#maybe in the summer when it’s all said and done? idk i probably don’t make any sense

[hinakyuu]

warning: gonna be an asshole real quick. (also my opinion is my own, i don’t speak for anyone else, etc. )

ok but we have so many dynamics here within our own team. real, strong bonds. plus uhh proximity? idk why there are ppl with a foot in both sides solely due to fictional ships. like i’ll make it easy for u. if u don’t know who to root for and are “conflicted” then just go ahead and root for the other team. after the behavior they displayed today if that hasn’t made up ur mind then maybe i don’t want even half of ur support for my team

[literaticat]

Hi Jenn ~ Thank you for being a lighthouse in our wilderness! I write fiction and signed with my literary agent almost fifteen months ago. She has 13 clients and a young child. That said, she takes *months* between emails. Nudges don’t seem to make a difference. (We’ve done a few revisions; I’m very happy with them). However, I cannot understand the snail’s pace of both her working speed and correspondence, and I’m concerned about how she’ll deal with my future publisher if she’s soooo slloowww to respond to things. Or is this the general pace of the industry in general? Are editors the same? Are YOU the same with your clients?

It's generally a very slow industry. Yes, many editors/publishers are the same way. I might hear "I love this, and I want to make an offer" -- but then weeks or months pass before that offer actually comes. I might GET an offer, and then weeks or months pass before that negotiation is concluded and the offer actually closes. I might close a deal and then months and more months pass before a contract comes. Etc, etc. You get the picture.

SOMETIMES any or all of this will be quicker -- I've certainly also gotten offers in a day, resolved negotiations in a week, and gotten the contract swiftly -- but swiftness is sadly not the norm, and I really don't blink when it takes weeks or months (sometimes many, many months) to resolve something. Anything. Things that seem easy. Yes, it's frustrating. No, there's virtually nothing I can do to really speed things up that don't want to be sped up.

Basically, in the world of publishing, ASAP often means "later this week at best", "tomorrow" means "next week-ish" -- "this week or next" means "this month or next", "in a few weeks" means "in a few months", "in a few months" means "six months from now", "around Spring " means "end of summer probably" -- "around Fall" means "in the new year" -- ETC.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm guilty of this too -- but I am, sometimes, for sure. Particularly if what needs doing is something that involves other people - like, I'm sharing such-and-such with somebody else, or I'm trying to get an answer out of so-and-so, or whatever - a lot of times I simply DO NOT have answers, and it takes a really long time to get them. (And editing takes me a long time, tbh!) -- But I do try to be as speedy as possible when it's a question where I DO know the answers or when something is a priority, like there is money, a pending offer, etc, involved.

ALL THAT SAID: I don't know whether your agent is being slow on ALL things, or if she's generally on-the-ball but slow on turning around edits (maybe understandable) -- or if she's not responding when she just doesn't have a response yet because of other people needing to chime in, or what, you know? You don't say if you've already been on submission or not -- submissions can be REALLY excruciatingly slow, and no news is just... no... news. You don't say if she's slow answering things that really are actually quick things that don't involve others. Soooo... I don't know if your agent's slowness with one type of correspondence means she'd also be slow with publishers (probably not, but idk!) -- or if she is "slow but in the fairly normal way that everything in publishing can be slow" or "slow because she's forgotten about you" or something else.

I DO know that if you are generally speaking happy (the edits are good, you like her, etc) -- but this lack of communication is making you quite unhappy, you need to have a conversation where you get a bead on what's happening with her, and ask for changes, or SOMETHING. Maybe "Hey, I love what we've done together with editing this ms, and I am totally aware that everything in publishing is slow as molasses, but I have to admit, my anxiety is through the roof when you don't reply to me for a long time. Can you possibly just acknowledge receipt of emails, and maybe give an ETA of when you think you'll have an answer? That would help my anxious brain immensely!" Or "I know submissions can take a lifetime, and "no news is no news" -- but my anxiety is in overdrive -- can we schedule a time to chat?" (OR SOMETHING!)

I am sure you don't want to be pushy, but if you don't ask, you don't get. You are allowed to ask for what you need. If she can't or won't try to 'meet you where you live', at least, maybe it's time to figure out whether the good parts of this relationship outweigh the bad parts, what you can live with and what you can't, and go from there.

