#look it’s not even properly written at all

[chastiefoul]

how they'd react when you wanted to sleep on the couch... just because.

fluff. light-hearted ft. gojo, nanami, sukuna, suguru, toji, choso

satoru

“baby scooch over.” a whispered voice along with a gentle nudge on the shoulder woke you from your dozed off state. “hmm?” you mumbled out, blinking your terribly heavy lids open although to no avail they’re begging to keep themselves shut. satoru glanced at you with a frown on his eyes with a pillow held close to his body. “scooch over baby,” he pleaded, kneeling beside the couch you’re currently lying on.

“go back to bed toru,” you said softly, tugging your blanket closer. “but you’re not there,” he whined, intertwining his hand with yours as he attacked it with kisses, not letting you go back to sleep, especially if it’s without him. “i thought you said you’re going to be fine?” you asked, jogging the memory of him being all smug while saying you could do whatever you wanted. “that was not me, i would never say that,” he said promptly and goodness you didn’t know before someone’s lips could turned that much downward. you chuckled breathily, knowing this will happen sooner or later.

you scooted over on the big couch, leaving him the space he’d been begging for. you could have sworn you heard a squeal before you’re wrapped in satoru’s warm hold, his head resting snugly atop of yours. “no sleeping on here anymore. not without me,” he said into your hair, kissing it softly.

❀

nanami

“but why, love?” he asked, having a hard time comprehending your wish to sleep alone on the living room only because... you randomly wanted to? you chuckled looking at his bewildered face, an expression of someone who’s probably racking his brain upside down thinking that he’s done something wrong. “ken, i promise it’s just because i feel like it and no reason other than that.” you cupped his face, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

nanami looked a little relieved, albeit sullen, hesitant in asking whether he could invite himself in or you wanted a little time for yourself. and when it’s finally time to sleep it’s becoming more obvious that your lover wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“need any more blanket honey?” he asked tapping the head of the couch as he stood there a tad nervous, knowing full well you got everything you needed since he insisted to be the one to prepare it. pillows, blanket, a hot drink, he’s got it all for you. “i’m perfect here, ken. you can go to bed,” you said with a reassuring smile, yet it did the opposite effect to the man.

“can i be here until you sleep, my love? it’s just that i feel like i wouldn’t be able to rest properly until i see you do the same.” he stroke your cheek softly with his thumb, and when you leaned into his touch he knew he’s gone for you. that there’s no way he could be asleep if he went back to the bedroom in that moment—unless you’re with him, of course. though, he didn’t say this, he just continued combing through your strands of hair, loving the peaceful expression on your face.

and unfortunately for the blond man, when it comes to these things his thoughts were written all over his face. you already caught on the fact that he wanted to lie down with you there yet his wish in prioritizing your wants refrained him from speaking his. you laughed a little, feeling a burst of fondness towards the tall man.

“on a second thought, can you sleep here with me ken?” he moved as quick as the sentence ended, already making his way under the blanket. he sneaked a hand around your waist, pressing your body closer against him. “i was kind of hoping you’d ask,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling utmost comfort as he rubbed your back gently.

“i know.”

❀

sukuna

not even ten minutes in trying to sleep on the said couch, sukuna had already carried you back towards your shared bedroom.

“but-“

“no.”

he put you on the bed gently, then he draped a blanket over as he tucked you in. sukuna has that look of a man who’s determined in keeping you there, and you already knew it’s a fight you could not win thus, you turned for another plan instead: pouting.

even until he got beside you as he rested his big hand on your stomach, you refused to look at him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. he sighed, “give me one good reason i should let you sleep out there,” he said exasperatedly. “cause i want some me time?” you claimed. even you weren’t sure why you’re battling him so hard on this.

“then have it here in this bed with me. you’ll get all cold later and cling to me later anyways. i’m just speeding up the process.” he replied, already closing his eyes.

“what a strange way of saying you couldn’t sleep without me,” you said, with a grin on your face. the feeling of his thumb moving against your skin brought you immense comfort, your impulsive plan long forgotten.

“if you already knew that then quit making it harder for me, brat.”

❀

toji

he stared at you who’s already making yourself comfortable on the couch, amused. “looking cozy there,” he said with a grin, a face of someone who’s up to no good. “yeah, it’s actually not ba-“ the sentence was cut off was your own squeal, toji had picked you up as he took your lying down position and put you top of him.

“you could’ve just asked first!” you fumed, hitting his bicep—which did more to you and it did him, how could one even get their muscle to be as hard as that? he just chuckled in response, putting a hand around your waist. “sorry doll, got too excited,” he said lazily, already seemed all happy, like he had all he needed.

and he did, with you close to him resting your head on his chest, knowing that you loved counting his heartbeat. the man was truly content.

“we really should get a bigger couch,” you mumbled. we should get everything you wanted, toji thought. but it’d be a bit much to say in the moment so instead he just continued rubbing your sides until you dozed off, plunging into the dream land.

“sleep.”

❀

suguru

“whatcha got there baby?” he asked, an easy smile on his face. there’s really no day with you where you didn’t make him tilt his head questioningly. “’m going to sleep here tonight,” you said, fluffing the pillow before lying down on it comfortably.

“okay, where’s mine then?”

“your what?”

“my pillow. you didn’t bring mine along yours?”

“oh well i just thought you’d want to sleep in the bed anyway?” you replied, and suguru looked like you just insulted him deeply. the couch dipped, he then lied down beside you on the same pillow, making him extra close as he embraced you. “i sleep where you sleep baby, you make me this way. i can no longer rest when i don’t get to hold you close like this,” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you have a big smile on your face as he said this, inhaling his familiar scent as you put your arms around him. “that better not be a complaint,” you said, cuddling closer to the man.

“never.” he kissed your temple.

❀

choso

it seriously look like it killed him when he had to walk away from the room, leaving you to sleep by yourself on the couch. his steps were excruciatingly slow, taking as much time as he could in case you changed your mind.

“cho?” you almost laughed looking at the way he perked up, a hopeful expression on his face. “can you turn off the light on your way?” and it almost felt too cruel the way the sparkle on his eyes dimmed, his shoulders beyond slumped. he then practically had to drag his own feet before letting out a small nod.

you chuckled, couldn’t keep up with the teasing anymore. “i’m kidding baby, do you wanna get in here?” you lifted up the blanket, patting the empty space next to you. it was the fastest you’ve ever seen him, as he’s beside you in no time.

he clinged to you tightly, like he’s making sure as much of his skin made contact with yours, a satisfied smile on his face. his hair tickled your neck nicely, as you traced the area below his eye with back of your finger.

“next time you want something just ask, cho.”

[fumiscripts]

✦ TIP: JUST DO IT

✦ one shot ,, nagi seishiro x gn!reader

content:: nagi has a crush on you— a barista. the problem? he doesn't know how to approach you besides ordering drinks.

for @neversam,, fluff,, 932 words

additional:: cafe worker reader, reo is a wingman, mutual crushing

Nagi doesn't know how to deal with this. It's such a hassle.

Such a bother that you were beginning to plague his mind.

Every time he passes by the coffee shop to get a drink after his classes end, he sees your face. Your face that he got used to seeing almost everyday. With how frequent he had come to visit there, he's gotten the chance to know your name, and you've started to get used to his, having written it whenever he orders his usual.

He thinks your smile is cute. As well as your voice, even more whenever you wish him a good day before he leaves the cafe. Seasons have passed, and you've become a little frequent in his life, like a daily log in he always claims from, one where he doesn't wanna miss a single day. He found himself visiting just to see your face, even when he didn't feel like buying a drink.

Just like always, he walks along this morning. The soft jingle of the bell decorating the cafe entrance notifies you, the new customer registered in your brain. Not looking up from the current drink you were making, you greeted them. “Welcome,” you say, loud enough for them to hear.

