” he said. You didn’t know whether he meant your sopping wet pussy or your whole self but at that point you were ready to give him anything he asked for just for him to touch you, to make you cum. You let out a choked moan when he slid his middle finger unceremoniously into your fluttering walls, no longer clenching around nothing. Even one finger was a stretch for you. Not like he cared to let you get too used to it, he was more occupied with the idea of getting you to come undone on his hand.

He added a second finger and began rubbing your clit with his thumb. The urgent moans of his name and Sir, please careening from your lips sounded like the sweetest sonata he would ever hear.

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please, wanna… need to… please lemme cum,” you begged, head pressed forward into his chest.

“Let me cum, what?” Shouto goaded. “Just because you’re being fucked dumb doesn’t mean you get to forgo your manners. Remember your lesson?” he tutted, curling his finger into your bundle of nerves.

“Please, let me cum, Sir,” you gasped out.

“Go on, then. Cum.”

Your already tight muscles contracted around his fingers desperately as he stroked your spongy walls to your release. You came with a broken yelp, earning a look of smug satisfaction from the man looming over you.

He scissored his fingers once more, just to hear you mewl from the overstimulation of your fucked out cunt, your eyes scrunched shut to keep yourself grounded. The feeling of his messy fingers tapping at your bottom lip had you opening your mouth obediently.

“Keep it open,” he ordered. You opened your eyes to see Shouto had led you back onto your knees in front of him. His free hand fisted his cock inches from your face. You opened your mouth wider and looked up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck…” he groaned. Just a few more thrusts and he was painting the inside of your mouth and his fingers white with his cum.

“Close,” he said, and you close your mouth. “Clean it up.”

You sucked gently on his fingers, making sure to swirl your tongue around his knuckles and his nails, wanting nothing more than to please him, to be privy to that little bit of softness and praise you were sure he hid away for special occasions.

When his fingers were free of the mixture of your releases, he slid his fingers from your mouth and took your chin in his hand. He tilted your head to look him in the eye.

“Good girl,” he cooed. Heat rose to your cheeks at his praise, and he helped you to your feet again.

No sooner than you’d rearranged your clothing came a knock to the huge walnut doors, a deep voice booming from the other side.

“Shouto?”

[iamanartichoke]

Last night I ventured into the plain old #loki tag for the first time in forever, and of course it was filled with all the trailer reactions, etc, but one thing I kinda zeroed in on was how that “I’d never do it again” clip is being so positively received - by which, I mean that the majority of people seem to genuinely think it’s absolutely hilarious and even looking at it from an objective standpoint, I don’t see why it’s funny? 

Like, yes - the “joke” is that Mobius calls Loki out on Loki “betraying” people all the time (not even going to touch how Untrue that is) and Loki is offended. It’s not that I don’t think it’s funny bc I don’t “get the joke.” It’s just that I don’t think anything about the setup of the joke or the delivery of the line is particularly amusing. Certainly not “the height of comedy” and “LMAO” funny. 

Even if I agreed that Loki had betrayed everyone (thus giving the joke merit), I don’t think the joke landed where it intended to land. 3/10, nice effort, I see what you were going for, but it didn’t quite work, guys, sorry. That’s my reaction regardless of the meta (or wank, depending on your pov) of whether or not Mobius’s line is even valid. 

Now, Once Upon a Time pretty quickly devolved into an overall dumpster fire after season 2ish, but there were genuinely good arcs/moments throughout it (I am apparently the only one on the planet who really enjoyed the Frozen storyline), but season 1 was the pinnacle of that show’s run. And Robert Carlyle as Rumplestiltskin was a huge part of what kept it reasonably decent for several seasons. I have a ton of respect for Robert Carlyle as an actor in general; he’s one of the greats. Always gives 110% to his roles. Would consider him and Tom to be actors of the same caliber. 

And I just keep thinking of this moment in Season 1 where Rumple shows up to Belle’s castle and there’s a whole standoff and someone is like, “He [Rumple] is untrustworthy, evil, etc” (I don’t remember the actual line) and Rumple is like, 

^^ I think that’s funny as fuck. 

The acting choice here is like the perfect balance of “subtle” and “visibly (amusingly) offended.” It’s meant to make you laugh for a few seconds and then continue on. And it’s in-character, bc both the audience and the characters know Rumple is full of it, that he’s kinda gleefully being a villain at this point, and so his being “offended” here is funny on an ironic level of like, “Well, I never!” while knowing full well that the mistrust is deserved. 

And I could go into a whole other level of how Rumple isn’t really evil, either, and actually he has a ton in common with Loki as a character, now that I think about it (morally grey, complex, tragic background, etc) - but, the point is, the combination of the narrative (”Rumple’s a villain, he’s being called out on his villainy, and he’s amused by it”) and the subltety of the reaction (”Wow, it’s so rude of you to be 100% correct about my moral character) makes this a solid joke. 10/10, would LOL again, etc. 