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

For the ask game: orchid, abelia, mahonia, camellia, ivy, and aloe vera ☺️💜

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

Oh wow I don’t know if I can answer this 😅 There are lots of songs I consider to be really good but perfect? I don’t know. If it was done perfectly it would have to be sung by either Layne Staley or Chris Cornell. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m biased but those men were absolute legends.

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

I don’t wear jewelry often but one piece I can’t part with is a bracelet I bought at a summer camp when I was seven. I love how it’s made and it’s very nostalgic for me. I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. Another piece I can’t part with was my great grandmother’s red heart necklace that she wore all the time. It has a few jewels missing but that’s okay.

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

I’d say music and other people’s art. It gives me a lot of inspiration. You guys have no idea how many animatics are playing in my head when I listen to music 💀

When ideas come to me, I either make a mental note or if it’s really good I’ll write it down so I don’t forget.

camellia ⇢ what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?

When I was a little kid, I was kinda loud, a lot less shy, and spoke my mind. I still do but not as openly. I didn’t start becoming introverted and shy until i was around 11 or 12. I’ve always had anxiety but it didn’t really start getting bad until that time period. And it’s just snowballed from there 🫠

I had a huge imagination back then and I was very creative. I came up with my own stories and made paper “books”. Way before I knew about OCs or fanfiction. Should’ve been a sign I guess.

From the time I was like 9-13 I was so cringe and annoying. I probably got on a lot of people’s nerves lmao. I was a weird kid. I’m still weird but’s a different weird. Idk how to explain it.

I have changed a lot but I still have some of the same interests and hobbies. My personality is definitely different though.

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

My face is definitely a dead giveaway. Like if I’m upset or mad at a situation you can definitely tell. When I’m happy, I get excited and my voice gets higher. When I get embarrassed or flustered, I blush and turn really red, sweat, or stutter. I hate it 😭 When I’m tired, my eyes are droopy and I’ll prop my head up on my arm. I’m usually not in a good mood at all when I’m tired.

I also have a resting bitch face so people usually just assume I’m either mad or sad all the time. Like one time I was just sitting peacefully minding my own business and this random old lady came up to me and said “you don’t have to look so sad all the time” I wanted to deck her 😀 

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

Cleaning and taking care of my own place.

Thank you for the ask! ☺️ Sorry it took so long. I had fun answering!

[word-wytch]

*Stalky fanperson word vomit incoming - you have been warned*

Firstly, I wanna say that I never, ever want to have to wait that long for an update every again. However, I also wanna say that this chapter was so freaking perfect that I’m really glad we had to! 😄 (I actually even managed to make it worse for myself by holding off reading it until I was certain I could give every one of the 18k words the time and attention it deserved, and I’m really glad I did - it’s utterly glorious!! 🥹) Congratulations on your summer-long work coming to an outstanding conclusion 👏👏👏

I wanted to do that thing that people do where they share their favourite sections, but I’m not even kidding when I say that if I did that I’d literally be copy and pasting the entire thing. Every. single. paragraph is literal poetry, art and/or a story in and of itself. You are a linguistic maestro, and I now have a new life goal of producing even just one line that comes even close to painting a picture like yours do (that’s the stalkery bit - I’m aware that this probably sounds a bit creepy 😬😬😆)

Also: me, before reading: OMGthey’regoingtokissOMGthey’regoingtokissOMGthey’regoingtokiss 🥹😃🥹😃🥹😃

Me, after reading: Ican’tbelievetheykissedIcan’tbelievetheykissedIcan’tbelievetheykissed 😱😱😱🤯🤯🤯

I still can’t quite believe they actually kissed, even though we all knew it was gonna happen. I thought maybe at some point one of them (r, most likely) would pull back and it would end as a heavy, emotionally loaded cuddle, or some touching, but damn, they actually crossed that line!!! I can’t wait to see how this affects things in the outside world from now on.

And the longing... The yearning... Ugh, it’s all so perfect! I don’t usually warm to these parts of a story, and even though they’re often necessary and essential I just want it to be over, but with these two? I’m a total convert.