“Mhm,” Nagi replies, not bothering to greet you properly in return. You've gotten used to it. In truth, he was too busy staring at you to form a sensical reply. You looked pretty today— not like you never looked pretty.

You recognized that voice, as well as the iconic short, half-assed responses. You could tell it was your favorite regular. After handing the mug of coffee towards the previous customer, you switched your attention to him. “The usual?” you asked, already fetching a cup the same size he always drank in. A thing you've noticed about him is how he orders the same drink, not bothering to go through the hassle of trying anything different.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. You smiled at him and went to prepare his order.

His heart skipped a beat. Nagi's pretty sure that he has a crush on you.

What a bother.

“Going to the cafe, again?” his companion asked, the purple-haired boy looking over at him as he packed their things. Nagi looked up from the game on his phone, lazily nodding his head at Reo in reply. “You go there almost every day. Are the drinks that good?” he questioned, curious.

“I guess…” Nagi answered, not finding the energy to get into detail. There was a stretch of silence for a while, before he decided that maybe he should tell him more. Reo should be pretty experienced with these sorts of things, right? “Well, I visit daily… not just for the drinks they have,” he confessed, mouth forming an ‘x’ right after.

Reo blinked. He looked like he didn't expect that to be the reason he visits the coffee shop like it's part of his routine. “You… like a person that works there?” he concludes, assuming so, as that was what his confession was pointing to.

Nagi nodded, again. “Mhm,” he confirms. “They're… cute,” he trails off, before adding on. “I've had my eyes on them for a while now.”

“You know their name?” Reo asked— trying to scale how much you two know about each other— to which, Nagi gestured yes. “Maybe you should ask them out, then. You know, talk to them while making an order. Or slip them a tip with a note along with it.”

The white-haired boy thought about it, all while he mindlessly tapped on his phone screen. He watched nonchalantly as the victory message pops up, exhaling softly. “Hey, Reo,” Nagi called, looking up from the game. “Do you have any good first date ideas?”

He's surprising himself for actually bothering to make a move.

That afternoon, Nagi, once again, arrives at the cafe you work at. Upon entering, he was greeted by you, along with the iconic scent of coffee with hints of cream. He had a goal in mind. This visit, he will ask you out.

“Same drink?” you asked, smiling as he nodded a confirmation. “Your order will be ready in a few minutes,” you remark, making your way to start on the beverage. Nagi looks at you, watching with a fond attention behind his brown eyes. You look stunning, just like any other day.

Once you slide the cup towards him, he hands you the payment and a tip. You could see the faintest tinge of red while he did so, and you admit, it made you a feel a little interested on what made him blush. He left, and you picked the bill up. You noticed that a piece of paper came with it, a short and concise note scribbled with black ink. The ever curious person that you were, you read it.

You suddenly felt heat crawl up to your face when you did— alike to how he felt.

The content of the parchment was a time the following day, a phone number, and the name of a restaurant in the same city. Below it, there was a simple question: will you go on a date with me?

There was a noticeable tilt on your lips, a small feeling of warmth spreading across your chest at being asked out by the person you've been starting to like for a while. You couldn't help but read it again and again, somehow getting giddier everytime. How lucky were you that the feeling of interest was mutual?

You were happy to clear your plans for tomorrow.

(a/n):: Happy new years everyone

taglist:: @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku

@lakeside-paradise

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[aviiarie]

Hiiiii, if you don't mind, can I please ask for something romantic with Blade in a soulmates au? Being his soulmate seems like such a doomed concept, lol

“𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄.” — feat. blade.

synopsis. you are blade's soulmate. and you pay the price for it, over and over again.

✦ contents. tw: slightly graphic blood & violence, and a lot of death. soulmates au. gn!reader. angst, no comfort. slightly open-ended. 1.8k words.

✦ notes. requested by anon for my event! i saw the words 'soulmates' and 'doomed' and didn't think twice. um this kind of ends on a cliff-hanger? or unsatisfyingly at least. that was intentional btw. idk how happy i am with how it turned out though.

The day Blade met you for the very first time, was the day you bled out in his arms. 

You were a stranger; a forgettable face, amidst a sea of even more forgettable faces. There was no reason for him to care when he heard your scream, cutting across the battlefield like a siren. The sound melted into the clamour of scraping metal and wounded cries, as easily as a single note of a flute disappears within a symphony.

And yet, it made him pause. 

His own sword was slick with blood, having already carved a gruesome path across the battlefield. There were bodies at his feet–some still wheezing out their final breaths, others already gone–but it was you who caught his attention. The cry was harrowing, rendering every other noise forgotten.

The haze in his vision began to clear, the mara loosened its hold, and for the first time in a while he felt something odd: clarity.

A strange, prickly sensation settled a layer beneath his skin, urging him to go, find them, help them, help them, help them. It was as if his limbs were tied with puppet strings, forcing him into a run towards the source of the scream. All around him, the fighting continued, but no one paid him any mind as he tore through the battle.

He found you on the other side of the field, lying on the grass with a closed fist pressed to your side. An arc of red dripped from your fingers to the ground, forming a sickly puddle under your shredded armour. As he fell to his knees by your side, compelled by something he couldn’t properly describe if he tried, you looked up and met his eye, mouth falling open.

“Oh…” You murmured, gazing at him like he was an angel. “Oh… oh, I didn’t know… it’s you.”

Blade’s throat tightened, as he glanced between your watery eyes and the wound you were holding. He didn’t understand it; he was a witness to death more times than he could count, the source of it in many instances. There was no reason for your death to be any different, so why did he feel like he was going to throw up?

“It’s you, isn’t it?” You choked up, tears welling in your eyes. The sight made him sick. “Soulmate?”

Soulmate. A foreign concept, but one he was acquainted with. It was intertwined with Destiny itself, written into the scripts that ‘he’ pored over so obsessively.

“Soulmate?” He croaked out. You smiled weakly, reaching out your free hand to touch his cheek.

“Soulmate,” You agreed, moving to rest your palm on his chest, right over the spot where his heart was pounding. “You feel it too, don’t you? The… the feeling pulling us together?”

He did. All of the puppet strings–destiny, fate, or whatever they were to be called–were pulling him towards you. Blade nodded stiffly, and you breathed out a wheezing laugh.

“S-So that’s it, then…” You sighed, releasing your hold on your wound and letting your arms fall loose like a ragdoll. Without your fist blocking his view, Blade could see just how bad the injury was. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I was scared I was going to die before I did. But… I guess this is fine…”

“No…” Blade murmured, every sense in his body screaming at him to save them, help them, soulmate, soulmate, soulmate. “No… you can’t die. Not when I’ve just met you.”

It’s a laugh that you responded with, but the sound was bittersweet. “I don’t think I have a choice.” 

“No!” Blade’s voice was desperate. “No, no. There has to be another way.”

“Meet me again, okay? In the next life…” You coughed weakly, blood dribbling down the corner of lips and down your chin. Blade gently wipes away the streak of red, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “B-Buy me flowers… take me out for dinner... and we’ll try again.”

“No…” Blade mumbled. He tugged you into his arms, so you were practically splayed out across his lap. Another cough worked its way past your lips, and he pulled you even closer. “Please…”

“Next time…” You breathed out. Your chest rose and fell with every breath stuttered out, slowly and weakening, until it stopped altogether. 

—

When Blade meets you again, you are not a soldier. Your face has changed, as well your hairstyle and attire, but the insistent tug in his chest is the exact same feeling he felt all those years ago. Even in a crowded town square, on a planet he couldn’t remember the name of, the outline of your soul glows in his mind, shining like a beacon.

He stops in his tracks, scanning the shops and stalls on either side to find some trace of the soul he sensed. You were so close, he could practically reach out and grasp your hand, and yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint where.