Contrastingly, the first part of what makes this similar scene in the Loki trailer kinda cringey is that first of all, there’s some kind of cognitive dissonance overall in Loki’s arc, wherein he’s done bad things and people keep framing him as the villain, but then when he’s called out on being the villain, it’s always for things he didn’t actually do. So the context of the joke is a little murky. But then, second of all, his reaction veers away from the subtle and right into the very in-your-face “How dare you imply I’d do something that I’m not even sure I have a history of doing, obviously I’d never do that again!” 

If he (Tom, that is) had delivered the line a little less like the class clown and a little more like Rumplestiltskin, I’d go with it. If his response had been something like a totally dry, “Um, that was one time” or something, I’d go with it. If his facial expression had given us any insight into his genuine reaction to the comment, I’d go with it.

^^ I genuinely can’t tell if he’s offended over being called out, offended bc he hasn’t stabbed people in the back, both, neither? Besides “LMAO Loki you little shit,” how is the audience supposed to interpret this? 

If someone who thought this joke was great would like to explain what I’m missing here to me, I’d be glad to hear it. I do want to reiterate that I get the idea of the joke, but please feel free to explain to me how it successfully landed for you and what it is I’m missing. 

Hi, my name is Charlotte and I like to write hundreds of words analyzing a three-second joke because that is my idea of a good time, nice to meet you. 

[maddiewritesstucky]

Can I sluttily inquire what Jockverse’s favorite sexual acts to perform on and receive from one another are? 😌✨💖

Hooo boy. Okay. I fucking love this ask, and you knew I would, just like I’m sure you knew exactly how carried away with it I’d get.

I give you...

Settle in, this is detailed.

BUCKY BARNES

21yrs | English major | Wide receiver

LIKES TO RECEIVE...

Bucky is a slut for Steve’s mouth. In literally any capacity he can get it

From the moment they first drunkenly made out at a frat party, Bucky was hooked

The lips are fat, okay? They’re big and juicy and soft and so goddamn red, and Bucky didn’t think anything could feel better than having them wrapped around his dick...until Steve put them on his asshole

Bucky. LIVES. for the Steve Rogers Rim Job

This is his absolute favorite thing in the entire world. He would choose this over any sexual act ever, any day of the week

Steve eats it like he means it, has zero reservations about getting his face in it deep and putting in work. It’s borderline savage.

He gets those big hands on Bucky’s cheeks, is hella gropey with it while he Dines Out, squeezing Bucky’s hips and thighs and waist 

He’s noisy with it too, and not because he’s trying to rile Bucky up - he’s just that into it 

It’s all wet sounds and soft groans and muffled cussing, and it’s all entirely sincere. Sometimes he gets so carried away Bucky thinks Steve might come just from having his tongue in Bucky’s ass 

Also...

F A  C E    S I T T I N G

Riding the Steve Rogers Jawline Express all the way to Jizzville, USA

In summary - Bucky likes getting his cake ate

LIKES TO GIVE...

H e a d

Straight up. Bucky loves to suck cock

Specifically, he loves to suck Steve’s cock

Steve Rogers has the single most flawless dick Bucky has ever seen. He wants to take a photo of it and save it as the background on his phone, but apparently ‘tHat’s tOo fAR bUcK’ 🙄😒

It  was the closest thing to a religious experience Bucky ever had, the first  time he dropped to his knees in front of Steve in the locker room showers, and Steve said ‘do it’

He loves every single thing about it. He loves the way his mouth literally hurts trying to stretch around Steve, loves flicking his tongue up under the head and over the slit. He loves the battle of stuffing Steve down the back of his throat and trying to swallow, feeling the spit drip down his chin and the occasional tear slipping down his cheek from how damn much it is

It’s something Bucky knows he’s good at, has always been pretty confident in his abilities, been told many times that his mouth is made for it. But Jesus, the way Steve responds?

Steve crumbles for it. He makes these desperate little noises, looks down  at Bucky like he can’t fucking believe it’s happening. He gets his hands all tangled up in Bucky’s hair and his thighs shake and he moans like a shameless little whore for it, every fucking time

He always warns Bucky when he’s close, but it’s not because he thinks Bucky doesn’t want it in his mouth…

He just happens to know that Bucky wants it even more in the face

...Okay 🥵 Let’s hydrate, and move onto Steve, shall we? 

STEVE ROGERS

20yrs | PoliSci major | Quarterback

LIKES TO RECEIVE...