I’m also seriously wondering how many other people have noticed or suspected what’s going on. We haven’t seen them from anyone else’s perspective yet, and by the reaction of the band, and those bits with Bill, I’m now concerned that they haven’t actually been as subtle as they/we think they have been, and it’s all gonna hit the fan realllllll sooooon…

(Plus, is Bill gonna be a problem? I said: is Bill gonna be a problem ? *raises one eyebrow and drops a closed fist into an open palm*)

I LOVE the being good/bad for each other internal battles that they’ve both got going on, it’s exquisite and so beautifully balanced, and adds a really special layer to both characters as well as the overall story.

Oh, and the song choices?!?! Puh-leeeeeze, SO PERFECT!!! 🥹🥹🥹🤩🤩🤩🥵🥵🥵 And Eddie on stage, singing, without his guitar?? I’ve never seen that done before, and it was exquisite!! 🙏🔥🙏🔥🙏🔥

IDK if you do a tag list, but if you do I’d love to be on it (and for anything else Eddie you write 😄). My brain is vibrating with both anticipation for the next part, and anxiety at the even slight suggestion that I might miss something 😵‍💫

Finally, I VISCERALLY AND BODILY **NEED** EDDIE’S TEETH ON MY NECK RIGHT TF NOW, so thank you for that… 🫠🫠🫠

‘K I think I’m done, thanks, bye 😆

Holy shit thank you SO much 🥹🥹🥹

It’s heartwarming to see my hard work so appreciated. I feel like “linguistic maestro” might be one of the highest compliments I’ve received so far. I’m incredibly flattered.

Our forbidden lovebirds have a lot of internal and external conflict weighing against them, and I am excited to explore this new phase of their relationship next chapter. As you can sense from the very last scene, they are on different pages when it comes to their attitudes about it. One has a whole lot more to lose than the other, and a whole lot more baggage when it comes to trust and relationships.

Part of what makes this so thrilling imo IS how dangerous it is. You bring up a good point with his friends and outside witnesses like Bill. You’ll certainly be getting hints of how they interpreted that night and what they think about the two of them in general as the story progresses.

I admittedly need to spend some time sitting down with my outline, as I am discovering that I might want to spend just a liiiitle more time (like one more chapter) exploring this limbo phase than originally planned. It’s so juicy being here, finally. The next phase will be even juicier ;)

I had closed my taglist for some time but I recently decided to open it back up and will add you. Thank you, again, so very much. 💕

[nyhne]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you’d like to know better!

Oops late to doing this but thanks for the tag, @puella-peanut !

What book are you currently reading? I’ve been taking a fiction break and reading The Sprawl, by Jason Diamond, which is about reconsidering the bad cultural rep of suburbs. And it’s pretty good! A good amount of research and depth without being too dense, but it’s also not a book that’s pandering to a shallow shelf grab (I will never forgive The Secret Life of Groceries for how bad it was).

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? Oif dude I’m terrible at remembering stuff like that. Did Marry Me come out this year or last year? Because that I will gladly rewatch again and again, so sue me.

What do you usually wear? During the work day it’s old jeans and work-tattered shirts since I’m a landscaper (or in winter’s case, long Johns, wool socks, jeans, undershirt, thin hoodie, thick hoodie). Outside of work, in the summer it’s usually a tucked in t-shirt and high waisted jeans, and in the winter it’s high waisted jeans and a sweater. I live in Seattle so I don’t usually get to wear my “”nicer””” East Coast stuff because god forbid someone wears a pair of slacks casually in this goddang city. (Said with affection for Seattle, but not for its odd fashion limitations).

How tall are you? About 5’2”.

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? Libra, and Keanu Reeves, maybe? Or maybe he’s just a Libra too. Idk, I truly barely keep track of celebrities unless I have to lol.

Do you go by your name or a nick-name? At my last job I went by a shortened name, partially just to try it out (it’s one of my short forms I go by at cafes or for fleeting intros as well), and partially because my boss barely attempted with my full name on day one. Don’t have a lot of fondness for my full name outside of the fact that it means a lot to my mom but it’s whatever. Most online spaces that are relatively separate from “real life” I still go by Roshon.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child? Hmm not sure I had any concrete ideas on what I wanted to be when I was a kid…fleeting daydreams of geologist, chef, non-specific scientist, civil servant? Museum work when I was in high school and college. And it’s not that I didn’t become any of those things, but I think they’ve all been incorporated into who I am today and I’m not sure I’d need to be any of those things professionally to feel fulfilled. Also I love what I do now, but I highly suspect I’ll be one of those people who live a lot of different lives…restaurant work, administration, landscaping….

