#i’m not looking for new hyperfix material

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’m curious to hear your reasons of why you love TWST because I also find the writing kind of frustrating at times but the potential and the characters keep me hooked even if the story often leaves much to be desired.

[Referencing this post!]

Firstly, I enjoy the worldbuilding! It’s very interesting to see how history in the Twst world is distorted from our own and how Disney stories are incorporated into and influencing the Twst world. For example, there is often a Disney story behind local holidays and traditions. There’s also a ton of thought put into clothing, food, etc. of an area, making each new place feel unique and not just a lazy 1:1 recreation or “[irl location] but with magic”. Because I enjoy Twst’s worldbuilding though 😂 I get frustrated whenever we don’t learn anything new about it…

Secondly, I think Twst has a standout design philosophy. Characters are almost never wearing an outfit for pure fanservice reasons; there is usually a reason or context provided for the new look, or the clothing or pose implies something about the characters’… well, character. For example, the head tilted back + smirk and the hand on the hip in Leona’s School Uniform card instantly tells us he is an arrogant person. He wears his uniform without the blazer and with a few of the buttons undone, which indicates he is informal and has a penchant for not following the rules compared to someone like Riddle, who does wear his uniform properly and is generally strict. We still get the sense that Riddle is arrogant too (he also has a hand on the hip), but his posture is much more straight, in line with his propensity for decorum.

Twst also isn’t afraid to be creative with dressing the boys. We see all kinds of colors and intricate patterns, ribbons and lace and even pseudoskirts, shoes with heels, varied hairstyles, and makeup. They also have to translate these outfits into metal form for Ortho or reinterpret the same outfit differently on different characters (like how each person wears the school uniform their own way). The characters show interest in looking after themselves, and fashion and skincare in some cases. This is so different from the usual bland guy designs we’d see in various other animanga. These types of extravagant looks and interests would be reserved for the “gay” character, typically as a means of getting around censorship by relying on coding to do the talking for them—but Twst just fully embraces extravagance as a regular thing.

But!! I think the main draw of Twst for me has definitely gotta be the characters. They all have really cool or cute designs and their own charming personalities and quirks! And it’s even better when the characters interact with each other; they can be really petty OR get really deep and I love that these lovable goobers can span that spectrum. There’s a loooot of material to use for analysis or theories, meaning there’s tons of content for me to hyperfixate on and use for my own creative and analytical endeavors ^^

[socratestheegg]

Contraversal opinion but I think when Wesker is very overwhelmed (I’m talking like incompetence from everyone, Excella bugging him every five seconds, his experiments not going his way) he goes home to his partner and gets them to lay in bed with him while he cries into their chest. 

(A/N: I have a slight headcannon that Albert is autisic/has autisic traits due to how he was raised, such as he gets overtsimuated a lot, hyperfixations, everything has to be done his way or the highway to hell, doesn't understand social cues, has a comfort person, and just idk... this is just a little whip I made, not the best, I hope its okay :?)

“Dr. Wesker, we can’t find the sample”

“We need to redo the experiments, there was an error.”

“I spilled coffee on my laptop, I need a new one.”

“We haven’t been paid for this week.”

“I need vacation time for tomorrow.”

Albert clenched his teeth, all he wanted was a coffee and now all of Tricell was trying to gain his attention. He clenched his eyes shut rubbing his forehead as he pushed through the crowd of people.

Splash!

Suddenly his white button-up was stained with the dark brown liquid, steam flowing from the material. 

“Dr. Wesker I–”

“Do you know how much this cost?” Wesker hissed.

Silence from everyone, Wesker sighed pushing past everyone, storming to his office, his safe space.

“Albert!” Excella called out, her heels clicking against the tile floor.

Wesker picked up the pace, ignoring her, trying to at least have five minutes to himself. 

“Albert! I have to talk to you!” she yelled out, picking up her pace as well.

Wesker burst through the door of his office and locked it behind him, before quickly drawing the blinds, encasing the office in the dark. 

Albert sighed picking up his desk phone and dialing the house.

“Hello, Wesker residence.” 

The maid.

“Could you please put–”

“Who is this?” the maid cut off 

“Albert Wesker. Your boss.” He snapped. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Wesker I didn’t recognize your voice on the phone–”

“Yes, yes. Now is my wife there?” 

“No, she’s out, she’s gone to–”

Albert hung up and dialed your phone.

“Albert–”

“Dearheart I–”

“Albert, my phone is about to die, can’t talk right now.” you interrupted. “Love you bye!”

The line went dead

Albert rubbed his eyes before slamming the receiver down, shattering it. 

“There you are! Now I needed to talk to you about what I’m going to wear to the gala!” Excella whined holding up two dresses. 

The first one was a red short piece, too tight even for the hanger it was on, it looked like it was something a stripper would wear before tearing off.

The second one looked like someone spray-painted a wedding dress gold.

“How did you get into my office?” Wesker growled. 

“I’m thinking the–”

“I said how did you get into my office?!” Wesker yelled.

Excella rolled her eyes dropping the dresses on the floor. “I have a spare key, god, for the future god of this world you’re not–”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Wesker snapped unbuttoning his wet shirt. 

Excella smirked watching his display, “Oh? Have you finally realised that—” Wesker threw his shirt aside, exposing his muscular body covered in bite marks, scratches, hickeys, and lipstick marks that were slightly faded.

“What have I realised?” Wesker demanded, grabbing his spare button-up from his desk drawer.

“Nothing.” Excella sighed.

And the crocodile tears started. 

Albert rolled his eyes pushing past her and storming off to his car.

When Albert walked in, he noticed your carefree demeanor, and how you radiated happiness against his awful day. 

“Albert?” you asked gently, “are you okay?” 

No response.

“Albert.” you sighed unbuttoning his shirt, slowly taking it off of him before leading him to the bedroom. You sat him down, taking off his shoes and socks. 

“Do you want a bath or a shower?” you asked.

“... shower.” Albert murmured.

“Do you want to choose dinner?” you asked again. 

He shook his head.

You nodded undoing his belt and pulling off his pants, you guided him to the bathroom letting him do his thing.

When he came out of the bathroom the bedroom was turned into a dimly lit place, his favorite takeaway on the side table. 

And there you were.

Completely naked sitting in bed with the covers pulled off, welcoming him into the bed.

Albert crawled into bed and buried his head in between your breasts, you stroked his hair as he sobbed into your chest, holding you close. 

The purest form of intimacy for him.

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too.”

[untilwefind]

Hazardous Materials (and Feelings)

Prompt credits to @sleepy-hyperfixations:

Here’s a funnier version

Will - “ I wish you were a girl “

Mack - “ yah and I wish you could get golf clubs in a timely manner yet here we are “

- oblivious Mack anon

will: you didn't clock what i was hinting at did you.

Mack: that you take for fucking ever to get golf clubs.

They'd been in the parking lot of Golf Galaxy for an hour.

Or rather, Will had been in Golf Galaxy for an hour and Mack had been waiting in Will's car with the A/C idling and a playlist of “summer vibes” that Will swore wasn’t just songs he wanted Mack to like.

Will had assumed Mack would get bored and scroll TikTok like a normal person. Maybe nap. Maybe get out and stretch. But no, apparently Mack’s boredom had festered like a grudge. He hadn’t just texted Will once or twice. He had called. Four times. And then, as Will finally wandered out the sliding doors with a new putter he definitely needed, he found Mack standing in front of the car, arms crossed and the windshield cracked in a spiderweb pattern from what looked like a very, very forceful headbutt.

“What the fuck?” Will had said.

And Mack had gone, like it was the most natural thing in the world: “I thought if I smashed the windshield, you’d feel guilty and come out faster.”

Like he was a cat knocking shit off a counter to get attention. Like this was what friends did.

They’d told the story on Cat's podcast with practiced rhythm, like they’d rehearsed it. And the world had laughed and so had Will and Mack had grinned with that pleased, boyish gleam that made Will feel like maybe he hadn’t been insane to crush on him this whole time.

But what they hadn’t said on the podcast, what Will had said, in the moment, with an exasperated groan as Mack leaned against the now-damaged car like it wasn’t worth more than both their rookie bonuses, was:

“God, I wish you were a girl.”

And Mack had blinked. Not offended, not weirded out. Just… missing the point entirely.

“Yeah? And I wish you could get golf clubs in a timely manner. Yet here we are.”

It was two weeks later when Will brought it up again. They were on Mack’s couch, watching something neither of them was really paying attention to. Mack was sitting too close, knees touching, like it was an accident.

Will could feel the moment sticking in his chest. Like something unfinished.

“You didn’t clock what I was hinting at, did you?” Will said, voice low. "About wishing you were a girl..."

Mack turned, frowning. “What, at the store?”

“Yeah.”

“That you take forever to buy golf clubs?” Mack shrugged. “I mean, duh.”