Not to be crass, but like...Steve is an Entire Weak Bitch for getting Bucky’s dick in him

No one has ever fucked Steve the way Bucky does. And Steve has been around.

Bucky is so unfathomably confident in his own body. Steve could see it well before they ever fell into this Thing they’ve got going

He sees it out on the field, he sees it in the way Bucky carries himself around campus...fuck, he sees it in the way Bucky dances, when he’s had enough to drink?

Bucky has total control over his movements, has a grace about him that also reads as entirely sexual, and Steve’s pretty sure Bucky knows it, too

Steve’s not much for making assumptions on a person’s sexual prowess based on this kinda thing, but goddamn did he feel vindicated on this one when he finally got Bucky inside him

Bucky caught on pretty quick to exactly what does it for Steve, and he’s     merciless in using it. He’s not here to play games, he’s here to get them both off as spectacularly as possible, and it shows

The fact that their connection is predominantly physical only seems to add to it, because he’s not trying to prove an emotional point. He wants to be  the best Steve’s ever had because he’s a cocky sonofabitch, and that’s that

I’m not gonna harp on foreplay here because I’m trying to focus on the     question at hand, but Bucky plays Steve’s body like an instrument, both before and after he gets inside him. By the time his cock’s rubbing up against Steve’s insides, Steve is usually drooling for it (often literally)

And fuck, the way Bucky’s mean. Steve didn’t even know he was into it until Bucky started mocking the sounds he was making one day when Bucky was balls deep inside him, and he almost came on the spot. 

Bucky’s not afraid to throw his weight around either, even goes so far as to treat  Steve like he’s smaller than Bucky sometimes (which he is definitely not) and god but that does it for Steve

Bucky manhandles him into positions that put Steve at his mercy and fucks orgasms out of him like it’s his job, and Steve finds himself on multiple occasions laying awake at 2am, googling the symptoms of sex addiction because he literally cannot stop thinking about it

LIKES TO GIVE...

I feel like Steve is just genuinely obsessed with every single opportunity he gets to touch Bucky’s body

Steve is a naturally tactile person, so physical intimacy is very deeply     rewarding and satisfying to him, in any context. It’s why he loves sex so much, and it’s certainly a big part of why he likes sex with Bucky so much, because there’s this understanding between them that this is the exact reason they spend time together - to touch and be touched

There’s no pretense between them, they know it’s about exploring and meeting their sexual needs, and it makes it weirdly pure, in a way

There’s a freedom in it that Steve’s not sure he would feel if he were having to think of all the other things that factor into building a deeper relationship, of trying to fit his life together with someone else’s

He can just be his body, for a while, and it feels so damn good

Steve is also a naturally giving person, and he gets off on his partner’s pleasure, so literally anything that feels good for Bucky, is good for him too

He loves rimming Bucky, just as much as Bucky loves to be rimmed. He loves sucking his cock and mouthing at his balls, loves when Bucky wants to be fucked and he gets inside him 

But if I had to pick a specific weakness?Fingering Bucky

Now, I think it’s not so much the act itself here, as it is the context in which it can happen. Yes, it feels incredible burying his fingers in that vice-tight heat, and watching Bucky squirm for it, but the where and when  is what gives it an edge for Steve

Fingering Bucky in a bathroom stall after practice, while their teammates are getting changed mere feet away from them? ✔️

Crowding Bucky into a dark corner at a frat party, and slipping his hand down the back of Bucky’s jeans? ✔️

That night he drove Bucky home after a team meeting ran late, and they pulled over on a side road so he could fingerfuck Bucky in the backseat? ✔️

It’s the versatility of it, ya know? An act he can whip out anywhere, if they’re discrete enough

Also, he likes that he can be looking at Bucky’s face while he does it. Likes to make intense eye contact and talk at him and bite at Bucky’s trembling lips. Because as much as Bucky loves to be in control, those moments when Steve can physically see and feel him give it over? Unparalleled.

...This ask is a blessing to the JockVerse, K. You have done the Fantasy Fuckball League a great service today.

[brattybookclub]

A BDSMer’s Perspective on THAT Open Heart Diamond Scene

*WARNING: Discussions of NSFW content and BDSM done properly and poorly*

Hi, this is Cath! A major area of interest to me is BDSM, and while I am still a newbie (sadly my journey into the BDSM community was halted due to the pandemic, but that aside, I’ve been doing research since I was a teenager), I was able to identify several problems with the Ethan scene, from a BDSM perspective. This is meant to criticize PB, as I feel that this shows arrogance on their part, and that they just saw the Chapters ad for “Hard To Master” and decided “Hey, we should do that too!” (This will be kind of long.)