Are you in a relationship? If not, who is your crush if you have one? Engaged! We’ve been together for about five and a half years. (: does that make me sound old or what lol

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at? Being patient; it’s pretty easy for me to exercise patience and take a step back on stuff. I’m bad at admitting I don’t know things, especially things related to pop culture. There are some things (like knowing actors, for example) I’m very open to admitting, but other things like familiarity with famous movies or tv shows, I’m just bad at admitting I haven’t seen them?? It’s dum. Idk why I’m so self-conscious about it.

Dogs or cats? Both, and even though I live with a dog I adore, on a shallow level I probably still favor cats more? But our dog is very dum and cute.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year? Got back into my bullet journal this past year and was pretty pleased with my October theme. Maybe not The Favorite thing I’ve done this year but I’m old and poor with technology so this is as good as it gets. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRguKuX8/

What’s something you would like to create content for? I still have PruAus fics I want to see through one day. Not necessarily holding myself to that promise. But I’d like to. Not sure if that actually answered the question.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? Making a mini crevice garden.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? My previous job- really liked it when I started, and the first half year I was there, and then slogged through the winter months and thought it’d be better in summer when they get busier but it just felt worse. Not necessarily a purely them thing, I’m sure, but still.

What’s a hidden talent of yours? My German, maybe? That might be more of a ‘nobody expects the Asian kid to know any German’ kind of thing, moreso than a hidden talent. Also, half talent, since I’m still not fluent. Did decent when I was in Berlin in October, though!

Are you religious? Spiritual, maybe, religious, no. Still vaguely consider myself Unitarian, but even then it’s still more as a community/mindset thing rather than a religious structure thing.

What’s something you wish to have at this moment? A 7,5-10 gallon tank that’s in a more vertical format rather than horizontal…really itching to redo the scaping in the tank and get a few more fish. Still recovering from the holidays, though, haha. So I guess it all comes back to money, predictably.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

(reads tags) Ahh so I misunderstood the prompt a bit. I think the deities would be like the founders of the clans who got mythologized as time passed. Palkiacat being said to see anywhere across space and while Dialgacat was able to see anywhen across time. As for the wardens and the nobles, my first though was make them cats (and I like the idea of Sneasler being Ingo's mentor when he first joins Pearlclan), but if we really stretched the wc rules [1/5]

[ The nobles could be like other animals that are living in the area that have developed a mutual relationship with the clans for several generations. The wardens have similar roles to pla canon, but with slightly less of a religious bent. They're more ambassadors than attendants. There's a friendly badger that speaks cat in later series so it could work. And other predators are implied to be similarly sapient as the cats (sometimes) [2/5]

Canon warrior naming styles would be the most fun but just sticking to pla canon would be less potentially confusing. I don’t think Ingo would be super comfortable being renamed though. It’s like the one thing that he remembers and gives him a sense of identity in the aftermath so I don’t think he’d give it up even if it would make things easier for him. [3/5]

Hardest part of translating hisui to a smaller scale would trying to figure out how to make the alabaster icelands and the crimson mirelands work right next to each other. Though i guess you could rely on seasonal weather to do the heavy lifting. Winter and summer would be the times of year the respective regions most resemble their ingame counterparts. [4/5]

Also, its funny mentioned the leaders not being chosen and having only one life because in the current arc one of the clans is going through a succession crisis after the death of their leader and deputy and due to starclan being contactable right now due to events in the previous arc that's actually a pretty pressing concern. Sorry for the spam I saw your answers and was turning them over in my head during work. Worldbuilding is fun :D. [5/5] ]

oooh mythologized clan founders (pearlstar and diamondstar?) is really fun. and then by extension would they also be like, the Founders of starclan? admittedly my recall for the starclan lore is not super fresh but maybe in this au there's something where like. they were the first cats that went to starclan when they died bc their souls like, created it, and subsequently all the clan cats got to join them in death. and the NOBLES BEING NON-CAT ANIMALS... that's very very fun i like that. i remember the badger i liked the badger this is fun. and then the wardens being like, apprentices/assistants to the nobles in whatever task they work with the clan for... but then it's also kinda hard to assign all of them to their own unique animals. like some of them are obvious but what about electrode? lilligant? avalugg? and idk abt the vibes of having these ten different animals all involved it might get to be a little Much on top of the regular warriors stuff