Will paused. Then blinked. “No. Jesus.”

Mack tilted his head. Puppy-like. “Then what?”

Will rubbed his face. “Forget it.”

Mack didn’t move. “No, tell me.”

Will looked at him then. Really looked. Like maybe if he stared hard enough, Mack would crack the way that windshield had. Just burst open and admit he’d felt it too, all this time.

“You never thought—” Will started, then stopped.

Mack was watching him with quiet focus now. The kind of stillness he only got when he was processing game tape. Or reading. Or looking at Will across the bench after a goal like it meant more than it did.

Will exhaled. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to be a girl. I meant... I wished it were easier. To tell you I liked you. Then.”

Silence.

Mack’s brow furrowed, the same way it did when Will tried to explain the salary cap.

“Oh,” Mack said. Then, more slowly, “You liked me?”

Will let out a breath that felt like breaking the surface of a long dive.

“I like you, Mack. Present tense.”

A beat. Then two.

Mack frowned, a faint pink rising to his cheeks. “You told me you wanted me to be a girl so you could like me?”

Will groaned, flopping back on the couch. “No. I told you I wished you were a girl because then it would’ve made sense to you.”

Another pause.

Mack was still watching him, eyes too clear.

“I’m not a girl,” he said.

“No shit.”

“But I still want to do this,” Mack said, voice unflinchingly simple. “If you do.”

Will turned to him, stunned. “What, like...This this?”

Mack shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t care that it’s hard. You’ve been annoying for months. It hasn’t stopped me yet.”

Will blinked. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”

“You piss me off so much, I smashed your windshield.”

"Okay...” Will allowed, smiling despite himself.

Mack smiled too. Small. Almost shy. Then added, “I’m not good at subtle.”

“No kidding.”

They sat there for a beat. Then Will bumped Mack’s knee with his own.

“So, you gonna make a move or am I gonna have to take another hour picking out golf gloves until you snap?”

Mack leaned in without answering.

(He still didn’t quite get the joke. But he got the point.)

[a-magpie-in-gravesfield]

I just went to see the Hercules musical in London and now I can’t stop thinking about how “Go the distance” would be such a good song for a Philip animation but I already have the deleted storyboards to finish re animating and then the big next episode xD

Also about the musical : the 5 muses were AMAZING, definitely the stars of the show and they all got a standing ovation at the end, very well deserved. Their acting and singing was amazing and their costumes and hairstyles were great too !

Everyone sang really well !!

Now, I feel bad for saying this but at least for the London version, this was some of the worse costume design I’ve ever seen in a musical 😭 especially Hercules, they did him so dirty oh god xD they even had inside jokes about how bad his clothes look in the musical itself so I think they knew lol. I can’t find anything on Google image and they didn’t allow photos after the show started so you’ll have to believe me lol. It was REALLY bad 😂

I’m also not sure how I feel about all the changes they did to the story (I won’t spoil), but Hercules is also my all time favorite Disney movie since I was little and it was a huge hyperfix of mine during my childhood and teenage years so I’m also very attached to the original and you should take my opinion with a grain of salt lol

Either way it was really cool seeing new Hercules material (that wasn’t a shitty Disney live action remake 🤣), I’m very happy I went :D

[windvexer]

Heyyy Chicken! I’m thinking about what you said about success rate with spells depending on whether e.g. Chamomile likes you or not. Surely the way to bypass this is to invoke a deity in the spell work? The spirits aren’t going to say No to Hekate even if they have beef with me, right? I’ve given very little attention to relations with the smaller spirits tbh. I think it’s because having Boss Lady overseeing the magic changes things lol. Do you find that with old Goatfoot as well or does he just leave you to it? Hope you’re having a good week 💚

We're in reference to this!

A god can ply or force a spirit to be compliant to your will, of course.

I do think having a Boss Person overseeing your work changes things. This is done a lot with Goat Daddy and Witch Mom: you evoke them into your space and ask them to oversee and direct the work.

With many common correspondences, they're quite affable. It's hard to get on their bad side. Spirits don't start to dislike you for no reason. Is it likely that any particular practitioner has a handful of common correspondences that secretly just 'don't like them'? I think this is doubtful.

The real question is: is Hekate going to choose you over the spirit?

Here's a hypothetical.

Let's say I wanted to really integrate Chamomile into my practice and make it a major ally. A great way to do this is grow a plant from seed. I paint a terracotta pot with sigils, I prepare expensive soil, and I lovingly dote on seedlings until I transfer one into the magical pot.

I read the Orphic Hymn to the Sun over the Chamomile and ask it to become my benefactor, helper, and friend. I promise it honor and respect it's owed as I welcome it into my inner court. The ritual is beautiful and I receive omens that Chamomile has agreed.

Then a new yarn line is released and I hyperfixate on making a shawl. Four weeks later the Chamomile is dead from neglect. And, not saying how this would go for everyone, but for me in this hypothetical, Chamomile doesn't like me any more.

Chamomile doesn't show up when I call it. It leaves offerings untouched. Even the plant material seems unable to hold energy when I try direct energy work, as if it's a sieve.

In this circumstance, would the Sun step in and command Chamomile to work in my favor regardless of what I've done? Would Hekate look at a witch's broken vow and decide they should face no consequences?

Coming from a very the-spirits-are-family stance: if we hurt them and upset them, shouldn't they have a right to go no-contact with us?

I believe it's more than possible for you to anger or disrespect spirits to such a degree that gods might definitely be on their side, or be unwilling to do the amount of work required to force a spirit to be your helper.

But these are huge relationship blowups that don't happen randomly or secretly. It's like going to an MRI and wondering if you had secret bone surgery with pins you never learned about: it didn't happen without you knowing about it.

In general, does having a Big Boss around tend to smooth things over? Yes, I think definitely so. I think (more headcanon than anything else) that a big part of this isn't "okay spirits, everyone be nice even if you don't like that practitioner, your desires don't really matter right now." I don't think it works that way at all. I think the gods of Witchcraft love and cherish their spirits, and don't automatically value human practitioners over their own spirits.

Rather it's more like, "hey, we all see what this practitioner is trying to do. Don't take advantage of that loophole because you think it's funny, Allspice. Elemental Water, don't refuse to step forward because the invocation was supposed to be Wellspring Guardian and they accidentally said Queen, we all know what they meant."

Would Goat Daddy step in and compel spirits to assist me even if they had beef with me? I suspect that he would as a one-off if I was already in the middle of a situation and I didn't know I had caused offense. "Gets you out of a tight spot" is pretty Devil behavior. But would he continuously encourage or compel spirits to work with me if they didn't like me? I extremely doubt it, unless this furthered his personal agenda.

I believe he would be much more likely to teach me skills to mend relationships or overcome that specific obstacle, and tell me to fix it myself.

It fits my general understanding of witchcraft that most spirits we work with are affable, patient, and forgiving, and that evoking gods of Witchcraft assists in learning witchcraft. I believe a part of learning witchcraft is learning about the spirit world and becoming competent members of that world.

It doesn't fit with my general understanding that if you've caused grievance or offense to a spirit, then the gods of Witchcraft will compel them to assist you and shield you from the reality that there is upset in the first place.

If you're trying to call a spirit to help with a spell and they don't want to because they're upset with you, I think you'd know it whether or not a god is there. So my best bet would be that you aren't running into issues with spirits because no spirits have issues with you. Not because some of them secretly do, but also a god is just keeping them in line.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒

ㅤㅤmike schmidt x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, pwp

word count: 1.8k

summary: mike is in some dire need of control in his life, and you're prepared to give that to him.

warnings: soft bondage, unprotected piv, oral (mike receiving), dirty talk, good girl, mike thoroughly enjoying you begging, creampie

a/n: i've been thinking about this man's tie for way too long, i had to do something about it. i also blame @cupofjoel for fully dragging me down this new hyperfixation. You can thank her for reminding me that Mike has a squeaky bed 💜

**divider made by @saradika xx

You sit patiently on top of Mike’s squeaky bed. It’s a gray morning. Clouds hover thick above the city, soft rain droplets hitting the window panels. You look out, observe each and every drop that trickles down. You miss him. It’s been a rough month, his new job at Freddy Fazbear’s really hammering the fact that Mike’s not well. His guilt and grief heightening with every passing night. Which was why you offered that Abby should stay with your roommate, at least for one night, and Abby adored staying at your place. You had even bought her a brand new sketchbook and a new set of crayons. 

Finally, the door creaks and without even meaning to you jump. The sky is darker than ever now, the rain getting heavier by the minute. Your eyes shift to the entrance of the bedroom, only to see a tired Mike staring back at you. 

“Hey,” he greets you, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. “Sorry, I’m late.” 

“Long night?”

“Yeah.” 