Something I didn’t see much discussion on was the fact that towards the end of the scene, Ethan says, “I’ve just never met someone whose appetites could match my own.” Meaning, Ethan has ZERO hands on BDSM experience. And neither does MC. Most of my criticism comes from the fact that neither of them is actually experienced. Hell, I have more experience than they do, and I’m a college student who has to save up for my kink gear, including collars. Yes, a top can practice alone on themselves, but Ethan and MC do very little negotiation. Most of the communication is taking place during the kinky activities, which there’s nothing wrong with, that works for some people, but it seems like the safeword was just there for decoration, and the diamond scene doesn’t really live up to “dark passion”.

When I saw that the scene was in the chapter, obviously I did not buy it, but I was shocked and kind of upset because the way PB marketed the scene was that it was some dark taboo activity where Ethan lets out his inner beast. This isn’t the case. I’m going to start from the beginning here. The context is that Ethan has just demonstrated that he cannot be trusted to maintain the integrity of an important medical study that could lead to breakthroughs in the industry. He showed arrogance and disregard for ethics. This is the backdrop for him asking to dominate MC. Just based on that, MC should say no. BDSM can be an escape from a frustrating day, to regain or give up control, but if one of my partners was going to lose their job, I would not trust them to dominate me that day. If Ethan is in this bad of a headspace, he could hurt MC during their activities (and not in the fun way) and make it worse. Second, HE ASKS AT THEIR JOB, WHERE HE IS MC’S SUPERIOR. The ethics of boss/employee relationship aside, that is blind to the power dynamic built into their workplace. This is the only point PB gives you the choice to consent until later, during the activities. In my opinion, this fucks up the Consent aspect of Safe, Sane, and Consensual, while Ethan’s current headspace and his actions prevent it from being Sane.

I know so many people have said this before me, but the way Ethan says what he wants is probably the grossest way of saying that. “… I need to feel in control of myself… and of you.” Ethan, you are in control of yourself. And saying that he “needs” to feel in control of MC… No. No, no, no. Submission is a gift that you do not take lightly, and must be given voluntarily. You do not ask someone for it without discussion first. And there is no discussion of what MC’s submission style is? Is MC a service submissive, are they a brat, are they a little? What if MC is a top or likes to be dominant? Nor does Ethan discuss what style of dominance he is into. Now that I think about it, there’s not a lot of power exchange. But it’s not just a top/bottom style activity either… Does PB know that you can participate in kinky activities with no power exchange, and that you can do power exchange without pain? It feels like they’ve just lumped all of it together. This scene fails to have any sort of distinct identity. It smells of a couple trying to spice it up in the bedroom and only reading about BDSM off of Cosmopolitan and Buzzfeed, and not really knowing what they’re doing.

As soon as MC and Ethan get to his place, he decides to pour you both some scotch. NO. NO, NO, NO NO. I have been to a discussion amongst EXPERIENCED kinksters about whether dungeons or events should offer alcohol, and it’s controversial because things can go wrong in a PUBLIC kink setting. For inexperienced people, especially with how bad Ethan’s headspace is at this time, and the fact that he claimed he wanted to “feel in control” of MC and himself, he should NOT be touching any alcohol. And over the drinks, Ethan and MC can discuss the events of the day when they could be, I don’t know, talking about what they are about to do??? Because MC has no idea what Ethan’s intentions are, exactly. Later, Ethan gives MC choices for what they can do; either he ties them to the bed, spanks them, or he decides (on all the playthroughs I have seen, Ethan deciding leads to him spanking MC). But they are already in the kink scene. You know how you should never go grocery shopping hungry? Well, you shouldn’t make kinky decisions, especially as a newbie, when you’re horny. They could have used this time to discuss if either of them has experience, and I must repeat, you don’t find out that Ethan has none till after you two finish. Ethan doesn’t tell MC any risks of what they do; if they might be bruised by anything he does, or if something will hurt after they finish. This is not following RACK; Risk Aware Consensual Kink. MC is not able to give informed consent. There’s also no discussion of limits or pain tolerance and… good fucking lord, this is a setup for shit going wrong.

So anyway, after their discussion of the day’s events, and Ethan’s feelings, MC assures him that they don’t want tender (hey, PB… BDSM can be tender!!! Also affectionate, loving, and sweet!!!!) so Ethan gives them a leather body harness and tells them to meet him in the bedroom. My initial reaction was, “How did he have their size, and how did he have that on hand?” I did some research, a lot of body harnesses are adjustable. Still pretty weird that he just had a women’s body harness on hand with no experience. I mean the men’s kind of makes sense because maybe he’s a switch, and as far as the handcuffs and riding crop despite no experience go… a lot of people hoard adult toys without using them much in case they do get the chance.