There.

He broke into a run, his mission left far behind as he followed his instincts. They pulled him through the crowd, by shopkeepers and civilians that grumbled as he pushed past, leading to a cozy flower stand at the end of the street.

You look up at his approach, almost dropping the flowers in your hands. Your mouth is agape, and your eyes are teary, but there is familiarity staring back at him.

“Oh, it’s you. I was wondering when I would meet you,” You laugh, and Blade’s heart soars.

It’s a blur, the conversation that follows. He learns your name, and he learns you are nothing more than a merchant selling flowers. Quietly, he is grateful for the humble life you seemed to be leading. It was nothing like your previous self, in all your bloodstained, armour-clothed glory, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

“Tell me about yourself, though.” You finally pause your rambling, smiling with flushed cheeks. “I’ve talked about myself enough. What about you?”

“I…” Blade trails off, considering what he could say. His life was one that was long and wrought with destruction, and you were a perfectly unblemished flower, whose petals would crumple under his touch. Seeking you out was selfish enough, letting you carve his place in your life would only taint it.  

“I am unimportant. You’d best not be concerned about who I am.” Blade says simply, moving slightly away, so you were out of his reach. “I need to leave.”

You frown, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. Don’t I get to know your name, at least? Soulmate?”

“You may call me Blade,” He says, without any more explanation. “I must be going.”

“W-Wait!” You call out, breaking out of your stupor to catch his sleeve. As he turns, you press a delicate white lily into his hands. “Take this. When it wilts… find me again, and I’ll give you a new one.”

Blade stares at the flower, running a thumb down the stem and over the soft petals. It is dainty, fragile. In his hands, it would only be ruined.

And yet, he tucks it into his sleeve anyway.

You smile at him as he leaves, something sad in your eyes that he doesn’t have the heart to unravel. As he turns his back, he can still feel your gaze on his retreating form, watching as he disappears into the street.

It ends, predictably.

He is a half-second too late, feeling the drop in his stomach a moment before he sees your body fall to the ground. He lunges forward, falling by your side. The assailant–masked, armed, and a damn coward–is already running. 

“No,” He mutters. There are hot, angry tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over. It was only a week after he saw you for the first time, but he’d been keeping his distance, hoping if he stayed far enough away he could spare you from misfortune. But fate is cruel, and it tips back its head and laughs as he crumples over your body.

A part of him is screaming to run after your attacker, to spill his organs all over the pretty paved streets, just as he has spilled your blood over them, but the idea of leaving your side hurts. 

“Stay with me,” He begs, holding onto your wound, as if there was any way to staunch the bleeding. It was no use, the blade had pierced your chest too precisely. If you weren’t already gone, you would be soon.

You shakily clasp your hand around his wrist, mumbling out a few words. “See you–See you next time, Blade.”

—

It carries on in a similar manner, for the next few centuries. Every lifetime Blade finds you (he stops counting, after a while), and it ends the same way. After a while, all of the lifetimes blur together, until he can barely tell which is which.

In some, you are a warrior as violent as himself. In others, you are an artist. In some, he finds you, and in others, you find him. The only common thread, the one thing that connects every one, is your inevitable demise.

He stops trying to seek you out. When he feels the tug on his chest, he ignores his instincts and walks the other way, hoping to let the memory of you fade, so you may live your lives parallel to each other; close, but never meeting. Somehow, you manage to find him every time anyway, and before he knows it, his vow to keep his distance is tossed aside.

This time though, he doesn’t even get a chance to meet you. 

He feels you again–the phantom pull, the burning in his soul–and all thoughts of his mission are forgotten. The feeling of his sword is heavy in his hands, but it is nothing compared to the sinking in his chest.

Something was wrong.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He does not pause, he doesn’t think about the way he will be reprimanded for straying from his target. He only thinks of you.

The thought leads him through a massacre, decorating the cobbled streets with crimson. The path itself is pathed with bloodshed, littered with corpses in various states of dismemberment. The longer he walks, the more it becomes clear that he isn’t looking for a person this time; he is looking for a body. There is no life he can sense around him, but your connection–feeble, and waning as it may be–urges him forward. 

Finally, it stops him right before one.

The sight of your corpse, as mangled and gruesome as it may be, no longer fazes him. He stands, pausing long enough to pay his respects, before retreating with a heaviness in his steps.

He will meet you again, in the next life.

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @mikashisus, @starcharmed.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

Like genuinely I think people need to take their complaints, literally any of them (preferably all of them. Not necessarily because they’re all wrong but because this is good practice regardless) and just…. Think them through

Instead of just gut reacting to it and deciding it’s bad or a mistake think about it as a decision and think about WHY it might have been made.

Assume it’s deliberate. Assume the writers knew what they were doing. Assume the writers understand the relevant topics. That may not be all true, but for the moment assume it is anyway.

Why would they choose to do this?

What could it imply about the character who is doing this?

What could it imply about the thing being done?

If it contradicts something previously mentioned, think about why that could be. Which source is more trustworthy? Why would one of them be wrong? Is one wrong, or could something have changed?

If it doesn’t seem to match that persons characterisation, think about why it might be different. Has something happened to them? Would that have changed them this way? Or are they acting like this for another reason? Is that even them?

Sometimes you go through all this and the answer is still that it’s bad writing. Sometimes you come out with new complaints. The point is not to defend every writing choice being made, the point is that you have considered it, and properly thought about what reasons there might have been behind that decision.

I have seen so many deliberate writing decisions made to convey something to the audience being written off as bad writing because people don’t stop to think about the reasons why something was done a certain way. You’ll have a much better experience with media if you go into it with an open mind, willing to consider what the writer is trying to convey, instead of going into it looking for bad writing to complain about and never thinking about something beyond the surface level.

[reverie-starlight]

happy NYE, i’m sick and want karasu to take care of me. still figuring out characterization + I’ve never written for him yadda yadda.

fem!reader, no physical descriptions, mentions of having a cold + symptoms, very short and not edited properly. karasu is very loving. I liked writing this a lot, he’s fun. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“hey sweet girl, how are you feeling?”

you turn your head to look at the source of the familiar voice coming from your bedroom’s doorway. your fiancé leans against the frame holding a steaming mug and looking at you with concerned eyes.

you pout pull the hood of your sweater over your head. okay, his sweater, but you’d argue that you co-own it. “ugh.”

karasu snorts and walks into the room, placing the mug down on your nightstand before sitting next to you and gently rubbing your knee. “at least you’re sitting up now.”

as soon as he’s within range, you lean into him and release a drawn out groan. he rolls his eyes, knowing you’re exaggerating a smidge, just as you always do when you’re not feeling well, but affectionately rubs up and down your back anyway.

he’d be a liar if he ever said he doesn’t like indulging you here and there, playing into your ploys for extra affection included.

he cups the base of your skull, massaging it slightly. “does your head still hurt?”

your face is still buried in his chest as you shake your head slightly. “no, thankfully. just my throat and some of my muscles.”

“poor thing,” he leans over slightly to pass you the mug. “I made you some tea with honey.”

“thanks, baby,” you smile up at him. “can you pass me a tissue please?”

karasu grabs one and pinches it over your nose with a teasing grin. “blow.”

you glare at him and you both know that if your arms didn’t feel limp as noodles right now, you’d snatch it away from him. since you can’t, however, you resign yourself to following his instruction.

“you sound like a goose when you do that,” he snickers, tossing the tissue in the trash and moving

“thanks,” you say, before taking a sip of your tea. it’s good, not scalding hot and not gross either. you’ll have to remember to make this for him when he inevitably gets sick later this week. “you should be nicer to your girlfriend who’s over here suffering and rotting and-“

he laughs and moves himself into bed and under the covers with you. “you’re such a big baby, ya know that?”

you place your tea back on the side table and lay down, pouting again in indignation. he follows you and cups your face in his hand. “you’re my baby, though.”

you fake gag and he shakes his head. “you love it when I get all sweet on you, don’t even try that whole act on me,” he lets you scoot closer and wraps his arms around you.

“wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t called me a goose,” you mumble, nuzzling against his neck despite your bitter tone.

karasu bites back a laugh and drags his nails through your scalp comfortingly. “I wasn’t calling you a goose, I only said you sounded like one.”

you peek up to shoot him another dirty look. “because that’s so much better. and here I thought you liked my voice.”

“I love your voice, angel, even now that it’s all gravelly and raw. but you don’t use your voice to blow your nose, now do you?”

you grumble something about logic he can’t fully make out and let silence take over for a moment.

as much as he loves teasing you, seeing you try to clear your stuffy nose and hearing your coughs breaks his heart a bit. he hates seeing you suffer- if he had it his way you’d be happy and in good spirits all the time. he wants nothing more than to baby you a bit, help you recover and lift your spirits.

he presses a kiss against your forehead. “can I get you anything else, pretty?”

you shake your head and pull him closer. “no thank you, tabito, you’ve already done so much for me today.”

he admires you and rubs his thumb under your eye for a bit. “do you want to take a nap?”

you shake your head. “I’m all napped out. I want to be able to sleep tonight.”

karasu nods and thinks for a minute. “how about a change of scenery, then?”

you blink and tilt your head. “Hm? I don’t know if I’m up to leaving the house, baby.”

“no, just to the living room. you’ve been cooped up in here all morning. do ya want to watch one of your comfort movies? the one with the dragons maybe?”

you nod, and wrap your arms around his neck. “but can you carry me? my legs feel a bit shaky.”

moments later you’re being scooped up in his arms and deposited on the couch with fluffy blankets, boxes of tissues and some snacks.

“all good, babe?” he checks in with you, looking down at your head on his chest before hitting play.

your chest blooms at how well he’s been treating you all day. how he’s always treated you, actually. you could not have asked for a better nurse to have around.

you hope you give him half the comfort he’s given you when it’s his turn to play patient.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this could 100% be better, however my last brain cell is working overtime trying to do a new character justice. hopefully I did alright 🥹🫶🏻

hope you enjoyed!!

and ty @emmyrosee for screaming abt karasu with me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[strkeyz]

new years kiss. | d. starkey x fem! reader

warnings ! ; nothing really just fluff!, not proofread at all, def a lil rushed, and probably poorly written, a lil suggestive at the end

summary ! ; in which you spend your first new years with your boyfriend, drew starkey.

authors note ! ; happy new years babies, consider this my resolution to write more!!

december 31, 2024, your first new year’s eve with your new boyfriend, drew starkey.

the famous actor has treated you with such a romance you only see on a big screen, ironic right? in all seriousness, you’ve never felt more loved in your entire life. he does everything right; ‘just because’ flowers, princess treatment, spoiling you, he does it all.

so, as you two watched the new york times square feed on your tv in the dark living room of your LA apartment, settling back on the couch with two glasses of champagne. you pass the glass in your left hand to drew, adjusting yourself under the blanket.

‘you okay baby?’ the blonde man beside you mumbled, gaze breaking from the tv to look over at you. you nod, taking a sip from the glass in your hand. you use your free hand to grab his, thumb tracing over the backside of his palm lightly.

‘this is our first new years, drew’ you speak, voice soft and gentle. when it was just you and drew, the world around you two melted. it was just you and him, nothing else matters. he smiles, scooting his body closer to yours. ‘mhm,’ he hums in response ‘most special new year i’ve had in my entire life.’

you roll your eyes, smacking him playfully. you place the champagne glass on the table, leaning back and laying on drew. you two chat for a while, completely missing the tv screen in front of you.

as excited cheers of ‘10, 9, 8’ erupt from the tv, only then is your focus broken from drew. you two look over at the screen, counting along with the crowd on the other side of the screen. ‘7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2,’ you two yell out together, two large hands grab your face, turning you to look at drew as a yell of ‘1!’ fills the room.

without a second thought, drew’s lips smash onto yours. this kiss is gentle, yet passionate. he holds your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. to make the moment even more cinematic, fireworks erupt outside the apartment, the glow coming in and adding light into the darkness of the living room. after a minute or two (or five), you two pull back, keeping your foreheads pressed together.

drew’s the first to speak, a soft smile encapsulates his features. ‘happy new years pretty girl, i love you.’ you smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes. ‘happy new years baby, i love you more’ you whisper, breathlessly.

before you knew it, you were on drew’s lap with your tongue practically down his throat. his hands roamed your body with a lustful touch, settling on your hips. drew breaks the kiss, only to look up at you with lovestruck pupils.

‘lemme bring in the new year properly, please baby?’

[sams-butt-dem0n]

love the gang breaking up with reader hcs!! could we get hcs of them getting back together though😔

A/N: Hey guyssss! So sorry that i haven't posted in a while, I was enjoying some time off before the dreaded work ethic takes over haha. I have had SO MANY people ask this (by that I mean like 5) but that's a LOT fort me. I love this idea so i hope you like my writing of it :)

---

DARRY would take such a long time to realise that he regrets breaking up with you purely because he is such a busy man that he barely has any time to think about something other than work work work. He wouldn't know where to begin, what to say, when he was gonna have the time to even speak to you properly.

Luckily for him, you just so happened to be passing by the store he works in on weekends and he caught a glance of your figure walking past.

"Y/n!" He shouts, catching your attention. You roll your eyes as soon as you see him.

"What, Darry?" You say, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, huh?"

"Look, y/n, please can I just talk to you," he says. "Give me five minutes."

"Five minutes. Max."

He takes a deep breath, looks down at his feet, and begins. "Look, y/n, I've been a real dickhead."

You nod. "Good start."

"I just want you to know that I never meant anything that I said to you. I was going through a lot of stress, you know how I get. I'm so beyond sorry. What is it gonna take for you to have me back?"

You chuckle and look up into his eyes, those eyes you had missed so much. "Oh, Darry," you say. "You don't need to beg for me back. I'll always be yours."

You pull him into a kiss, your arms around his neck and his around your waist.

"I love you."

SODAPOP would be running back to you the literal next day. He would sleep on what he had said and accused you of and immediately regret it in the morning. He would race out of bed, throw a comb through his hair and put whatever shoes he could pick up first on his feet before sprinting to your place.

He would bang at your window, most probably waking you up as it was about 8am on a Sunday and there was no way in hell you'd be up before 10.

"Soda? What the hell are you doing here?" You ask, anger layered in your voice.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he says, tears rolling down his face. It killed you to see him like this. "Please forgive me. I know what I did was wrong and I'm so sorry that i fucked things up but please baby I need you to realise that I was just beating myself up for no reason. I would never think of you as a cheater I just-"

You needed to cut off his rambling. Soda, stop. Just get in here before you freeze to death."

PONYBOY doesn't even feel any form of regret until a good couple of moths later, the pressure of school had worn off and he was exposed to the harsh reality of what he had done. Of course, it's typical of a man to only realise what they have lost months too late but it was worth a shot. Within an hour, Ponyboy was stood at your door with a bunch of flowers, a personalised poem he had written just for you, and all of your favourite chocolates.

"Ponyboy, what are you-"

He cuts you off. "Y/n please don't say anything until I'm done. If you're gonna kick me off your porch, please just wait until I'm finished."

You nod and he begins to read out his poem, causing tears to gather in your eyes and roll down your cheeks. Just like they had been doing for the past 73 days. He hands you a bunch of your favourite flowers halfway through his speech and continues, capturing your heart in a moment you shall never forget. How could you not forgive him after this?