otoh sneasler being ingo's mentor at first is VERY fun yes. and that's an ez warrior name like she's direclaw bam done. idk if dire is a valid prefix but i also dont really care considering i already said "iridistar" earlier so i think we're past that point. i DO think warrior cats-ifying their names sounds like a fun challenge esp. if we want to pull occasionally from the fact that a lot of the pla names are derived from different plants. melli is now tea-something. sabi is spicepaw. and like... ingo being a clan cat but keeping his old name is kind of an interesting reverse ravenpaw thing BUT if we want to REALLY angst him up, and considering pearlclan would probably really prefer if he took a "normally" formatted name, we could just. say that he forgot even his name. and then eventually Remembers it later and gets to have that crisis

that's true abt the climate shift hmmm. WELL if it's similar to the regular landscape of hisui, we could say that they live on a mountainside and the climate shifts are due to verticality, w/ the "icelands" being the highest-up point that the cats usually venture to? which you still probably wouldn't get AS dramatic as canon hisui is, but you can get a pretty significant temperature change by moving up and down. and then you can maybe have diamondclan runners vs pearlclan climbers too.

MMMM the one thing i like more than worldbuilding for stupid things: interpersonal political drama. so juicy to me. and dont apologize this is very fun!! this is what we're here for! kicking ideas around!!

[bigender-cowboy]

oh boy I think I saw this once but didn’t know what the fuck snogging was so let’s go!!!!!

1: Uhm. With my father. DEFINITELY NOT THE OTHER THOUGH!!!!!

2: My friend

3: not really actually. I’ve fully accepted everything I’ve ever done that I could actually regret.

4: nah. like the last thing I’ve embraced it all.

5: I have a partner and he’s VERY silly

6: for a good cause. preferably quick, but it doesn’t have to be.

7: uhhhh pasta with ketchup and sugar on it

8: hockey and ig if you count it archery. some people don’t though so. nothing professional.

9: Yes but not out of anxiety. ITS BECAUSE I ALWAYS BREAK THEM AND THEY GET UNEVEN

10: uhhhh idk some time this summer. last few months.

11: guys I might like my partner im not sure though

12: yeah and I’ve stayed up later than that. its not the hardest.

13: oh. yes. many people. its actually hard to get on that list but im autistic and people no no my things when i say them

14: yeah

15: three fish two cats

16: incredibly bored although I am getting amused by silly things

17: no why the fuck would I go in the bathroom to make out that is a stupid fucking spot

18: AAAAAAAAAA

19: NO!!!!!!!!!

20: bed (also it wasn’t sexual we were confused what the hype was about. we’re still confused what the hype is about)

21: me and my partner are in Maine rn with his family so probably rest because I get back to his place Saturday and im probably going home Sunday

22: no. IM ALREADY FATHER/SIBLING FIGURE TO LIKE 5 DIFFERENT PEOPLE IM DONE WITH THAT

23: no I used to have 3 on both ears and they all got ripped out/horribly damaged in different ways that all led to hospital trips

24: History. My teacher said I knew more than he did once. So.

25: not really. If it’s IN the past my mom but not her present form.

26: hot chocolate and powdered donuts

27: bi girls love me or something (yes)

28: nope

29: uhm. no? yeah? idk.

30: my partners rats keep attacking each other.

31: yaya

32: Maroon or burgundy. Wine color.

33: ehh. yeah. kind of.

34: uhhhhh I think I watched my partner fall off a building before turning into a bird. idk.

35: my partner but not in a actually serious way. the last person I did that in-front of was my father (in relief/joy)

36: no. im very stubborn. grudge holder.

37: neither??? ig forgive???

38: I thought not and then I thought about it and honestly maybe. not counting being a little kid, JUST maybe.

39: fuck. when I got with my partner so like…1 1/2 years ago? age isn’t being dropped though.

40: once but I really needed to check something and I had NO time for clothes

51: lemons or fettuccine with shrimp and breadsticks or garlic bread

52: not really because idgaf about it its just whatever happens happens it doesn’t matter who you are because it’ll just happen

53: threw the leech bottle and had to find out where the leech went because the bottle opened

54: no.

55: I mean im pretty nice but im also pretty snappy and defensive so at times im definitely mean but not always

56: uhm. i don’t know. dude i used to live in a trailer park where knives were pulled on you so a lot of fucking people???? i don’t know???