After MC puts on the harness, they meet Ethan in the bedroom and he asks them to pick a safeword. The default is “Free Healthcare” which fucking sucks as a safeword. The universal safeword is usually “Red” because of the traffic light system. When telling MC not to shy away from using it, he says, “You’re in control just as much as I am.” Uhhh… Who’s gonna tell him that the submissive has all the control? They decide what they consent to. The dominant operates within that. Also the part about, “This isn’t just about giving me what I need… It’s also about giving you what you want.” Yes… but also no. The dominant does not “need” their partner’s submission. It’s them mutually wanting what the other is willing to give. Also the “need” vs “want” feels… icky. So, so, icky.

From there to the options Ethan gives MC isn’t bad. I’ve had at least one of those exchanges in real life because it doesn’t feel cringe in the moment. Since MC and Ethan didn’t negotiate before the scene, I guess Ethan giving MC two options of what he can do to them, or he will decide between the two options if they want him to, isn’t that bad. I just think it would have been much better had there been communication beforehand since MC hasn’t done anything like that before. Thankfully it’s opt-in as opposed to opt-out, because opt-in is recommended for partners who are new to each other.

“Tie me to the bed.” Option: Ethan will muse about whether he should do rope or handcuffs. Maybe he has practiced with rope alone in the past and knows what he’s doing… But MC does not know this!! Mercifully, he picks handcuffs. Thank god he uses leather cuffs. PB has used metal ones in the past and those have all sorts of safety issues if they are not double-locking. PB is super vague about the setup so I’m a little confused about how he can be going down on MC then pull the chains of the cuffs so their back is against the headboard?

“Spank me.”/ “Choose.” Options: Ethan will get a riding crop, which is not at ALL recommended for newbies. I’ve actually had a friend demo a riding crop on my back, when I was fully clothed, but newbies are usually advised to either a) start off with a plain open hand spanking or b) test out how the implement feels by having the receiving partner rate the pain from a scale of 1 to 10 so one can get a feel for their pain tolerance, and how it changes as they are spanked longer. In my experience, it’s important to start out lighter especially with newbies. AND YET. “The first smack of the crop against your bare skin almost ends the game before it’s started.” NO NO NO. STOP STOP STOP. MC can barely take the first hit??? The first one should not push you to your limit, especially when it’s your first time. You may be wondering if riding crops actually sting that much. They don’t have to. It depends how much force you use. Side note, it is important for the top to know what each toy they are using feels like. Whether that means bottoming or testing the toy out on themselves, this makes sure they maintain empathy for their bottom. Anyway, MC gets hit by the riding crop like twice before this option converges with the sex part of the diamond scene. Really PB? You couldn’t at least say that the swats “rained down” or something? Two super intense hits is no fun compared to less intense spankings that last longer. In fact, if you change toys for different sensations, you can usually last longer, since the area gets more sensitive as you go along.

Anyway the sex happens. Ethan says, “Tell me what you want.” Which creates the options:

“Safeword/Free Healthcare” (God PB that’s so cringey, I get it’s a medical drama but just use Red!!!) Option: It instantly stops, Ethan is concerned, MC assures him that they just know their limits, which, good for you MC!! It’s not easy to safeword even when you want/need to. Though, I raise an eyebrow at the fact that you can safeword during the actual sex, as opposed to being tied up or spanked. I would think those would be where a person would be more likely to need to use their safeword especially if they are new to these activities.

“Harder.” Option: Gets more intense after Ethan asks if MC is sure. Goes into Ethan trying some orgasm control. Yay. Don’t see why this whole scene couldn’t have just been rough/wild sex since I’m pretty sure PB has done that before.

“Just like that…” Option: I think we can all guess what happens here.

I’m gonna fast forward through the rest of the sexcapades because there’s nothing interesting or worth critiquing. Safewording makes sure you skip all the rest of the scene and then it’s MC and Ethan in bed, him holding MC. I don’t want to say, “PB didn’t include aftercare!!” because cuddling is a lot of people’s aftercare, but I wish they’d talked about it more. Like Ethan asking if MC needed water or get out of the body harness, or some lotion or aloe vera for their butt if they got spanked. Or him checking their wrists if they got tied up. These are important things for aftercare, and while not everyone needs aftercare for every kind of activity, it’s important to talk about ahead of time, or communicate after the activity. Aftercare helps both parties come down gently from a high that you can easily just have an unpleasant drop from. I’ve gotten emotional after impact play. Some people feel guilt for inflicting pain on someone. Aftercare is necessary for the dominant or top as much as it is for the bottom or submissive, and I wish PB was as good about including that concept as they were about the safeword.