DALLAS would take forever to even think of apologising to you and that's purely because of his bad boy ego he has going on. Like, what do you mean apologise? Do you know who he is? However, after about four months, Dallas finds a picture of the two of you from when you were together. You were sat beside him at the drive in, your legs laid over his and you had the largest beaming smile he had ever seen. God, he missed your smile. It was that moment where he realised he had thrown everything away.

And that's how you ended up in this moment, a beaten up and bloody Dallas Winston stood at your doorstep, begging for you to forgive him.

"please, y/n, I need you back," he says, spitting blood from between his lips. "I need you to say that everything is okay."

You weren't going to give in. Not until he said it.

"Please," he says, looking at you with such desperation in his eyes. Those eyes you had come to love endlessly.

He needed to say it. He still hadn't said it. Please, say it, Dallas, you thought.

"I'm sorry."

Without hesitation, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his; his arms finding their way around your waist, pulling you close. He had finally got you back.

JOHNNY would be exactly like Sodapop, realising he made a huge mistake immediately after he made it. However, due to his home life and lack of confidence in any scenario, Johnny would have no clue how to apologise or even approach you. Because of this, he asks Dallas, his best buddy, for help. Why on Earth you would ask Dallas Winston for relationship advice is anyone's guess, but he did it either way.

Surprisingly enough, Johnny's effort was very much appreciated by Dallas and he genuinely helped him develop a plan that wasn't completely offensive. Johnny obviously recognised and cut out the parts that were. And so, he knocked at your bedroom window after climbing up the gutter, and you welcomed him in, your eyes still sore from all of the crying you had done.

"Johnny? Why are you here?" You ask, sitting him down on your bed and pacing around your room, not knowing how to feel about the situation. Relieved? Happy? Angry?

"I missed you," he says. "and I'm sorry."

STEVE would spend weeks upon weeks mulling over the fact that he had not only ended things with you, but ended them over the phone. He didn't get to hug you one last time. He didn't get to kiss you goodbye. He didn't even see your face when he had told you that it was over. He didn't have to see the hurt - he heard it. He could hear your heart sink to your stomach; he could hear the tears spill down your cheeks, your sweet rosy cheeks; he could feel the anger running through your blood. He hated himself for it. So much so that he was pushing everyone away as punishment to himself, even Soda.

Fortunately, Soda had had enough of Steve being so depressed about what he had done that he went to fetch you himself. You were minding your own business in your bedroom when your mother came to tell you that someone was at the door for you. Expecting it to be one of your girlfriends, you ran to the door to greet her but when you were faced with Sodapop Curtis, your smile dropped.

"Oh, hey Soda," you say, coldly.

"Y/n, I know you want nothing to do with Steve anymore but-"

"No." You say. "I don't care what you have to say. That asshole deserves whatever is coming to him."

"Pleaser, y/n." Soda begs. "Just talk to him for five minutes."

And that's how you ended up sat on the Curtis's couch, alone in the living room with none other than Steve Randle. Obviously, all of the boys were listening at the door.

"Y/n, I've been such a fool," Steve begins, making you chuckle.

"You can say that again."

"I've missed you so much," he admits. "And I am so sorry for what I did to you. I know you can't possibly forgive me straight away but I'm begging you - give me one month to prove myself to you. Just one month, that's all I ask."

You sigh, look down at your hands and then back up at him. "Fine. One month."

You knew whatever he had planned was going to bring you right back. And that is why you said yes.

TWOBIT would win you back almost instantly. He was just the kind of person that you couldn't stay mad at. No matter how badly he had hurt you, the second he knocked on your car window at the drive-in, you knew you were screwed.

"I've noticed you avoiding me, you know?" He says, cocking his head to the side, looking around your car to see you're alone.

"Well done, Columbo," you say. "Do you want a gold star?"

He nods. "Yeah, that would actually be pretty beneficial."

You hated him. (You really didn't).

"Are you gonna let me in or what?" He asks. "I hope you know I'm not gonna leave until you let me in."

You looked at him in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

He gives you a look as if to say 'Did you really just ask me that?'. He sighs. "Please just let me in."

You unlock the door and allow him to sit in the passenger seat beside you. You had never heard a silence so deafening.

"I'm sorry," he says. "You that I'm sorry."

It's true, you did know, because every time you saw him on the streets he would look at you with his pleading, begging eyes that you love so much.

"I know," you reply. "But how do I know you won't hurt me again."

I promise you with every inch of my being that I will never fuck you over," he says, grabbing your hand and looking into your eyes. "Please."

[myfriendskickass]

The issue is that tumblr uses BOTS to enforce the TOS and is entirely USER reported. A lot of people who got banned (NOT the-bar-sinister, but a lot of other people) got banned because they actually WERE breaking TOS, particularly the rules about not being a harrassing shitlord...while also just happening to be trans.

And when tumblr nukes a blog, they nuke EVERYTHING and give you the "this was deleted for violating TOS" no matter what that content was or whether it actually violated TOS or not. It's a stock message. If somebody is posting heinous violent crimes, all of their images of cute puppies are going to get that message even when they get terminated.

Where the transphobia comes in is that realistically, we all break TOS all the dang time, unless you are SUPER careful, because it's statistically improbable not to, and TOS is worded in a way sometimes that gives a lot of grey areas, especially since a bot is flagging things and false positives happen a lot. But if you're trans, you're also statistically more likely to both get reported by people in the first place, and more likely to have whatever human reviewers still work here to side on the side of transphobes. If you have a sizeable hatedom and get involved in drama a lot, you are more likely to get things maliciously reported (which is what happened to the-bar-sinister) EN MASSE, which will trigger the bot to autoban you and then it takes ages to get a manual review, if you ever get one.

There are whole discord servers and offsite groups dedicated to picking on a specific tumblr user they hate - who is most often part of a marginalized group, because we get hate directed at us more often - who will mass report users out of malicious intent just because they don't like them.

Ban evasion is also technically what a lot of these repeat bans are happening for - tumblr is pretty lax with enforcing ban evasion but it is still technically not allowed. I see this happen to all the nazis and radfems people complain about all the time - they ARE getting banned, but you need to report them, and you also need to FOLLOW UP with the bot email tumblr sends you about whether they think a thing breaks TOS/Community Guidelines or not.

Also, not for nothing...but a lot of people who are getting banned in 2024 ARE posting explicit sex. It's just that, again, people are going to report you more often if you're marginalized. The human reviewers we do have are underpaid and untrained, and are more likely to ban based on things TECHNICALLY ACTUALLY KIND OF being against TOS rather than using their brains and viewing things in context (which is what I suspect happened to the-bar-sinister.) And yeah, uneducated support staff is going to be more likely to interpret SFW queer art as actually NSFW due to the background radiation of homophobia that permeates most of society.

Things like transition timelines, depending on how it's worded, CAN TECHNICALLY fall under "too sexy" for tumblr, especially images. The transphobia is how that is considered against TOS in the first place - but if an underpaid support staff human looks at an appeal and sees that the post in question talks about, say, bottom growth for example, with pictures? Well...honestly, technically, with rules AS WRITTEN, that DOES fall under banned content. It's just that if we had moderation that was properly trained, they'd be able to look at it in context and realize that it's not pornographic. Just...you know, these are all minimum wage workers who are way more likely to err on the side of caution to keep their jobs.

Basically, TL;DR, of the people who post hole, trans people are more likely to be reported for posting hole, sfw queer art is more likely to be read by other people as more NSFW than it is, when tumblr gets enough user reports about someone they autoterminate, support staff is not well trained enough to be able to untangle things like mass harassment campaigns and reporting in bad faith, and sometimes the trans people getting banned are getting banned for actual violent threats and harassment and such and just also happen to be trans.

@vergess knows a lot more about this than I would, if they want to chime in.