57: no

58: light drizzle or heavy snow

59: yes, I don’t think you’ve completed life until you’ve tied a sled to the back of a truck and gotten dragged across snow covered roads.

60: no, I hate marriage. Although I did promise my friend I would marry him for taxes if needed.

61: SHDBDBBSBS NO I HATE THE WORD BABY SO MUCH SHDND

62: a lot of things? my partner? friends? fandoms? idk

63: uhh. I already did just not to anyone but my friends and social media. legally? sure

64: nope. it was my partner.

65: tell them that I don’t like them because I have a partner and keep hanging out with them after

66: uhhh I don’t know how close I am with any cis guys. only trans guys. actually ONE guy. yes.

67: my partner’s mom’s boyfriend I think

68: my friend

69: not really

70: yeah

Open tags

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[maddieladner1999]

Bad Idea Right? Chapter 9

After graduation, Ricky was free for the summer. And he was excited because that meant time with EJ. EJ was still staying with his aunt and uncle and not talking to his dad. Ricky understands why but it’s still his dad and EJ should talk with him. So he decides to talk to EJ about it. He’s not gonna push just open the conversation to the idea

He decides the conversation is best had in person so he heads over to Ashlyn’s. Her parents aren’t home and she lets him in. She calls for EJ and they go to the guest room which is now just EJ’s room. 

Ricky: I was thinking more about what my parents said about you telling your dad. Have you thought about telling your dad?

EJ: no I haven’t why?

Ricky: I just think it might be good for you to talk to him. You don’t have to start with that just you know getting back on terms with him

EJ: why? He cut me off. He can’t even be proud of the things I’ve done. I mean I directed a musical in 2 weeks and he could care less

Ricky: I know and it sucks but he’s your dad. Maybe telling him about all your college achievements will show him you’re better off than he thought you’d be

EJ: what do you mean?

Ricky: like you said he cut you off. You’re a full time college student in an acapella group with 3 jobs to pay for your college tuition all by yourself. That’s impressive. 

EJ: you think he’d care?

Ricky: you won’t know till you talk to him. But I bet he thinks you’re not capable of keeping your life together like you are. Probably stays in touch with your aunt and uncle just to see if your ok. I can’t imagine he’d just stop caring all together. 

EJ: you’re right. I guess I can try but that’s it. And no I told you so from either of us depending on how this goes

Ricky: why would you say I told you so anyway?

EJ: cause I don’t think he’ll be impressed. 

Ricky: you don’t have to you know. It was just a thought. You can wait till you’re ready. 

EJ: I might never be ready to face him but it’s ok. One step at a time right? I’ll just call him give an update and see what happens. 

Ricky: ok well goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow right?

EJ: yeah. I think I’ll call him after you leave. I should do it before my aunt and uncle return

Ricky: keep me posted then. 

EJ: of course. I love you you know. 

Ricky: really? I had no idea. 

EJ: ha ha very funny

Ricky: love you too you dork

So Ricky leaves EJ alone and after a few minutes he calls his dad 

——————-

EJ’s pov

EJ is waiting to see if his dad even answers and to his surprise he does

Cash: EJ, what do you want?

EJ: just thought I’d talk to you

Cash: about what? Another stupid musical? When are you gonna get your life together? 

EJ: I have gotten my life together

Cash: I doubt it

EJ: well tell that to my 3 jobs to support my college tuition. The fact that I’m a full time college student supporting my own self. All cause my father cut me off cause I didn’t want to go to his stupid business school

Cash: you aren’t gonna make a living in musicals. 

EJ: I never said I was. I liked directing sure but there are so many fields with that that make money. I could be a movie director. I could direct a Broadway play. They make money

Cash: you’d have to be good to do that though son. Idk if you’re good enough 

EJ: is that what it takes for you to believe in me? Proving you wrong? I guess I’ll do that then. See you in 5 years

Cash: it’s good you’re taking care of yourself. I’m impressed I just think you aren’t thinking your future through. You need a plan

EJ: I have a plan. I’m gonna get a film production master and become a director and you’ll see just how wrong you are. 

Cash: and if you fail?

EJ: I’ll still be better off without your opinion. I don’t even know why I bothered I knew you wouldn’t care. You wouldn’t try. 