Anyway while they’re cuddling, MC and Ethan have the conversation where it leads to Ethan saying he’s never met anyone whose appetites match his own. While this might be acceptable for someone who lives in a small town… Ethan lives in Boston, Massachusetts. When looking up BDSM dungeons in Boston, I found two dominatrixes, and like three pages that talk about possible BDSM groups. And that’s not even checking on fetlife. Ethan simply didn’t want to look for like-minded people, and that’s on him. He could have found classes to help him learn how to do everything properly and safely, and maybe some friends. More people are kinky than you think!!! People in the community love it when new people join the community and express a desire to learn.

MC spends the night, and in the morning their sprite is STILL wearing the body harness. PB THOSE CANNOT BE COMFORTABLE. Like especially if it’s as fitted as they describe, how can MC still be wearing it?? Especially with them sweating on the leather??? Not going to lie, I laughed when I saw that oversight.

And that’s the end of the scene. Alright. The scene is not good. But it’s not Fifty Shades of Grey bad. I get the jokes and the comparisons, and while PB is arrogant, much like EL James, PB isn’t THAT bad. MC is clearly into the BDSM, which Anna clearly was not in 50 Shades. PB did a little bit of research, but I find it pretty obvious that aside from dirty talk, they have almost no experience actually getting into kinky activities, nor do they participate in the community.

I really hate how they acted like, “Ethan’s in dark mood…” but didn’t commit to that. Also how they didn’t really commit to portraying BDSM accurately. It’s kinky looking if you aren’t in the kink community, but to me, it’s vanilla pretending to be edgy and kinky. PB didn’t really commit one way or the other. They seemed to just use some iconography (excluding collars, surprisingly… that’s really easy to add??) and a little bit of kink, then set it aside and called it a day. This seemed to be there for the shock value. Going into the scene, I felt like SCC was being broken, but in the midst of the scene was a very different tone from what PB was acting like was going to happen. Ethan felt very different going into the scene as opposed to during it. I feel like this is what happens when you have to market kink to a mostly vanilla audience. Anyway, if you want a really great educational youtube channel, Evie Lupine is doing the lord’s work as a BDSM educator. Thank you for reading this 2500+ word rant from a kinky nerd.

[starcloud-nova]

Favorite fics by some of your buddies on Tumblr and Discord?

God nonnie. You fucked up big time. You underestimated just how hard I can appreciate my friends. I’d like to formally apologize for how long and in-depth this got, but I would pick a stopping point and then go ‘oh! but i cant leave out so-and-so’ and then this got mega out of hand.

Organized by author and not genre! And if I didn’t include any of your works (or I did and it was not the one you wanted), please, don’t take it personally. I am trusting everyone who comes across this post to read the tags themselves, but for two of the fics I have left TWs in front of them.

Cassia’s fics:

Internet Enemies by @cassiopeia721 (x)

At school, Midoriya Izuku is ignored at best. At home, he's raised by a single mother who seems to be always taking night shifts, and who he communicates with almost exclusively through notes on lunch boxes and texts lying about his location. As such, Midoriya Izuku turns to the internet— or more specifically, an All Might fan server on discord— for companionship. Like most things in his life, it goes wrong eventually. It just takes longer than usual.

hypnic jump

Izuku finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognize in an oversized green jumpsuit with a hero he's never seen at his back. He's pretty sure he's dreaming, and subsequent events only solidify that theory into rock-solid certainty.

Paradigm Shift (Harry Potter)

Harry undergoes a paradigm shift at the beginning of his fifth year. (Slytherin Harry)

~~~

Kestrel’s fics:

Compass by @autisticmidoriyas (x)

Midoriya Izuku never had the chance to become a hero—or even to grow up. Fifteen years after his death, Akatani Izuku tries to save the life of a dying hero and in return receives a target painted on his back and a power humming in his bones.

All Might, Sir Nighteye, Ground Zero, Suneater, and Skyquake are left scrambling in the wake of Lemillion’s death to figure out who now holds One For All.

Intertwined with all this, the League of Villains’ war against Japan burns on. With the loss of Lemillion, the advantage is now theirs, and with the loss of One For All, victory is all-but-assured.

(What the villains don’t know is that One For All lives on in the blood of a boy who was always meant to be a hero.)

triskelion

A few seconds, and their lives—their life—is changed forever. Where three people used to exist, there is now only one.

While visiting the mall with their class, Izuku, Katsuki, and Shouto are the victims of someone whose quirk can fuse together objects … and people.

Permanently.

Facing down the fact that they may never be unfused, a long adjustment period lies ahead of them as they learn how to be themself and figure out where they fit into their families, their class, and their world.

the meaning of hope

One day, the smoke will reach its end. They hold out hope for that. Even with quirks, fires cannot burn forever. They will consume all their fuel, until there is nothing left, and they will wither and die.