He shuts the door behind him and makes his way to you while loosening his tie. Your eyes linger over his hands, his neck. Mike swallows thickly, and your mouth dries at the sight of his Adam’s apple moving. You part your legs and he drops to his knees between them, he cradles your face so soft that your heart stutters a bit. His thumb draws lazy circles over your skin before he brings you to his lips, tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. “Missed you,” he gasps, following the confession with another kiss. 

Mike drags his lips down to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin, a breathy moan escapes your lips. “Missed you too,” you answer. Your fingers move down the fabric of his tie, you twist your wrists, circling the smooth and cold material around your skin. “Use me,” you whisper into his mouth. “Show me how much you missed me.” 

When you’re as desperate for control as Mike is, it’s hard to resist such a request. 

He tugs at the tie, it slips away smoothly from underneath his collar and finds its place around your wrists. Not too tight and not too loose. He makes a hurried knot, the type that you know he’ll be struggling to loosen when all of this is over. 

Mike stands and takes a step back, his forefinger hooked around the tie, he pulls you along with him. Your breath catches as you fall to your knees. His cock strains against the fabric of his pants and all you can do is stare. Arousal builds between your legs, your thighs helplessly moving against each other for some kind of relief. Lips parted, Mike pulls down your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and then follows the outline of it. 

“So pretty,” he says. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes.” 

His lips press together with a curt nod. You can see the muscles in his jaw tensing, the veins in his neck more visible compared to how they usually are. With one hand he unzips himself, your heart beats rapidly as the same hand slips underneath the waistband. His pants slip down a bit, exposing more skin. Pulling out his cock, he strokes himself only inches away from your face. Precome gathers at the tip. The head a beautiful shade of red. You try to remember when was the last time you got to enjoy each other this way and you can’t. 

Mike lifts your arms by the tie, “Open your mouth.” And you do. You stick out your tongue as he slips into your wanting mouth. He thrusts shallowly in and out, teasing you, using you just like you asked. Your eyes flutter, his cock going deeper down your throat, his head falls back. 

Your fingers twitch and you desperately want to touch yourself. Your underwear dampens with slick, your nipples rising with attention. Mike buries himself into you with fervor, hips snapping into the heat of your mouth. You finally close your lips around him, sucking him hard as the bulbous head of his cock makes you gag around him. 

“Fuck—” He holds himself deep inside, your nose buried in the curls, your nostrils flare as you try to breathe. Your body shudders. Come and saliva drips from the corner of your lips, a mess that goes down the column of your neck. “Feels so good baby. . . look at me.”

You do but barely. Your eyes tear up as you meet his heavy gaze. The brown of his eyes looks almost black. His brows knit together and he pulls out, only to shove every bit of himself inside, he moans with his eyes still fixed on yours and you choke. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck fuck fuck. Why do you always have to feel so good?”

Suddenly your mouth is left empty and you gasp for air. Your arms fall limply on to your lap. Mike hastily kicks off his boxers and pants, his cock wet and glistening. 

“Get on the bed,” he orders. “On your side. I want to see you when I fuck you.” 

Very clumsily, you get to your feet and move to the bed. The springs squeak at the added weight, the sound nearly buried by the noise of the rain but not quite. Mike rips of his shirt and your stomach bottoms out. His hands squeeze your ass before he tugs off your sweatpants and panties. You gasp at the sudden cool air. Body both cold and aflame. His cock presses against the base of your spine while he gets behind you. His hand nudges between your thighs, lifting one leg over his waist. He feels how wet you are. Feels how badly you want him. With two fingers he plays with your puffy clit, lazily stroking the sensitive nub until a fresh gush of wetness coats him. 

“That’s it. . .” he coos, warm breath fanning your ear. “Such a good, obedient girl.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper. Your hips roll back, blood rushing to your ears, a hum fills them. You need him so badly that it hurts. Too long. It’s been too long. 

“Mike. . . please. . .” 

“Please,” he mimics you, amused. “God I love the sound of you begging. And actually listening,” he kisses the space right behind your ear. It tickles. “Just one more time, what do you want? Ask very nicely.” 

“Please fuck me. Please.” 

He makes a sound of approval, you feel the press of his forehead against the back of your neck without a word, he fills you to the brim. You’re so wet that he slides in with ease. Your back arches, your jaw grows slack. Pleasure washing over you and licking the base of your neck. His cock throbs balls deep inside of you. 

“Mike,” you whimper. “God, Mike—” 

He takes hold of your chin and forcefully twists you enough to meet his gaze. His one hand slides up your shirt and grabs your breast as he crashes your lips together. His tongue moves eagerly, hips rocking into you. The bed creaks with his every thrust. But you’re too far gone to care about the neighbors. He fucks you until all the air exits your lungs and you part away from his lips, he keeps your head turned to him, watching your eyes become glazed as he hammers into your deeper—harder. 

“Touch yourself,” he says into your mouth. “Make a mess, baby.” 

Another moan drops from your lips when his cock hits you just right, your body quivers and you can barely register what he’s saying. He pinches one of your pebbled nipples and your cunt tightens around him. His pacing slowing down into a leisure roll of hips. 

“If you don’t listen I’m going to stop,” he says, a threat made with the softest of voices. “You don’t want me to stop now do you?” 

“N—No. . .” 

“Then touch yourself.” 

Sniffling, you move your tied hands between your legs. You start to draw tight circles around yourself, your body clenches and your eyes flutter closed. Feels so good. Your cunt flutters around him and his lips touch your cheek, a choked groan made into your skin. 

Mike resumes the pacing of his thrusts. The springs of the bed protesting loudly at the force of his hips. His hand trails down to your stomach and squeezes the soft flesh, the drag of his cock along with the sloppy fingering of your clit makes your head spin. Wet squelches echeo in the room. You’re so close—So damn close—

You cry out, his name dropping from you lips over and over like a chant. You cunt clamps down around him, gushing as he fucks you through it. Your hands ball into fists, your body pushing against his thrusts. He shoves his tongue between your lips and ruts into you, he whimpers. You feel the swell of his cock, his muscles growing taut. 

“Gonna—gonna come—” He hisses through grit teeth, his hips jerk once, twice and by the third time he’s spilling inside, teeth sinking into your neck as he moans loudly. The sounds he makes accompanied by the squeaking bed. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your entire body loose and pliant to his touch. Your breath hitches. Your pussy still squeezing and fluttering around him as he continues to come. He peppers your skin with soft kisses, licking the salt of your skin. 

Mike pulls out with a groan and flips you to your back, he unties your hands, “God, you gotta stop me coming inside,” he huffs, albeit a bit unheartedly. He spreads your legs, watching your glistening cunt overflowing with come. With a heady faze, he pushes it back inside. “You do look good like this, can’t deny that.” 

“Happy that you’re enjoying the view,” you smile. “Now, come here.” 

You spread your arms and he lays on top of you, nuzzling your neck. You hold him tight as his hands lazily caress your hip. “Do you feel better?” 

“I do,” his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, the long night finally catching up to him. Rain still hits the windows, lulling you both into sleep. “We should take a shower,” he mumbles.

“In a bit,” you say, playing with the messy strands of his hair. “I’ll wake you, just rest a bit for me alright?” 

“Yeah. . . okay.” 

It doesn’t take him long to start snowing softly into your skin. Very slowly, you manage to pull a blanket over you both, his come sticky between your legs. Lighting strikes, the room filling with a sudden burst of light. The following roar of thunder doesn’t bother you. 

Seconds later you also fall into the sweet embrace of sleep. The promise to wake him soon forgotten as the two of you find solace in each other’s arms. 

[cloud-makers-make-pollution]

INTRO POST

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

hi!!!!!

so uh

name : aishani :)

sexuality : pansexual (i believe)

pronouns : she/her

age : im a minor (14-18) (pls don’t be weird)

country/language : UK/English but at this point my relationship with Duolingo has lasted longer than that of actual people

socials :

instagram

pinterest

spotify

im pro palestinian

if you’ve got a problem with any of that, with all due respect, fuck off.

‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧

likes/interests/current or previous hyperfixations

musicals : Les Mis, Heathers, Hamilton, SIX, moulin rouge, EPIC, Mamma Mia, Wicked, semi Percy Jackson and the Lighting thief (???), im attempting to get into West Side Story and Hadestown at the moment

music (the listening version) : Madilyn Mei, Queen, ABBA, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, if you genuinely want to know look at my Spotify I spend more time on my playlists than I do my homework, im a bit of a nerd so obviously classical music has some bangers that go cRAZY, eg gopak like what the fuck why is it such a vibe, arcane soundtrack is currently on loop

music (the instrument version) : I play violin, piano, I sing, and I play a little bit of the ukulele. im now on a mission to learn guitar and/or a woodwind instrument (not brass never brass please god no) UPDATE I’VE BEEN GIFTED MY GRANDMOTHERS OLD FLUTE SO THATS MY NEXT NEW PROJECT

sport : badminton, karate, running from my problems and sprinting away from deadlines

fandoms : Les Mis, Arcane (vi my beloved), Marauders/Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows (this is a malaria free environment can we keep it that way)

hobbies : reading extensive amounts of fanfiction, writing (badly), I like to call myself a musician however im unsure about how far that statement goes, drama, specifically musical theatre, sleeping, starting projects and never finishing them, making random spotify playlists, falling in love with every other person I meet and then proceeding to make it everyone else’s problem

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

dislikes

homophobia, transphobia, racism, sexism, trump supporters, terfs, pedophiles, groomers, mushrooms, white supremacy, fear, geography, spiders, just weirdass insects in general, hamsters, and finally, people who eat with their mouths open

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ‧₊˚ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ ✩‧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ ੈ✩‧₊˚✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

moots!!!