Cash: son wait. I’m willing to try if you just go for a realistic career. Like sports doctor or something 

EJ: I don’t owe you anything anymore. You can’t accept me for me then forget it. I’m not gonna go halfway just to meet you. It’s my life. I’m gonna choose my own path. 

Cash: I guess this is goodbye then. 

EJ: goodbye dad. Wasn’t nice knowing you. 

EJ hangs up before his dad says something else and FaceTimes  Ricky. Ricky immediately answers of course, shirtless and brushing his teeth. 

Ricky: *holding toothbrush* hold on a sec

EJ: nice to know you do brush your teeth

Ricky: you saying my breath sticks or something?

EJ: only occasionally. 

Ricky: so what’s up how’d it go?

EJ: he sucks still. Tried to meet me halfway say I should choose a reasonable career path like sports doctor and he’d try. I told him I wasn’t gonna meet him halfway. He needs to accept me as I am

Ricky: good for you standing up to him. So you didn’t tell him you’re gay. 

EJ: nope. Didn’t  see the point. He can’t even come to terms with the theatre thing or my chosen path of becoming a director. 

Ricky: you decided your major?

EJ: yep! I’m starting film school in the fall. 

Ricky: I’m so excited for you. 

EJ: thanks. Sorry you were wrong. 

Ricky: it’s ok. He wasn’t even impressed by you putting yourself through school?

EJ: he was actually but it wasn’t enough to get him to try to be my dad again. 

Ricky: it might be a helpful step though. Maybe he’ll reach out?

EJ: I doubt it. We said goodbye. I basically told him I’d see him again when I prove him wrong and become the director he doesn’t think I can be

Ricky: oh well go EJ! Stick it to him

EJ: I should get some sleep good night. 

Ricky: good night. I love you. 

Note: so Lynn is great and cash sucks. Sounds like that’s about right. also yes finally updating this with more!

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Starting to think me being productive is the reason for my sports woes, so maybe I should stop writing. Meanwhile I finally wrote snow on the beach for midnights. I’m gonna chill for real though and read my books I got from the library that I haven’t touched yet

Update: I know I said no writing. But I just have to note googling lawyer from reading through emails to make sure they’re not divorce lawyers as an idea. Group chat convos that are not fandom related can also lead to great inspo

Update 2: still very much stuck on this ship and got no reading done. It hasn’t even been a full day. Good news is I wrapped all of my Christmas presents! And I have no desire to write so I guess I’m still going strong on the no more writing and see if that ends my sports woes. Will still be doing my regular updates though. And while I’m here, I reread my green card au today and it’s so self indulgent, I’m so happy I wrote it. I was kinda stressed while writing it and I wasn’t super happy with the ending at first, but when I went to reread it today I was like you know what? This reads like a shitty drama, and I’m okay with that. I mean I used to watch terrible dramas all the time, and I liked some of them. They can’t compare to the really good ones, but they have their moments. So yeah. I’m glad I wrote it and included American references cause it’s what I know

Update 3: I know I have no business saying shit cause I’ve written it before, but idk if I could see them cheating tbh. At least not in canon, which kinda gave me an idea that’s semi similar to a fic I read before… but I digress cause I’m still on my own writers strike. I think I’ve been ruined by the summer series and the vampire diaries, I’m really not fond of brothers fighting for the same person. Even if that person is my queen, it’s just so messy! So awkward too once you get past the initial stuff that people find intriguing about love triangles. Best case scenario in my eyes will always be the person they fight over doesn’t choose either and the brothers are cool again. But that never happens. I’m very family oriented so it just makes me sad to think that it fucks everything up. I know I’ve written about messy ship drama, but I don’t think I’m fond of reading it. Even when I’m writing it myself I’m kinda just like why is this happening? I don’t enjoy the process, but sometimes the story calls for it. Cause my fics write themselves and have a mind of their own. Idk I would just rather it be a non family member fighting for my queen. Plus in the context of shinshi versus CoShi, shinshi wins every time for me. I like when they both take the antidote or they both stay as their shrunken forms. I like when they’re equals. It’s literally the reason why I’ve never written a ShinAi fic despite it being popular. I hate the idea of it. I’m such a hater of the canon ship that I hate them even getting a shot for like ten years while my queen doesn’t get to move on. That’s so unfair. I would much rather she get to date and try and fall in love with other people too, instead of just waiting for him to turn around and realize he loves her. *sigh I just read some fics and I’m having mixed feelings, so I’m venting here cause I’m not an asshole who says mean shit in comments. Easiest way to get on my shit list is to hide behind screens and spread hatred, we get enough of that irl