~~~

Lilly’s fics:

Rise of the Rat Finks by Authoress_Lilly

“You're not in trouble Neito. You’ve been tapped to join The Rats.”

The boy blinks. “The what?”

Vlad opens up a folder and hands Monoma a flyer and a small pin in the shape of a rat. “It’s a sort of secret society here at UA.

Or: an excuse to put Monoma and Midoriya together in way too many words 😅

The Root to Villainy

Prompt: Izuku doesn't realize how fucked up his past was until Aizawa does an immersive class on villain origins.

Whoops?

~~~

Dance’s fics:

Never Take Your Problem Children To Costco by DanceInTheKitchen

“SECURE THE EGGS! I REPEAT SECURE THE EGGS!” Bakugou bellowed.

“YES SIR! AYE AYE SIR!” Izuku saluted.

Shouta is staring at his students, one of whom seems to be reenacting the Lion King with a carton of eggs while the other salutes him, and wonders. What the hell did he do in his past life to deserve this?? Past him must have committed some great sin, like putting sugar in his coffee, or being a dog person.

 Or, Aizawa, Bakugou and Midoriya walk into a Costco.

grow as we go

The dorms were silent, but out here in the open air, she felt both isolated and free. Isolated from the world, but free from the responsibility crushing her, isolated from her friends and family, but free from judgement. Up here, with only the stars and Iida as company, Momo felt like she could breathe.

They sat next to each other in silence, watching the stars silently crawl their way across the sky. Iida doesn’t break the silence, but he also doesn’t leave. It’s a silent promise, to listen if she needs it, or to keep her company if she doesn’t want to speak. It’s comforting.

She’s not sure when she speaks, it’s somewhere between staring up at the stars, and looking at the shiny dew covering the grass of the hills behind UA.

“I’m not ready.”

 Or, with graduation right around the corner, Momo has a conversation with Iida about what growing up means.

~~~

Azure’s fics:

A Helping Hand for All by azureskyy

Izuku doesn't know why everyone's talking about a certain hero analyst online. He's tried browsing through the forums and other sites, but he just can't find the person they're talking about.

Maybe he'll ask them later. For now, he has some analysis to do.

Or: Izuku is a well-known hero and quirk analyst across multiple social media platforms.

Not that he's aware of it, of course.

A Missed Chance

Two paths cross then diverge. In another universe, perhaps, they could have walked on the same path; they could have talked for the second time that day, and Izuku could have been given an opportunity that could change his entire life. And maybe, just maybe, he would have taken it.

But this isn’t that universe.

Or: What if All Might wasn't able to find Izuku after the Sludge Villain Incident?

~~~

Alice’s fics:

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by @makeitbluue (x)

“Did you think you’d be safe from me forever? That you could chip away at my power base and I would not care or try to hunt you down?” The man asks as he steps forwards.

Izuku scrambles backwards in his bed, searching the covers as he goes for his phone. If he can get a text off to All Might or Aizawa-sensei he can alert people to the potential danger.

But even as he moves, something in the back of his mind tells him he had heard this voice before. A different time, a different context, but the same voice.

~~~

Ely’s fics:

bend and break by @queenangst (x)

In a world where you can feel your soulmate's pain, Eijirou spends a lot of his life up until meeting his soulmate hurting.

draw and quarter

In District Twelve, no one volunteers.

When Aizawa Shouta’s name is called, no one says a word. He stands there for a moment, feeling all the world slow around him, and then he straightens his shoulders and walks to his death.

He will die fighting. At the very least, Shouta can promise that.

Shouta's name is drawn for the Hunger Games, alongside Shirakumo Oboro. No one from their district has ever won.

damage control

After All for One's defeat, Aizawa Shouta is grasping for ways to protect his students. At the same time, a discrepancy in Midoriya's behavior leads Shouta down a dangerous line of investigation and to a single question: if Midoriya is the U.A. traitor.

Between the Wind and the Water

Staying at U.A. for winter break, Izuku hopes it'll be a quiet chance to spend the holidays with Todoroki and supervising teachers All Might and Aizawa-sensei.

It's just his luck a gift-shopping trip turns into a gift from a villain, and Izuku's new Half-Cold, Half-Hot Quirk is not so easy to control. Neither are the secrets he's been carefully keeping.

a glimpse of tomorrow (looking back)

Subject: Aldera Time Capsule Ceremony Forwarded Message— This year marks ten years for the Aldera Middle School graduating class of 20XX.To celebrate, we would like to invite pro heroes Kingpin and Deku, Aldera alumni, to participate in a public time-capsule opening. We are incredibly proud to have helped them on their journeys to becoming heroes, and would be most honored to receive them as guests and for them to speak at the ceremony. [...]