@noahher this is Noah Noah is great we have many conversations and he gave me a pet ferret called Freddie

@k-is-for-potassium they’re awesome literally icon material

@bleep-bloop-boo FELLOW MADILYN MEI ENTHUSIAST IS COMPLETELY AWESOME

@feernflower I tag them in every tag thing I get even though I’ve never interacted with them properly (I’m sorry you seem so cool) and they’re a marauders fan who posts cool stuff go look at it

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes HELLO this is my sister she’s great and her blog is cool (I’m in your walls)

@ladymoonstardust aux armies!!! vive les gays!!! the revolution must begin!!!!! exceedingly cool les mis person, and with whom one hath a number of enlightening conversation, more often than not to do with the wonderful beings in that one musical about the land of croissant

@sing-me-sweetly-to-my-doom 🫵🫢🫵😮🫢😮!!!! (ily please don’t forget that <3)

@kurtain-cobain dEINE ZAUBER BIN DEN WIEDER WAS DIE MODE STRENGELTHEILT (im dropping german and I can’t spell ok don’t judge me if I spelt any of that wrong)

“if my self worth is high then im egotistical, but if it’s low then I hate myself, and if it’s vague and undecided then im mediocre, and that’s not an option”

[stvharrngton]

kinktober: day fifteen

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: mutual masturbation

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, both reader and steve masturbate lol

word count: 1.2k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

You stumbled through the door to your apartment, Steve in tow behind you. The party you had both been at long got boring, the guests dispersing one by one including you and Steve. The agreement to crash at your place already in motion.

The two of you lifelong friends, there was nothing you didn’t do together, nothing you didn’t know about each other except for one vital secret you both shared. The feelings you had for one another are unspoken.

You dragged the boy up to your bedroom, a gesture that wasn’t unusual, insisting that Steve stay in your bed with you whenever he slept over. Something about tonight was different though, something between the both of you felt new and exciting. It was probably the alcohol you had both consumed, boosting you confidence and releasing your inhibitions.

Steve perched himself on the edge of your bed, untying his shoes and working on removing his jeans as you did the same. Unzipping your skirt, you let the material poole around your feet, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt as you lifted it over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties.

You heard Steve suck a breath in through his teeth behind you, his gaze lingering on how your lace panties framed your ass perfectly. His eyes blew wide open as soon as you turned around. A smirk etched on your face once you saw the flustered look on Steve’s face, your eyes travelling down his body, unable to ignore the growing bulge beneath his boxers.

“What’s the matter, Stevie? Never seen a pair of tits before?” You teased, chuckling as you made you way over to him.

Steve’s cheeks grew red, fingers raking through his unruly hair, “What?! No, I’ve seen tits before. Plenty of tits,” he rambled on, the alcohol in his system lingering, “just— just not your tits.”

You’re not sure what came over you at this moment. Maybe it was the cherry vodka you’d been drinking or the way Steve and yourself stood in nothing but your underwear in the middle of your bedroom. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you, eyes dark and wide, his jaw slack and hair wild.

Taking your place between the boy’s legs, placing your dainty hands on his broad shoulders, you made a suggestion. A suggestion you would never think about uttering in any other scenario besides a dream.

“Do you need help with that?” You asked, glancing down at his black cotton boxers, “I could help, I don’t mind, Stevie.”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat as your words eventually registered, the premise of what you were suggesting spinning round and round in his mind. “What? Fuck— I don’t know,” he started, hands coming to rest on your hips, thumbs skirting over the skin, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” you replied, the certainty in your voice set Steve’s nerves at ease. You leant down to Steve, pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you take those boxers off and lay back, hm?”

He did as you asked, watching with hazy eyes as his stiffening cock slapped up against his stomach as he laid back. You stopped yourself from letting a groan slip past your lips at the size of him, the ache between your legs intensifying.

“Touch yourself for me, Stevie,” you cooed, voice sultry and smooth, “pretend it’s a pretty girl.”

He scoffed at your teasing, debating whether to tell you or not that he would be thinking of you, and only you. Steve wrapped his fingers around his length now, stroking the shaft softly, almost teasing himself.

Steve was momentarily able to forget the situation he had found himself in, if not for the quiet exhale, that sounded a lot like a moan, he heard come from your direction. The sound snapping him from his daze, his eyes darting over to you.

And fuck, were you a sight to behold.

Your panties were pushed to the side, revealing your pretty little pussy to the boy. Your eyes fluttering closed as your fingers rubbed slow circles over your puffy clit. The straps of your bra had fallen past your shoulders, your bottom lip nestled snug between your teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned, the hand fisting his cock beginning to quicken in pace, his gaze locked on your cunt. Your pretty pussy glistening in the dim light of your bedroom, your quiet little gasps and moans going straight to his length.

“What’re you thinking about, Stevie?” you asked, lashes fluttering all innocently.

It spun around in his head, to tell you or not to tell you; that it was you, it was always you. Images of you swirling around his brain. But now he was seeing the real thing, it felt like a dream. What could he have to lose?

“You,” he blurted it out, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze flitted up to your face momentarily, “I’m thinking about you, fuck, thinking about what that pretty pussy tastes like.”

You could only moan in response, always wondering what it would feel like to have Steve’s mouth on you in the right way. His lips wrapped around your clit, his tongue licking at you in all the right places.

The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and whimpers, the sounds of Steve’s groans and whines. He began to tug at his cock harder, faster, chasing that high as he watched you from across the bed.

“Babe, shit, can— can you put a finger in? Please?” Steve’s cheeks were red hot, his orgasm a fingertip away. His mouth hung agape as he squeezed at the tip of his cock.

You could only nod as you took your pointer finger and teased it at your entrance. Too drunk on pleasure and the way Steve was looking at you; it was lustful, almost animalistic.

Sinking your finger into your sopping hole, the sound of your soaked pussy ringing in Steve’s ears. You both groaned out at the pleasure you were causing yourself.

“Fuuuck,” Steve moaned, it was long and drawn out, “that’s it, just like that. God, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

You sped your finger up now, plunging it in and out of your cunt, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Yeah?” you managed to breath out, “Go ‘head and cum, Stevie.”

The boy didn’t need telling twice. His fingers gripped around his cock, pumping his length aggressively until he was crying out. “Oh, shit, oh fuckfuckfuck.”

It was music to your ears, a pretty song of high pitched whines and wails and Steve was like a painting. Rosy cheeks and wild hair, lips pretty and wet, his stomach and thighs tensing as he painted his stomach with his own cum.

You weren’t far behind, you had since removed your fingers from yourself as they came back to your clit, your four fingers together rubbing over the bundle of nerves. You let out your own string of moans, “Yesyesyes,” you mused through gritted teeth.

Steve was almost too fucked out to notice your own orgasm. Almost. His eyes shot open to watch you, your head rolled back in delight, stars consuming your vision as your back arched.

He made sure to make a mental note of that picture, a memory he remembers fondly every time he’s alone.

[peacennlove]

THE WAY OF THE FIST ; a cobra kai fanfic series.

PAIRING: f!reader x miguel diaz. TAGS: total fluff, meet cute, wholesome s1 miguel, nostalgic wattpad-esque intro because it's perfect for cobra kai, nervous lil babies

my first ever proper post on this account and it is so random. this is the result of inescapable hyperfixation. this series’s going to be true to its source material; so bundle up, grab a sippy, and expect homage to 80s corniness, blissful cliches, and solving problems with violence. pure silliness for my comfort karate soap opera. also, probably poor use of spanish; correct me if i’m wrong in any aspect of it. major kudos if you recognize the phone number at the end.

PART 1.1 – TAKE MY BREATH AWAY when the cute boy that just moved into apartment #109 in your complex miraculously befriends you, you believe that you’ve finally turned a new page and can finally rewrite the melancholic script of your life. however, when he defends you against your bully using karate, you are suddenly thrown into the precarious cusp of letting him go to your rival or taking a chance on finding happiness for yourself, all the while harboring the dark secrets of your past.

Everything is taken care of with the apartment while I’m away 

Will be back soon

Here’s $200 for whatever you need until then.