"I can't post my fully clothed, slightly suggestive queer fanart of adult characters from a children's media in case someone decides it counts as porn and reports my account" feels like a 2002 era problem to have.

[stepfordboys]

The Perfect Boy

Written by RiderVitalli, revamped by StepfordBoys.

Dylan had been such a nuisance on my street for as long as I can remember. His parents worked too hard to provide for their family that they didn't have time to raise him properly. It wasn't their fault when he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, becoming a menace to our neighborhood. But that would change the day he decided to vandalize my prize-winning front lawn, destroying years of hard work and effort, all in the name of "fun."

I caught him in the middle of the night, using his bike to tear up my grass, he'd carved the word "fag” deeply into the dirt, and upon further investigation, I found he'd torn up my flower-garden, toilet-papered my pear tree, even spray painted vulgar shapes and anarchy symbols on my newly paved driveway.

I'll admit it; I blew a fuse! I promised myself I'd never use my incredible gift for revenge, but this was too much. A wave of power rushed across the lawn and bowled him over; his body flopped into the dirt he'd ground up. Seeing his body short-circuit, twitching and writhing as his nervous system overloaded, I knew I'd messed up. Now the only thing to do was drag him inside before the neighbors woke up for their morning routines.

I didn't know what I was going to do at first. I laid him on the cold tile floor in my kitchen, solely so I wouldn't get his filth on furniture or carpeting. His body convulsed a little, but the main effects of the blast had worn off. If I'd left him alone for any longer, he'd wake up with an incredible headache, muscles sore from involuntary spasms, but otherwise, he'd be fine in a few days.

But then I had an idea creep into my head… Could I let this delinquent go only to repeat his mischief on some other innocent neighbor? No. I had to solve this issue while I had the chance. This sad excuse of a boy would no longer be a problem after I'd finished with him. The mental image I'd conjured was perfect in every way, but I doubt he'll like it much.

I looked down at him, breathing heavily but out cold. His body splayed in an awkward position. He'd lost a shoe somewhere, and his shirt had been torn as I dragged him. The clothing choice was appalling; his shirt was covered in silkscreened pot leaves and other paraphernalia, his shorts were baggy, the entire length covered in pockets which, after a short search, were found full of little baggies, papers, lighters, and his wallet, a little chain hooked to his belt as if the 2 dollars and his school ID were worth protecting.

I used a damp cloth to clean up some of the dirt and propped him up on one of my kitchen chairs, using a little of my power to control his body, making it impossible for him to move anything from the neck down. His head lolled forward, his chin resting on his chest. Then, with a nudge to his incapacitated mind, he awoke with a gasp and groaned when the soreness and migraine hit him. He tried to move; I saw his fingers twitch a bit on the armrests, then his eyes widened, and he looked around and yelled for help when he saw who was sitting across from him.

He shouted over and over; again, his fingers, the only thing he was able to move, twitched. Finally, after a few minutes, he calmed down a bit, panting, and begged me to let him go. I explained that I would, but he needed a little lecture first. Shouting again, this time with more force and vulgarity, he demanded freedom and threatened to tell the cops. His arguments were quelled when I explained that he'd send himself to jail if he tried after vandalizing my yard.

Some thought, and he finally went quiet, listening to me. I went on and on about his behavior and how he terrorizes our little community. He seemed proud, even happy that his efforts had been noticed, which made me angrier. I think he could feel the spark of control hit him, his head throbbing, his eyes glazed, and he fell silent. That's when I let loose.

Once inside his head, I read every thought, emotion, and memory in seconds. I knew exactly who this boy was down to the very core. I felt sorry for him. He only wanted acceptance and for someone to acknowledge him. Until now, his family was too busy keeping up with their lifestyle and working to build a decent living to pay attention to their little boy.

They never neglected him; they were good to him, giving him everything he needed and even trying to make him happy with new things, toys, and video games. But he wanted more. Not material things. He wanted to feel like he was necessary, and that's where his gang of rampant delinquents came in.

They pried him out of his shell and let him experience being wanted and needed. He was their fall guy, always able to get out of trouble and their best place to hide the more illegal things. He still looked innocent, so most authorities wrote him off as harmless. That's why he had pockets full of it when I searched.

I could see why he is the way he is now. But I still had to fix him. To solve our neighborhood problem, and now I know how! He craves acceptance, attention, and feeling needed and wanted; I'd give it to him! But I knew he wouldn't like it. His whole childhood and up to now had trained him to be a rebel. His brain was wired to "fuck the police" and to run or fight authority. It was in his blood, his DNA now. Changing him the way I planned would be torture for him! But it'd teach him a lesson! Kill two birds with one stone!

He was still lost in deep unconsciousness, and a line of drool dribbled down his shirt, so I took my time. I didn't change his memories or how he thinks; I left his personality intact. What I did change was the way he'd behave on the outside. The way his body would react to things, he could think of what he wanted to say, but it would come out completely different. He'd be forced to watch as he did something to a new standard. Everything on the outside would change.

I reprogrammed his outward vocabulary, adding educated words and deleting vulgarity. He'd be unable to swear or disrespect anyone in any way. His answers to anyone with any authority would be respectful, ending with "sir" or "ma'am" I tweaked his body language; he could no longer slouch or sit with his legs wide open like most boys do. He'd sit up straight; leg crossed neatly across his knee. He could no longer disobey his parents or elders unless it harmed him or anyone else. And worse of all, he'd do it all with a polite smile!

Next, I tackled his fashion sense. The way boys now dress always bugged me, so I forced him to buy and wear a more formal, professional wardrobe: slacks, khakis, polo shirts, dress socks, or boat shoes. Sneakers for athletics, crisp white t-shirts or undershirts, and only briefs, never boxers or commando, from what I could tell, he liked. This would be one of the most significant changes, so I hammered it into his brain; I could almost feel him fighting back, but in the end, I won out.

Finally, were his hair and his new hobbies and activities? His hair now was greasy and unkempt, hidden under an ugly, worn-out old cap, but from now on, it'd be crisply clean cut, short, maybe military style, or pomp. No, I know what I wanted for him. A "college boy" cut! Shaved back and sides, with a deep part on one side, the rest combed over neatly with a little longer combed over in the front. He'd also keep clean-shaven, trimming up his body and taking out all his piercings, and find that his tattoos would fade till they were gone. The perfect match for his new looks!

He needed some new activities, vandalizing, smoking, and general misbehavior wouldn't work for the new boy. No, he needed constructive things to keep his time occupied! Judging from his current body type, he still needs to do something other than skateboard and bike to stay fit. That had to change.

Seeing his new form in my head, I realized the perfect extracurricular activity! He'd be a swimmer! It takes skill and discipline to be on a swim team, and from what I'd seen in his head, he's self-conscious of his body, always keeping covered. So being forced to wear nothing but a tight speedo and cap would add to his torture; remember, this isn't just to make him better; it's also punishment! He'd also join a track team; his legs are long enough to be well-talented. Adding that he'd now strive for A's and work hard at home and for the neighbors doing chores, I covered his free time well.

I was done. My head was pounding from the effort of all these changes, fighting his mind and winning over. He was sweating buckets, his head lolling back and forth, whimpering as I released my grip on his mind. He groaned, and I let his body go; immediately, his hands went to his head and squeezed as it tried to press out all the changes I'd made. Then he looked up, his eyes a little red, and I heard his mind screaming obscenities and demanding I undo it all, but what came out of his mouth, as his body straightened up on the chair, was nothing like his previous mental statements. "Please, sir, may I have an Asprin and a glass of water, if it isn't too much trouble?"