"Well," Deku says, leaning over to turn the monitor towards him. His eyes flick over the contents of the email one more time. "If they haven't changed, then I guess we could return the favor."

Ten years down the line, Bakugou and Midoriya are invited to a time capsule ceremony at their middle school to read letters from their past selves, and look back on their past and how it shaped their future. For anyone else, it would have been a celebration.

For the two of them, it's an opportunity.

A look into Bakugou and Midoriya's past—through a future neither of them imagined—as pro heroes, agency partners, and friends.

of the mighty heart

It was just complicated. Kacchan had changed. Izuku had changed. What was between them was constant—Kacchan was always there—but even constants, Izuku supposed, could change, too.

...You saved me, sometimes you say Deku and it doesn’t sound so much like an insult, you say it like you mean it, you say it like you mean me.

After the war ends and the dust settles, Izuku is left in pain and feeling useless. There's still so much to do and people to save, and it's just... too much for one person.

And then there's Kacchan.

~~~

Fawn’s fics:

Bough Breaks by @fawnvelveteen (x) (trigger warning for discussion of rape/noncon)

In life, nothing is certain. Pro-heroes aren’t always the good guys. Children are not spared from the darkest realms of humanity. Izuku isn't acting like his normal self at school lately, and his homeroom teacher has taken notice. After learning about the mother’s new, unwelcomed boyfriend, Aizawa’s concern shifts into dread. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his student away from harm.

Almost Moon (trigger warning for suicide) (Black Clover)

It was always at night. One of Noelle's squadmates, apparently, believes it's a good idea to walk across the rooftop, directly over her head while she is trying to get some sleep. Finally, she decides to confront the nighttime nuisance. What she discovers is something she never expected, nor did she wish to see.

~~~

Nez’s fics:

The True Successor by @neko-nez (x)

Toshinori is caught in a time loop.

~~~

Aodh’s fics:

new game + (the pros of being over-leveled, the catharsis of finally beating That One Boss, and a bonus social link) by @takeyamayuu (x)

Izuku hasn’t been noticed yet, being as far from the fight as he is. Or if he has, they’re dismissing him in favor of the larger threat of Aizawa-sensei. As they should, since he takes out the last one with a well placed kick, turning to face Shigaraki,

Izuku tenses, this is-

This is where his teacher’s arm is injured and then-

The Nomu.

One for All spikes to around fifty percent, his muscles stinging, bones creaking as Izuku darts forward, aiming for Shigaraki’s head with an axe-kick.

Second year Midoriya Izuku gets hit with a Quirk, skids into the USJ, and learns a little about self-care along the way.

~~~

Ghost’s fics:

fingerpaint bruises and a kick in the teeth by @ghoststrawberries (x)

There’s a sour taste in Shouta’s mouth as he stares at Jackrabbit’s bright smile. The smile he’s wearing in every clear photo of him. It somewhat reminds Shouta of All Might’s smile.

Jackrabbit might be a menace to the Commission, but there’s no way Shouta can believe that a man with that smile is anything less than good to his core.

“And I’m your last resort to handle this quietly.” He says knowingly, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Precisely.”

Shouta’s gut response is to refuse.

The words “I don’t kill.” are halfway up his throat before they become stuck.

As an underground hero, sometimes Shouta Aizawa is called upon to do darker jobs than one might expect a hero to have to do. This time, when he's tasked with taking out a vigilante who's managed to bother the Hero Public Safety Commission one too many times, he's not sure he'll be able to follow through.

~~~

Amira’s fics:

And Now I See Daylight by @awake-my-oceans (x)

AnalysisOverload Current mood: HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON HERO CON

AnalysisOverload reblogged AnalysisOverload  Okay, let’s talk HeroCon. 

Look around, and you’ll see a lot of discrimination—against people whose Quirk is debilitating, against people whose Quirks scare us, against people who have trouble controlling their Quirk, against people who don’t have a Quirk at all. It’s easy to feel alone in a sea of discrimination.

Enter HeroCon:X.

A social media fic following Deku post-graduation.

The chaotic neutral’s guide to time travel

“You claim you are from the future,” Nedzu said, hopping onto his desk. “Do you have anything to prove this?”

Hitoshi fished around in his pocket. “Here’s my hero license,” he said, holding it up.

Nedzu opened his mouth, but Hitoshi kept right on going, producing a handful of odds and ends from his pocket. “Also a movie ticket, some dryer lint, some, uh, didn’t know I still had that but it’s old gum—“

That was when Aizawa walked in, capture weapon floating around him. “What’s the emergency?” he asked, clipped, as he kicked open the door.

“—and the left arm of a Deku plushie,” Hitoshi finished, unruffled. “My cat ate the rest.”

~~~

Aaaaaand that’s all I got. Thanks for making it to the end!