Be good, [Y/N]. 

It is always the same place your mother sticks her inevitable note on the fridge, which is also always beside the stack of twenties and tens stacked haphazardly on the counter. When she first left abruptly, of course, your first instinct was to call her – ask what she was doing, where she was going, how long she would be gone, where to get food and shampoo and toothpaste and toilet paper and advil and tampons and fruit, how you were going to get to school, why she would leave you on your own like this – but after learning that mountains of missed calls and desperate voicemails left by her young and scared daughter meant nothing to your mother, your second instinct instead took precedence: figure it out and get something sweet to ease your nerves. If it didn’t mean getting left to fend for yourself in the foster care system, you wouldn’t have hung up on the 911 operator the first time she took off. And if it also didn’t mean that evading foster care meant living with him, you wouldn’t swallow your immense hurt and resentment for your mother’s carelessness and try to find help every time she left afterward. Instead, you held your breath and spent many nights rearranging your thoughts: without her, you still had your own space, decent money to stretch, and soon you wouldn’t care whether or not she returned. That last part had not settled in yet, but you were hopeful that the next time she did this… it would. 

At least your mother had the decency to leave at night this time around, rather than spoil your appetite for breakfast in the morning. You tear the obnoxiously yellow post-it off the fridge, crumble it in your hand and then mindlessly toss the note into the bin before reaching over for the cash and sliding it into your wallet. Wordlessly, you walk towards the front door, and then you quickly decide that the sweet to quell the twist in your stomach will be a frozen cola. You loop your arms through your jacket and shrug it over your shoulders as you open the front door of your apartment; however, before you step out to begin your walk to the convenience store, you catch a glimpse of a familiar red and grey hoodie over the railing, and the way your breath hitches keeps your hand frozen on the door knob. You watch as his mom holds his face in her hands, then the sweet smile he gives her in return, and your heart burns with the way his entire face lights up with clear adoration for her. It’s when his mom releases him, and then – somehow feeling your gaze – looks up and sees you, that compels your body back into motion. Eyes widening in horror, you pull and lock your door shut and book it down the stairwell, strategically opting to take the back exit to avoid the horrific possibility of bumping into him on your way for that damn frozen cola.

“Hey, Nestor,” you greet at the door,  “... the slurpee machine working?”

Nestor peers up from beneath his register counter, grins warmly. “Hey, nena– yeah, it finally got fixed yesterday. Go crazy.” He nods over to the glowing polar bear face, the wheels inside the frozen flavors finally spinning again after a long two weeks. From what you had picked up from overhearing Nestor’s many disgruntled phone calls to his landlord, the damage was not something he was expecting from the shortcomings of the old building or lack of maintenance, but you knew better to pry. You simply grin at your salvation for the night, reaching downward to grab an XL cup, and you aim the cup beneath the cola flavor to fill it to its very brim. 

“Not a fan of cherry or blue raspberry? That’s-”

You gasp, interrupting him, and your arms jerk upwards. Helplessly, you stare at your hand and sleeve, which are now both covered in icy, sticky clumps of your precious sweet. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” he blurts out, instantly reaching over and fisting a handful of napkins from the dispenser to your left. “God, crap, I’m sorry.” You turn your head while he hurriedly wipes off your hand, the sheer shoddy luck of your life making you consider swiping a plastic knife from the utensil display and jabbing it into your jugular. Watching him afar at the complex, often being able to retreat into a corner or throw your curtains closed before he could notice - until today, of all days, it seemed - was a fine circumstance to bear, but this moment, where your habit of being easily startled sent glops of frozen syrup and crushed ice everywhere, being the moment where you finally get to see him up close? You felt immaculately pitiful. Your heart does not settle, especially when his warm fingers consistently brush over your frigid ones, and as he glances upward from tending to the mess and then locks his eyes onto yours, the ability to speak is, much like your will to live, completely out of reach. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I- I just… wanted to… You’re, like, the only person my age I saw at the complex, and I saw you walk in, and I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for a while, but I… I probably ruined that now, right? Right - okay.” He blinks at you, and then he gulps. Finally breaking the strong gaze between you two and defeatedly throwing the soiled napkins away, he turns away to leave.

He takes about two steps away from you when a sudden burst of adrenaline pumps through your veins. “No. No, you’re totally fine.” you babble, warmth rushing to your cheeks from how fast and loud you just spoke, “I-... I…” Air huffs from your nose, and you blink when he immediately turns on his heel to face you. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’m, uh, I’m pretty easy to scare.” A lopsided grin is the best you can manage, and you then try to further remedy the painfully tight air between you two by nonchalantly grabbing a fresh XL cup to fill. “[Y/N]. My name’s… [Y/N].” you softly say, carefully pouring the frozen cola from your ruined cup into the newer one before you toss it. 

Taking advantage of the opportunity of redemption you’ve given him, he’s quick to grab a XL cup himself with a grin that is far more pleasant than yours. “Miguel.” His grin spreads into a smile, even sweeter than you ever could’ve imagined when it’s right in front of you rather than from afar, as he places his cup beneath the cherry flavor. “You, uhm, go to West Valley?” Before you can answer, a whirring sound distracts you both, until, when he presses the nozzle again impatiently, red syrup sprays all over his face and hoodie; cherry slush then slowly fills his cup, his body frozen from the burst. Your mouth drops and you set down your cup to get napkins for him. As you offer them to him, he sheepishly accepts them from you. For a moment, there’s an even heftier silence between you two, until you make eye contact with him again - and then laughter forces its way through the both of you, which finally breaks the ever-thickening ice that had been forming over you two. “I deserved that, I guess.”

You shake your head, now smiling brightly. “No you didn’t. I think this slurpee machine is possessed.” you reassure, pressing down lids on both of your slushies and then holding his cup out to him as you hold yours to your chest. As he tosses his napkins, red stains now littering his hoodie, he laughs at your joke and gently takes his cup from your hand. “... And yes, I go to West Valley.” you answer his question that was soon followed by reddened chaos. “Are you… are you a sophomore too?” you follow up, and when he doesn’t answer - just looking at you as though you asked the question in a foreign language - you take that as a no, “… Freshman?”

“Sophomore.” Miguel asserts, blinking as he follows you to the register. “That’s relieving, though, I really dreaded the idea of facing my first day at a new school on my own. I’m, uh - clearly - not so much of a hit for first impressions. Tell me, is West Valley as fancy as it sounds? Am I doomed?” Before you can reply, he panics as he sees you reaching for your wallet, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket and slamming it down on the counter. “No- please let these be on me. It’s the least I can do.” Butterflies consume your stomach, fluttering and spiralling around your very insides, as you glance between his kind deed and his face - which, even under the harsh fluorescent lights, is incredibly warm. “Oh, shit- hold on, give me a sec…” Your expression widens as he takes off into an aisle, just as Nestor approaches the counter. 

“I think your cherry flavor is broken.” you note to him, and he curses at the sight of the splatter of syrup and slushie all over his machine. 

“Carajo. That pinche pendejo is going to pay.” Nestor seethes, shaking his head frustratedly, before softening when you tilt your head curiously to him, “Ah, nena, why don’t you just head back home before it gets dark?” He pushes the two cups back to you, and you offer an empathetic smile. Only a moment later, though, Miguel returns, placing down a bottle of pepto bismol onto the counter.

“Here, I got all of this.” Miguel declares with a proud grin. Nestor’s eyebrow twinges upwards, glancing over to you, before a knowing smirk falls upon his face as he allows Miguel to pay for the drinks and the medicine instead. “The pepto’s not for me, by the way. My grandma’s not feeling well - that’s why I grabbed it… the… pepto. It’s also why I’m here. I didn’t follow you - I didn’t… clarify that… earlier. Unless I did. God-” he explains to you, and you cannot resist the smile that breaks across your face this time. 

You open your mouth to speak, desiring to compliment him on taking such good care of his loved ones, but the doors of the store are roughly pushed open, and your neighbor walks between you and Miguel to get to the pizza slices. You had spoken all but five words to the man after living beside him for all your life, and, based upon his messy scruff and sunken eyes, you took it that you weren’t going to be adding any further words to him anytime soon. Nestor, too, is distracted, as he walks over to your neighbor angrily. “Hey, pendejo, you’re going to pay to replace my machine.” Your eyes widen. Ah, he’s the damage, you correctly internally deduce, slowly grabbing your cup from the counter.

“What? No. It’s not my fault your stupid machine can’t work for shit. Maybe if you cleaned the thing more than once a month, it wouldn’t need a kick start.” your neighbor counters, “Get me that one, will ya?” He jabs his index at the glass to one of the slices of pizza.

“I’m not getting you shit, cabrón. You completely broke my machine!”

“Can you just get me the damn pizza? Put it towards the cost, man, whatever, I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn to Miguel. “You want to walk with me back to the complex?” you offer, “Nesto will spot us, I promise.”