His eyes widened, and his mind reeled as I got him his request, his hand shakily taking them, and after swallowing the pill and water, he smiled and whimpered meekly, "Thank you, sir. May I go home now? It's far past my bedtime, and I have an early day tomorrow…" His hand unconsciously took his hat off and rubbed his greasy hair. We stood up, and I dismissed him; his last words were, "Have a great night, sir, thank you!" he ran to his house, leaving his bike in my yard.

It had been a few weeks now, and I hadn't had the chance to see the boy, as I'd been traveling. When I came home, I found a stranger in my front yard with a lawn mower and water bottle. When I pulled in, I recognized him at once! It was Dylan!

He was wearing an impeccably clean yet damp white tank-top undershirt, a pair of athletic shirts, and an immaculate pair of sneakers, taking a long drink from his bottle and pushing the mower in what looked to be an impossibly straight line. The entire yard looked immaculate! When he turned around, I was looking into the eyes of a completely new boy, a perfect example of a young man. His hair was precise as I'd programmed, He'd even trimmed up his pits, and his chest was shaved bare. He looked clean, aside from the sheen of sweat from the sun and heat, and he'd been working out a bit, the perfect build for a swimmer and the legs of a champion runner!

"Good afternoon, sir!" He politely stated, stopping the mower and shaking my hand. I read his mind; his internal personality was screaming, begging me to fix him, that he learned his lesson. I read the last few weeks' memories and found that his gang had rejected him after getting cleaned up, they didn't want a preppy fag boy in their group, but luckily, he found a new group! The swim team accepted him almost immediately after his tryout.

I'd given him above-average skills and knew they were all good boys like him. I also found that, after the weeks of change, his parents finally showed him acceptance and even praise; his grades were up, he was showing a lot of potential in English, probably due to his new dictionary of a vocabulary, and they let him get a puppy, after he'd asked and promised to take care of him. His life was the epitome of a perfect schoolboy, polite and disciplined, and as he craved, he was now loved and wanted by the entire neighborhood; everyone loved him! Especially since he'd taken to helping the elderly residents, he even had a new girlfriend from the track team. Inside, he was a screaming mess, his rebellious mind still fighting and demanding to be released, but that'd never happen again!

[class1akids]

Looking back at the manga now that MHA has ended, I wonder if it was HK’s intent all along to go with the ending he did.

Mangaka’s have to plan in advance right? Unless it works differently in Japan, don’t they have to provide a story board and such, along with the idea of what the end will be. Because looking at MhA as a whole, it makes it seem like there is hope in tragedy, the only issue is the execution because the pay off seemed underwhelming, even if the villains were killed. Idk how otherwise HK could have wrapped this manga off with the pay off people wanted.

As an example, looking at the Todoroki plot which is one of the more in depth aspects of the story. Looking back it does seem like Dabi was meant to die in the end, how he “stepped” in to the light with Hawks as I remember seeing metas on that symbolizing hope or such (and now I wonder if it just means Dabi literally stepped into the light.) Aside from that, HK didn’t really give us any signs in MvA, he just kept hammering in how “evil” the villains were, making it seem like they were too far gone, and in the end, it did come off that way where they had to die in order to find peace.

The point is, wouldn’t a mangaka have to have a defined goal in order to publish? Or is it solely based on the decision of an artist chapter by chapter. Apologies if what I said above comes off weird, I’m just frustrated with how it ended, and I just question if HK did intend for this ending all along. After all, why publish it if it wasn’t his intention? Killing the villains is so far on the other side of the bar compared to saving them, I wonder if he thought he was too far gone unthinking they could live in his planning unless Shonen didn’t allow it? But yet again looking at it, it would NOT have been hard to change it up at the end for them to live. He just chose not to. But like I said, maybe he intended for them to die all along with all this set up he was doing for the kids to save the villains hearts. It was never about keeping them alive and maybe people misinterpreted that? Because when exactly did people start talking about the villains being capable of being saved? Or was it just a bias that came up for villains stans.

I wish I could talk to HK and know what it was like. Because it seems like he’s happy with how his manga ended, so maybe it was his plan all along?

I think he needs to have a general plan, but it's not like the story was pre-written. Mangaka have to be ready to end it on short notice if their manga is not successful. Horikoshi at that point already had 2 of his previous manga axed and from interviews, we know he was very insecure and worried and kept changing things in accordance with reader feedback.

As for him changing his mind, we know of two examples that he talked about:

He wanted to have the Forest arc longer with more fights, and to reveal the traitor soon after, but did not do it, as readers' feedback was negative on the villains. So he cut that arc short.

He wanted Endeavor to die in the PLF war and decided to keep him alive - this is obviously one of those big swings between life or death that had impact on the entire story. And looking at Act 3, it's clear that he did not think through properly all of the impact it would have.

We also know that often he did things last minute - for example, Nagant's design and her backstory came from him watching the movie Wanted like 2 weeks before he published the chapter. So obviously that means he changed stuff about the HPSC plot as well compared to what he had originally planned.

As for WSJ meddling: I'm not sure how much influence the editors had. We know that even though he wanted originally Deku to be a quirkless tech-based character, and an adult, the editors at the time forced him to put it into the high school setting and give Deku a power.

But towards the end, he always said that his editors were basically inexperienced yes-men who just cheered him on with whatever he wanted to do. So I'm not sure that WSJ "forced" him to kill the villains, or told him to end with a hetero romance.

But the editors pre-screen the fan mail - so knowing how much Horikoshi was influenced by reader feedback, obviously an editor would be able to manipulate him depending which feedback is given to him.

And in the end, I think he was just burnt out and wanted to end it. I feel like with how abruptly the fight ended after AFO came back in 419, it's not necessarily the big epic scene he had planned, but had no energy to execute whatever he had originally in mind and just finished it. That's the only way I can read why he'd give his MC such a whimper-like ending for his big fight.

[rowanthestrange]

First I think the old lady is Missy because I think the Master bigenerating is guaranteed at some point in this, and also cus red nails picking up the ring - as she does. There was the master knot, so gotta be relevant.

But also if Rusty is In Our Walls, he knows the alcoholism - her with the gin.

[repressionmd]

hi!! this looked so fun and was honestly such a confidence boost i hadnt realised that 1. i'd written so much and 2. a thousand kudos and three hundred bookmarks is SO many. wow. thank you to everyone you've made my last couple of months so amazing <3

(specifically last couple of months because i only started writing in. mid september 😭)

here's a little overview of my fics in chronological order :)

let's not linger around another day: canon divergence from s3e22 when wilson is on speed and in house's apartment: what if they kissed?

this fic is so special to me for being inspired by a chance interaction with someone who has become such a close friend (shoutout @defibrillism for restarting my writing career), for being the first thing i wrote for house and for the honest to god overwhelming reaction i got for it. like. i was expecting nothing and got.. this.

like. what in the world. life changing. stunning. im still in awe.

2. i'll wait for your love: wilson gets sick and has a raging migraine, and house comes to help. (also wilson accidentally confesses his love and house reciprocates not realising wilson is semi-lucid and also they share a bed eventually. because why not <3)

somehow i posted this literally the day after the first one. how did that happen. HOW. the power those old men had over me... (well. my headmate. but still)

3. this thing is supposed to be give-and-take: house accidentally goes too far and hurts himself and calls wilson. in which i ruminate on wilson's depression and his relationship with house, and how house is cruel (whether purposefully or not) through actions but wilson uses words.

this fic has my favourite lines i think, out of all of them

He focused on bandaging House's arm, making a mental note to refill his car's first aid kit. It was basically House's first aid kit. He never used it for anyone else. Either way. Needed restocking. Because this could happen again. It probably would. Because you just proved, again, that you'll get up whenever, go wherever, and come to fix him. Because he refuses to get actual help, so you're left to pick up the pieces.

also i just loved writing the dialogue for this. they're really raw and honest with each other and for once, house is on the back foot. i think its absolutely fascinating that house knows everything about everyone except wilson. wilson can keep shit from house like no one else.

and it took top spot in my heart over the kutner lives fic purely because it genuinely came to me out of nowhere and i had such fun writing an evil ending >:)

4. the sun-filled god of love: wilson, in a softer universe, shares a piece of his recovery with house.

another one i was overwhelmed by the response for! i was genuinely debating even sharing this one with friends because it was so close to my heart but you guys are all so kind <3

5. why don't we talk about it?: kutner lives! in the same universe as 'the sun-filled god of love', in which he doesn't quite work out the timings properly and his suicide attempt is paused by a convenient phone call from his disgruntled boss.

this fic makes me feel a bit sick with envy asjgk. it's a GOOD ending for my favourite guy ... i was so nervous to write something in kutner's voice but i really leaned into uh... suicidality. don't read into that. this year was. tough for me. and it was so healing to write this, and i'm so glad its helped other people <3

bonus fun fact the title is from this poem, and refers specifically to the elation from feeling like you do not want to die anymore. - "why don't we talk about it? how good it feels."