“Hijo de puta idiota. Gringos como tú me hacen explotar la cabeza - you punched my machine! You owe me-”

Miguel grabs his things and cash, nodding without taking another second to watch the increasingly turbulent scene unfold. “Yes.” He stuffs the pepto in his pocket, and then, to your surprise, takes your hand in his while he leads you both out of the convenience store - just as you hear the sound of glass breaking and Nestor yelling puta madre.

You swear you feel like your head is floating ten miles above your shoulders. Walking, still hand-in-hand, while happily sipping from your slushies, you just can not get your heart to stop skipping. The cool breeze of the night and from passing cars on the street to your and Miguel’s right wafts across your face, tousling pieces of your hair that tickle your cheeks, and you blush like the little girl within you that’s jumping up and down. “West Valley is the intersection of rich kids from the Encino hills and the rest of the poor unfortunate souls beneath them. I can spare you the embarrassment of trying to find a seat in the cafeteria for lunch, but unfortunately you’ll have to learn how fast the blatant gentrification gets old on your own - and the never ending shitshow from Kyler and his little friends, too. That’s a quick learning curve.” you explain after Miguel had gotten the chance to reask his question.

Miguel tilts his head at your specific condemnation. “Kyler? Who is he? What’s his deal?”

Your eyes widen, realizing you had inadvertently verbalized your personal resentment for your bully, and in the fear of saying too much that would give Miguel fuel to find out for himself the many sensitive incidents that led to the massive target on your back that Kyler had branded you with, you simply shake your head. “He’s just the inflated head of the Encino assholes - typical type that thinks everyone is dumb and that he shits gold. It’s stupid, and he’s stupid, and if you stay out of his way, he won’t target you.” Your expression flickers to a somber one, your memory forcing upon the blow-up doll incident and the last incident before summer of your head hitting concrete so hard while his friends held your arms to the wall that you almost went to the hospital afterwards, and you assume when his hand tightens on yours, Miguel had caught your drift.

“But he targets you. Why?” he asks, concern darkening those captivatingly deep brown eyes of his. 

Your throat tightens. “What, are you gonna beat him up or something on your first day? That would be a horribly silly thing to do. You’d be putting yourself at risk of being his new guinea pig of the year, and I can’t let you do that to yourself. There’s nothing to do. Forget about it. Trust me, Kyler’s not a hill worth dying for.” Word vomit practically spews from you, hoping that you can brush him off from the idea that he actually stood a chance against the biggest grade-A asshole that ever terrorized your life. And, especially considering how your life has turned out so far, you’d know the criteria for one, and Kyler certainly fits the mold. So you tell little lies mixed in with the truth of your reassurance, because you couldn’t bear being the reason for Miguel’s life to go to hell; no matter how endearing his natural chivalry is, you did not believe yourself worthy of such unnecessary courage. You two reach a crosswalk, and you press the push button for the two of you. “He doesn’t… Listen, he doesn’t bother me as much as he thinks he does, okay? Just focus on you, yeah? First impressions are going to make or break your first year, and, clearly, you’ve got some work to do in that department.” you tease, shifting the conversation far away from Kyler.

Miguel’s expression softens, your efforts successful, and he chuckles. “It worked on you, though, didn’t it? That means I’m not a total failure.”

Heat rises beneath your cheeks. “I am not a reliable example. We both have slurpee syrup all over us, and I embarrassed myself first, so there couldn’t be any risk of me rejecting you.” you remind him, gesturing to the sticky stains present on both of your clothes. The way he looks at you makes your heart jump from your chest, and you look away from him as a result - instead staring upward at the sky. “S- So, I suggest you start practicing in front of a mirror or something.”

“Really? That bad, huh?” he softly entices, and you feel your body burn from his stare on you.

Your blush darkens. “That bad.”

“Ah, that sucks, because, you know, that just ruins my plans for tonight. There was this really cute girl that was going to come over tonight so I could make up for my horrible first impression I made with her. Man.” Your head snaps back to look at him, your expression widened in bewilderment. He shakes his head, feigning disappointment as he puckers his lips to the side. “But, no, you’re right, I gotta prevent any further screw ups with her and cancel. Unless you think cancelling on her would make things worse? I mean, [Y/N], you should’ve seen her, she got frozen coke all over herself because of me, then the machine exploded on me, and then she saw that I was there to buy pepto bismol, I mean, I don’t know [Y/N], that’s gotta be the worst first impression she’s ever experienced.” He pauses, as though to let the words filter through your brain, until he speaks again to play with your nerves beyond repair, “God, [Y/N], maybe there is no coming back from that. You should’ve seen her face, [Y/N], I could’ve-”

“It’s not the worst.” you blurt out, before he could cause you to dissipate into thin air, “Maybe… she thought it was super sweet.” Maybe it was the sugar from your slushie that was pushing you to act against your better judgement, but from how Miguel then rolls his thumb over yours, you decide to lean into the confidence - like a turtle peeking out from its shell. “I don’t think you should cancel. I think she would really like to come over to yours.”

Miguel smirks. “That’s a relief. She’s actually really insightful, you know, so I bet she’d be a better help than a mirror.” 

Clearing your throat, you tear your eyes from him, just as the signal on the crosswalk changes. “Oh, actually, I wouldn’t bet on that. You wouldn’t know this, but she’s just as bad at first impressions.”

Smiling, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t think she is at all.” Squeezing your hand, he begins to lead you two onto the street - until a black jeep wrangler speeds forward, nearly hitting you both. You gasp and drop your drink, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto the crosswalk pole from the fear that just struck your body, and Miguel throws his slushie all over its front window before it drives around you both and rounds the corner. “What the hell-” The car suddenly shuts off.

“Hey! I’m going to fucking- ohhh, look… who… it… is.” He slams his door shut, as does his friends. 

You slowly peer up once that terribly familiar voice rings in your ears, opening your eyes to see the horrific sight before you: Kyler and his posse, now approaching you and Miguel. “Miguel-” you try to caution, pushing off from the pole and stepping behind him, but Kyler cuts you off.

“Who… are you?” Kyler questions with a smug smile, jabbing his index into Miguel’s chest, “Oh wait, I forgot, I don’t care. But, hey, man, excellent choice to spend your night with. She’s a… let’s just say, looks can be deceiving - she’s got a wicked body under those clothes, and an even more wicked mouth on her.” Your eyes water, clenching your hands into fists at your sides. “Word of advice, don’t let her stay too long afterwards, bro - she gets attached real easy.” He looks past Miguel and winks at you, and you glare back at him - your quivering lips undermining the look of real anger on your face. “Isn’t that right, huh? That’s really sad, you know, throwing yourself at the first dude that gives you the opportunity. The desperation is… it’s pathetic - it’s really, really beneath you - [Y/N].” His friends and him laugh at you, and all you can do is cower back into your shell so that you can hone in the strength to not cry in front of them.

Much to your shock, though, Miguel steps forward and slaps Kyler’s hand from him. “What’s your problem? Why don’t you leave her alone?”

Kyler snorts. “Tough guy, huh? You know, you look pretty scrawny to be tough.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Miguel taunts, and then, faster than you can blink, he suddenly lunges forward and punches Kyler square in the face. You watch as he topples backwards and holds his nose, his friends immediately coming up behind him, and you cover your mouth with both your hands. Never did you think that you’d see the day when someone would finally dare to stand up against Kyler, for your sake at that. Miguel groans, shaking his now reddened fist, and before you can urge him to run, Kyler regains his footing and shoves Miguel to the ground - nearly sending you down too from the force. The sqooshing sound of liquid distracts all of you for a moment, as you see Miguel turn on his side. A large pink explosion in his pocket is revealed, soaking his backside and the back of his arm, and Kyler and his friends burst out in laughter. 

“Is that pepto, dude? You got diarrhea or some shit, man?” Kyler mocks.

“Oh-ho-ho, bro, Kyler, we gotta call him ‘Rhea.”

“‘Rhea. Yeah, I like that. Suits him perfectly. Here, ‘Rhea, let me help you up-”

You stand in front of Miguel, blocking Kyler. He looks you up and down. “Huh, she’s got some fire in her now. Yeah, I always liked that in a girl.” He reaches forward to touch your face, but you sharply smack his hand away. 

“Leave him alone, Kyler.” you grit, shoving him forward in a shocking display of courage. Kyler’s face darkens in anger, rushing right back towards you, but he stops himself - instead opting to chuckle in amusement. “I mean it.”

“Oh, you mean it? Is that a promise?” Kyler whispers, a taunting tilt to his head. Miguel scrambles back to his feet, and his friends step past Kyler. “You really askin’ for me and my bros to beat your ass? She’s not worth it, bro. You don’t gotta do all this to get her naked, man, trust me, I know.” You step back, eyes darting around to find any sort of help, and just as your eyes land on what you think is your neighbor - your assumption is correct.

Your neighbor, although still slightly heavy on his footing, you see is holding a now empty grease-stained napkin. Your eyes drift to the ground, where a pizza slice is by his feet, and he’s eyeing one of Kyler’s friends in annoyance. “Hey, watch it man, and clear the sidewalk. Some of us are trying to get home.” he huffs, his eyes then finding you and Miguel. “Better yet, why don’t you all just go home and leave the dorks alone.”

Kyler turns to face your neighbor. “Who’s this dude?” one of his friends scoffs, tapping Kyler on his arm.

“You’re going home? Like, you have a home? Sorry, man, could’ve sworn I’ve seen you begging from a corner.” Kyler smiles and raises his hands, literally brushing your neighbor off. “Matter of fact, wait, I do know you. You’re the jerk-off who cleaned my dad’s septic tank.” His friends laugh, jumping and pushing off of Kyler as though he had said the funniest joke they’d ever heard, and your neighbor purses his lips. You can practically see his patience wearing thin. “Fuck off, dude.” Kyler then turns back to you and Miguel, just as you were able to help him up, and he takes his time approaching you. “You know what, ‘Rhea, I’ll let you off tonight, man.” he says, not once taking his eyes off of you, “As for you…” his eyes drag along you from head-to-toe, “I’m only just getting started. I’ll be seeing you both tomorrow, yeah? Remember bro, not too long-”

Kyler suddenly drops to the ground, clutching his back in pain, and when you look back up, you see your neighbor has taken his place. The next few minutes pass in a blur, as you and Miguel watch in awe as your neighbor takes on four people at once - and barely gets any hits in return. Roundhouse kicks, jabs, punches, elbows, a head-butt, sidekicks - you had barely seen your neighbor walk to his apartment in a straight line, nevertheless bust out coordinated attack moves over and over again, until Kyler and his friends were all on the ground. You and Miguel exchange a shocked look, your neighbor panting heavily with one hand firm on his hip. “Woah- that was-” Miguel stammers.

“Go home.” your neighbor sternly orders, turning around and walking away back from where he came without speaking another word to either of you. As you look down at Kyler, who’s reeling in pain and clutching his eye, you look and see your slushie cup - laying on its side on a patch of grass. Your nostrils flare as you then go to pick it up, then, as you hold the cup over him, you look him up and down.

“It’s a promise.” you affirm, answering his previous taunt as you then remove the lid and dump the rest of the half-melted slushie over his head. “This should help with your eye.” Tossing the cup onto him, you walk back to Miguel and you both finally cross the street.

Miguel and you reach the front door of your apartment, and, before you walk in, you lean against the door, fingers bracing around its side as your cheek presses into it. “You know, I would come over to yours, but I… I’d really like to shower and head to bed.”

“So you’re cancelling on me, then?” Miguel jokes, and he smiles at you warmly. “I understand. My left pocket also understands.” He twists his back, giving you an updated look at the now darkened stain. You laugh, suddenly wishing you could magically change the both of you in fresh clothes in a blink of an eye so that you could spend the rest of the evening with him. “Hey, uh, about what Kyler said back there,” he softly brings up, and your enchanted expression flattens, “I want you to know that I didn’t pay any mind to it. I know it’s all bullshit. It’s all stupid, just like him.” He references your deduction, and your eyes water with pure adoration.

“Incredibly stupid.” you whisper, a soft, gracious grin pulling your lips, “I’m sorry I dragged you into all of that. I just made your first day a hell of a lot harder.” Miguel shakes his head, perplexed by your apology.

“No you didn’t.” he reassures, “He shouldn’t be saying stuff like that. If you think I’m going to let that asshole ruin my life or yours, you are sorely mistaken.” He’s so. Fucking. Sweet. you can’t help but internally gush, your fingers arching into the door. “We have each other’s backs now. Call it apartment complex roommate solidarity, whatever, just, please at least save me that seat in the cafeteria tomorrow, would ‘ya? You’ve piled a lot on my plate - my first impression has got to be polished perfect by sunrise - so you’d be doing me a major solid to keep that promise to me.” You bite over your lips to prevent your grin from breaking into a majorly dorky smile. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Miguel gasps, taking out his phone, “I need your number. For progress videos and feedback, you know.”

You nod, your heart swelling with how his thumbs excitedly hover over his screen as he waits for you to tell him. “1-385-262-7284.” He quickly taps in your number faster than you can get the numbers out, then immediately sends something to you. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you take it out to see a notification with a slushie emoji. “See you tomorrow?”“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Miguel.” you warmly promise, holding your phone to your chest as you slowly close your front door. Your back presses against it, and you slide down until your bottom hits the floor. You open your phone again, and you save him as a contact - a simple Miguel for the time being - and you respond with the same slushie emoji, wishing the euphoric feeling from the possibility your crush maybe liking you back could last forever.

[pikolswonderland]

Breaking News: IM A FUCKING PROPHET!!

So I haven’t really been keeping up with any GoBB updates because I’ve been too hyperfixated on other stuff. Only today have I decided to check the Euphoric Bros channel just to see when Chapter 8 comes out. First of all, not super interested in Unplagued, but the GoBB spinoffs look pretty good.

Second of all, HOLY SHIT I ACTUALLY PREDICTED SOMETHING BECAUSE OF AASB!!

Not only is it what I assume to be a prequel of some kind (I mean it is Chapter 0). However, we see what are probably THE MASCOTS AS WHEN THEY WERE CHILDREN?! That’s LITERALLY, like, EXTREMELY important to the lore of the mascots as I rewrote them in AASB! For some extra context, the mascots in AASB are actual biological organisms that can physically age and were born as gene-spliced fetuses made in test tubes. Even though I hadn’t posted anything directly stating this before (I hinted that this part of the lore in my Givanium explanation post) it’s still so cool that I had something in a fanmade rewrite that became a part of official canon material!

But yeah, I’m looking forward to Chapter 0 and Chapter 8 when they come out (and Chapter 5 when it eventually gets released). But I’m just really excited and I wonder what will come next in this games story!

[northlight14]

@ everyone going back to school, especially all my fellow neurodivergents and specifically those with special interests or hyperfixations, there is no wrong way of revising! It doesn’t matter if it seems “unusual” to other people, if it works for you, use it!!

I just finished collage and because of my funky brain, I can have a difficult time remembering information, especially things like names and specific details. And considering a lot of the classes I was taking required me to remember a lot of different theories, that was proving to be a bit of an issue. Cut to when we were getting up to our A level mocks and my English literature teacher at the time starts going round the entire classroom asking everyone how they revise one by one. Everyone’s saying the usual stuff of “I reread the material” “I use flash cards” “I make notes” etc. All stuff I’ve tried to do in the past but just never worked for me because my brain functions differently. She then gets to me and asks how I revise and I explain that I’ll try and make connections in my brain between the thing I’m studying and whatever my interests are. I’ve always found this to be useful for me because it keeps my brain interested in what I’m studying by using my special interests and also requires me to actively think about and analyse what I’m studying so that I can make those connections. However, my teacher just looked at me with the most condescending smile on her face and asked “does that really work?” Obviously I got uncomfortable and said “yeah it does” but she then proceeded to ask “do you do anything else?” And making it out as if I was an idiot for doing something like that and just making me feel embarrassed in front of the class. Eventually, I just said one of the generic answers everyone else had so she’d leave me alone.

However, I’m petty as hell so when it came to the mocks I used that method to memorise one of my theories for media studies. Cut to that theory being the one that stuck in my head the most, just proving to me that this method my teacher decided “doesn’t work” without actually listening to me, does in fact work for me. Fast forward to my actual A Levels and I used that method again. Ace Attorney had just become my new special interest/hyperfixation so I used that for a lot of the theories. Specifically, one of the theories I linked it to “The Steel Samurai”, a tv show within the Ace Attorney universe. Then when I went into my exam I saw a theory question. For those who don’t know, for theory questions they just ask you to apply a theory to a specific text but they only name the theory, they don’t tell you what the theory includes. While at first wasn’t sure what the theory was and went to answer another question, I then quickly remembered “the steel samurai” and even wrote down “the steel samurai” next to the question as a reminder for myself for when I went to answer it and it helped a lot as a prompt. Once again, the method my teacher decided “didn’t work” was the very reason I was able to answer that question and passed my media exam

Again, it doesn���t matter what other people’s opinions are on how you revise, if it works for you, please use it! You know your brain better than anyone else. Do whatever helps you understand the material and keeps your brain engaged

[positivelybeastly]

I have to say that your insight into beast as a character are simply marvelous to read every single time and I can’t help but take the time to read them every single time they pop up on my dash no matter how long. I’m reading that the instant I see it.