6. i think my heart is ready to die: in which i fill in the blank of the drunken fight house 'doesn't remember' in s6e20 "baggage"

one of my first fic ideas, prompted when i was actually watching the scene for the first time! its one of my favourites purely because i really enjoy putting house through the fucking wringer. and his psyche is fascinating to me.

7. thinking of you: my secret santa gift for @hydraulicfluidinmyteapot! a softer little thing about gift giving and gay chicken to round off the year :) featuring more accidental on purpose bed sharing !!

tagging whoever wants to do this :)!!

my ao3 wrapped! tagged by @greghousebignaturals, template by @spicedrobot

2024 was my first year of getting back into writing fanfic since literally 5 years ago - and I only got back into it in the second half of the year (and I'll still be posting more stuff before 2024 is over lbr)

very briefly, these are the House fics I wrote this year, in chronological order:

Kill the Mood: Hilson try doing doctor roleplay during sex (and fail)

Bonk: Wilson gets a concussion :)

Don't Touch Me: Wilson hates physical contact and has a bad time

inappropriate use of hospital technology: House sends Wilson a dickpic and trans!Wilson jerks off about it

acting like a tough guy: House avoids Wilson on Valentine's Day (Wilson is very endeared by this)

sleep(less): Wilson is sleep deprived to the point of hallucinating a week after he started dating House

Slow Blink: Wilson is turned into a kitten. House is confused by cat body language

ow: trans!Wilson has period cramps

oh, and one more thing: Wilson gets hurt, House mother hens him, Wilson is a little shit

Want/Deserve/Receive: Wilson starts dating House and freaks out because he doesn't feel like he's allowed to be happy

the truth I chose to bend myself around: House accidentally takes truth serum. Nobody believes him (wip)

Tie Me Up, Pull My Leash: Wilson bets House to wear a tie and then tugs on it like a leash and they make out about it

I'm tagging @itooaminthisepisode and @oldmanffucker and @coffins-and-marbles and @defibrillism (if you wanna)

template below

[wonder-worker]

I've been thinking about the tragedy of Elizabeth Woodville living to see the end of her family name.

I don't mean her family with her husband, which lived on through her daughter and grandson. I mean her own.

Her sisters died, one by one, many of them after 1485. When Elizabeth died, only Katherine was left, and she would die before the turn of the century as well.

All her brothers died, too. Lewis died in childhood. John was executed. Anthony was murdered. Lionel died suddenly in the peak of Richard's reign, unable to see his niece become queen. Edward perished at war. Richard died in grieving peace. For all the violence and judgement the family endured, it was "an accident of biology" that ended their line: none of the brothers left heirs, and the Woodville name was extinguished. We know the family was aware of this. We know they mourned it, too:

“Buy a bell to be a tenor at Grafton to the bells now there, for a remembrance of the last of my blood.”

Elizabeth lived through the deposition and death of her young sons, and lived to see the end of her own family name. It must have been such a haunting loss, on both sides.

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[anabetel35]

Going Crazy over Vania/Harumi again. Especially Harumi's-redemtpion-arc Vania/Harumi.

Harumi who spent most of her life either acting or being driven by her hatered and anger alone. Who reached a point in her (second) life where she doesn't need to act because there is no one to decieve and where her anger has no clear target. Where she doesn't have anyone to devote herself to, to base her entire being on. A ruler of nothing but herself, with more strength than she can handle.

Vania who spent so much of her life being true to herself and acting with love and care towards everyone who came her way and didn't strike first. Who looked on as her only remaining family tried to kill her heroes, terrorized two whole nations and then tried to take over the world. Who was cast into a life where she has no one to fall back on by her side and a kingdom with twice as many people as it did during her father's rule and twice as many problems, too. A ruler of so many with so few rescources and even less experience.

Harumi who lost her family to an evil beyond the control of the ninja and who chose to pin the blame on humans and not destiny -- on beings that she knew that she could hurt if she only tried hard enough.

Vania who lost what little she had left of her family to an evil beyond the control of the ninja and who chose to pin the blame on evil itself, her father, destiny -- anything and everything, just so that she wouldn't end up hurting anyone who didn't deserve it at all.

Harumi who spent so much of her life actively choosing to hate.

Vania who spent so much of her life actively trying to love.

And then they meet. Both princesses. Both sure that they should despise each other, because they stand (or stood) for opposite things.

But then Vania's reluctant attempts at only partially judging Harumi for what she did, at being polite but not mean, turn into being kind and a bit smitten. Harumi's determination to become a good person (or someone who does some good, at least) drives her into appreaciating Vania, slowly but surely placing her on the same pedestal that she devoted to the Overlord and Garmadon before him.

Vania, raised by a single father, lonely upon an ivory throne of problems, starts to fall for the girl who gives her advice on managing a population. Who reminds her that she needs to rest in order to be as strong as she possibly can. Who teaches her to have a steady hand, somehting that she might need help with sometimes.

Harumi, someone who's never let herself be properly liked by someone so real, a love so true as Vania's, begins to adore the girl that teaches her how to be a teenager even despite their postions -- even despite the fact that one of them is a queen and the other is the ex-right hand of two evil overlords. The girl that doesn't hesitate to communicate how she feels. That offers Harumi a shoulder to lean on.

[void-sand-cat]

Screw continuing the timeline into the future or expanding on the start of the franchise, I want Steel Wool to elaborate on what happened between FNaF 1 & 3.

We have a 23 – 30 year gap where we have NO IDEA what happens. Fazbear still exists and is doing alright; Pizza Sim & everything after doesn't function without that being true, as Henry dissolves the company, but it was still profitable for someone to bring it back.

Serously, what was happening with Freddy's between 1993/1992 and 2015/2017/2023? (We don't even know how long the time period is. We have been given nothing)

SL might be in that time period, but it's not like we have any confirmation on that. And SL is the only thing we even have the possibility of existing.

I don't want anything big, just a line somewhere mentioning what the company is doing. Even something like "Fazbear started franchising in 20XX, and a few new locations opened up — most closed in a few years. Rarely you hear rumors of nightguards disappearing, but no one believes any of them"

Boom! Now we got SOMETHING. Nightguards kept dying, and Fazbear kept making enough money to exist, but not a whole lot. We even have a reason why Fazbear Fright opened — Fazbear Entertainment was trying to dispel rumors about the nightguard position being dangerous/exploit those rumors for money (and a reason for the FNaF 3 nightguard to be part of the attraction)

Optimally, we would get more than that — I know a lot of us would LOVE to know what Henry was up to in those 23 – 30 years, or even a mention of Mike's existence beyond 1 monolog — but anything is better than the complete silence we have now.

Please, Steelwool, although the beginning and the future of Freddy's are fascinating, there's a massive gap in the middle of the timeline that we know NOTHING about.