It’s fun cause i discovered your blog via the four pillars of hank post and I love the fact of him having a child would be a great next step for him cause it just really feels like it could expand more of him. Also he has the dad energy! Give it to him marvel please >:(

Thank you so much! Every now and then, I do occasionally get little pangs, thinking that I'm just shouting into the void about my hyperfixation on a sad lil' blue guy, but hearing that people are enjoying my thoughts and insights into Henry Philip McCoy does a lot to reassure me that no, it's not just me that loves this big blue lug.

And yes!!! Honestly, Hank feels like the X-character who would easily have been advanced and developed the best by giving him a kid - not only would it have naturalistically have continued his development from Avengers and New Defenders, but it's canonically something that he was scared of, something that he had complicated feelings about!

"It might take after its father."

Like, fuck, man, that is so much to dig into! Especially given where Hank's feelings about his mutation end up going in New X-Men and Astonishing X-Men? There is such fertile ground here - the mutant metaphor is so incredibly wide and encompasses so much, and that includes, oh, I don't know, disability, and mental illness! You know, disorders and the like that could be inherited?

And this is not a story that can be covered by characters like Scott and Jean with their kids, because I'm sorry, three out of three of those kids have invisible mutations that pass with ease, and they don't manifest in nearly the same way as Hank's mutation does over time. There is story here!

And oh my god the dad energy! The dad energy is off the scale!

Hank and Rictor!

Hank and Broo, with added bonus of Abigail mom!

A whole ass gaggle of children!

The man just. Suits, being a father. He always has - and there's so much material that means it wouldn't be a boring plotline! His X-gene and the stories that have been told about its development naturally lead itself to all kinds of supplementary storylines, and honestly, it feels like they were heading in this direction, until . . . well.

Until Bendis.

Bleh.

But still. Now that we're back on track with where Hank is meant to be in general, maybe this is a storyline we can come back to? I'd really like it, tbh. It can even be looked at as an outgrowth of his story about coming to grips with his re-emergence in modern times as a clone - now that he knows about his future, does he have the right to bring further life into being; does he deserve that kind of domestic bliss after what his other self did; who would want to be romantically/domestically entangled with someone with such a past?

C'mon, Marvel. You know it makes sense . . .

[art-ificial-sweeteners]

Hello hello! Look who has a new hyperfixation. Now, I’ve had a lot of health problems going on so I’m not gonna make any promises about posting every day or something but I do have backlog of quite a few doodles of this guy so I may do my own mini version of hawktober (along with a sprinkling of tgamm stuff cause they got their own October thing going on. When I got into M*A*S*H I panicked because idk if you’ve noticed but my thing is drawing like the source material, so when the source material was a live action show I didn’t know what to do lmao. Hence the doodles. So what you’ll see is gonna be kinda experimental and inconsistent but he’s blorbo from my show ok I have been studying this old man under a microscope and I cannot hold it in any longer.

[hermannsthumb]

Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

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

"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

[vampcubus]

Hi, same anon from before who sent the TikTok! I was truly kicking my feet and giggling like a lil maniac watching that Izuku edit 🤭🤭🤭

You and me are the same!! I got dragged back into my MHA hyperfixation 😭 Anyways, after seeing that catboy post of yours, I got inspired to write a bunny hybrid Izuku drabble instead, so here you go <3 I’m not sure I sent this to you already, or if I’m thinking of another person entirely but I hope you enjoy anyways??

— Roseberry anon (if it’s not already taken)

Drabble starts below vv

CW: Sub!Izuku, hybrid behavior, heat/ruts, breeding

Thinking of bunny hybrid Izuku who’s so shy around you, his new owner, for the first few days or so. Thinking about how his long ears stand on high alert, or twitch downwards when you come near him. So skittish, yet curious at the same time; his eyes never straying from your form when you walk around your apartment, in which you’ve been so kind to give him his own room, his own big, comfortable bed. And even though he’s a bit wary at first, he never fails to thank you for your kindness, his hands wringing themselves together as he endearingly thanks you for making him his favorite food, or giving him extra materials for his bedding.

And eventually, over the next couple of weeks, he warms up to you, becoming clingy, wanting to have his possessions scented by you, to be surrounded by you because you bring him comfort in every aspect of his life. He can’t help but to hop in place, a wide smile pushing dimples into his freckled cheeks as he excitedly welcomes you home. You giggle at his adorable actions, at the way his cotton ball tail is constantly twitching and wiggling. It’s this sight that causes you to reach out and touch the fluffy appendage, without much thought. And to your utmost delight, Izuku’s face goes bright red, his eyes becoming round as coins as his breath hitches cutely and his tail twitches once, twice in your hold. Testing the waters, you squeeze experimentally and Izuku lets out the most adorable whimper you’ve ever heard, one of his scarred hands shooting out to feebly grasp at your forearm. Though, it wasn’t to pull you away, but rather to encourage you, to ask for more of your delicious touch.

And after this, Izuku’s still so shy, except this time, he’s shy when asking for more of your touch, for your help during his painful ruts. Ruts that make him think only of you, your lips kissing him, and your fingers trailing down his heated body, all the way to his sensitive cock. It makes him delirious, makes him want to do anything you ask of him, if only you keep making him feel this damn good. In times like this, he doesn’t know whether he wants to breed you, or for you to breed him; his hips present themselves to you while he’s on all fours, his tail twitching sporadically and his ears flopped over to cover his burning cheeks as he pushes his ass back invitingly, mewling and crying out for you. It’s something you can never deny, something you always give in to, because how could you ever not? Especially when he looks back at you, his eyebrows tilted up in bliss, his mouth set in a cute pout as his hand reaches back towards you to once again set your fingers onto his fluffy tail, a breathy whine escaping him afterwards with tears beginning to dot along his lash line. Under your ownership, you take care of your cute bunny hybrid to the best of your abilities, and if he asks you to fuck him silly until the only thing he remembers is your name, then so be it. It’s a win-win scenario after all.

NONNIE YOU PUT YOUR WHOLE PUSSY INTO THIS. I'M SALIVATING!! MAKIN' ME WANNA WRITE FOR HIM AGAIN SO BAD. you know what you're doin' comin' in here and presenting such a meal as this, and with bunzuku no less! you're not slick 😤 (but i'm slick cus this is so hot) for shame! (please feed me more 🧎‍♀️)

curse you (thank you for your service 🙇‍♀️)

[s0uth3park]

do you think the fandom on here will become more alive when season 27 starts airing?

Oh god. I don’t even know.

I, for one, am just here. I appreciate S19 and before way better than any newer content (except for 20-21 which have a special place in my heart, but are far from my favourites – I don’t really watch them as much, either). In fact, I’ve hardly touched the newer seasons, and the other week when I watched the season with the teenager episode, it was actually my first time watching?

The teenager episode really surprised me, especially with the ending. It was good; it was better than the other modern episodes. Real gem, there.

I think because of the show technically – visually, audibly, and from the preferred plots at the time – has different phases, there’s very different niches within the fandom.

We have a sort of ground layer of fandom at this point and the newbies from the new season will be fresh soil – maybe younger people / kids coming in after having seen clips on TikTok or compilations on YouTube, looking to go back through the seasons. Maybe they would be the opposite to me, preferring the milder modern seasons to the ones that have come long before.

We also need to take into account that (while not “scientifically proven” like Sonic was, or whatever happened with that), South Park attracts a lot of neurodivergent people. Mostly in the form of hyperfixations, and with a new season, it may float further toward the public eye or to trending tags online, resulting in an influx of hyperfixating fans.

It sounds a bit harsh, saying that, actually. I don’t mean it to be 😭

But, yeah – the new season will certainly bring new soil atop our ground layer, of course coming with that material divide, and maybe over time we’ll see a merger, and the fandom will grow, perhaps marginally, perhaps greatly, and flower.

We also need to account for the fact that even just on Tumblr alone the South Park tag fluctuates heavily from trending to not trending, usually due to just a good piece of fanart popping off.

Now imagine that on Twitter.

I think the exponential growth will most likely occur over on Twitter. In preparation for the new season and after. All the larger webcomics for SP are on Twitter, copiously, and art typically gets more traction there than on Tumblr. I mean, I assume on Tumblr there’s more word– or reaction–based interaction, but in terms of numbers, Twitter wins.

There’s… also the migration (haha – get it? – bird puns) from Twitter to Tumblr, isn’t it? Is that still happening? I know it was a big deal last year or the year before I think. I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention to that stuff. I know there was a lot of discourse over Tumblr etiquette and how it was rather easy to spot an ex-Twitter user without even needing to ask because, while typically polite and complimenting, they didn’t stick to the unspoken etiquette of Tumblr.

I think Strange Æons did a video on it? I know outside of her, a lot of people posted about it. Lists of rules, a bit confusing to the outsiders…

We might see a lot of that in the fandom.

I don’t really know how to directly answer your question, Anon. I’m sorry. Maybe further think of my soil analogy – or change it to snow, to be more fitting with South Park’s original climate. Up to you.