Update 4: I was onto something about not writing to end my sports woes! My pens won!!! And we scored TWO Power Play Goals!!!! And a shortie!!! And it was big Jeff Carter!??!!?? Alright, I guess I should never write again. But to celebrate I will probably post the last chapter of devour so I can wrap up another wip

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Your ick for harry was very very weird and actually made me heavily dislike you. He’s not trying to imitate or be Freddie in anyway. He’s not even paying homage. He’s just a fan of him doing something he did bc he love him. And loads of artists do the same, no one is denying that was an iconic moment in history. He’s not trying to replicate it. If you really can’t understand why someone would do that then maybe you don’t get out much idk but that post was incredibly odd and painted you in an awful light.

THIS IS LONG...

I’m not saying he was trying to be Freddie? But maybe this is a good time to share that I’m a hugeee classic rock fan and geek. I heard my first Queen song at the age of 9 while my friend and I were playing on her driveway one summer. It was "Another One Bites the Dust". I remember the feeling in my chest when I first heard it. It was just warm and something clicked IDK what, but it altered my little 9yr old brain and I even asked my friend's dad, who was the one playing it while he worked in the garage, what that song was and I even remember the smile on his face when he said "Queen". LIKE THIS IS A CORE MEMORY FOR ME! As soon as I got regular access to a computer in the 8th grade (it was one at my mom’s work and explicitly to do homework) when I’d finish, you already know I was youtube-ing and googling and studying anything I could about classic rock. And I love it more than every other genre of music. It’s the genre that made me fall in love with music!

Like this music and those artist are indescribably special to me because despite only having about an hour of secret listening time a couple times a week, their music still managed to shape me and helped me find the courage to "Break Free" (haha) and find my own identity despite the really restrictive community I grew up in. And I don’t expect you to understand what it means to me personally and why I feel the way I do when I feel like people are watering down the significance and magic of moments so powerful and iconic such as the Live Aid call & response.

Like I know it’s not being done disrespectfully in any way, but to someone who literally idolizes rock music & history and Queen it just feels kind of second-rate for anyone else to do that, not just Harry. And I think we all know that "unoriginality" and anything short of spectacular is like total opposite of Harry. He empowers his audience in his own way all the time and had just as much charisma as those literal icons! He gets compared to so many rock icons all the time, but he has his own flare and way about things that just makes him so incredibly special! But the call & response will always be a Freddie Mercury staple to me and I cringe when anyone else does it, not just Harry. But I haven't responded as strongly to anyone else doing it as I did to Harry. Which is why it's my "ick" about him. LITERALLY THE ONLY THING HE'S EVER DONE THAT I CAN'T GET ON BOARD WITH LOL

And well, I think that’s the point of an “ick”? it’s something kind of stupid that just grinds your gears personally. And I’m not sure what you think “paying homage” means? But I'm pretty sure that's why Harry might be doing this with his large crowds. Because you're right, he's a fan of Queen as well and he's probably choosing to pay homage to Freddie through this mass-scale fan interaction. But that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing that Freddie shared with those fans during one of the most iconic shows in history! And maybe one day Harry will have his own “Live Aid moment” (I mean he’s well on his way to being an icon by his own merit) and do something history-making and iconic like that and people will copy him just like he's copying Freddie now. And we’ll be like “damn, no one comes close to how Harry Styles did that!” You know?

And again, this is my personal feelings and opinion! And the internet is a place to share those. So as crazy as you think I am for mine, I feel the same about your opinion on deciding to dislike a person over something so trivial (which this is, at the end of the day) LOL I respect your feelings though and I even acknowledged it on my page and gave you that platform to also have a voice! Even if it was to try and upset me or to just tell me that my opinion on an "ick" is stupid or whatever your purpose for speaking up was. If my "ick" post means you decided to unfollow that's cool with me! I hope you have a lovely weekend, friend! 🫶🏻

[fruit-jpg]

tee hee [vent]

I love this never ending loop of suffering !

No matter what I do with my life, it feels like it’s never going to allow me to have a moment of peace. I was so excited to start a new chapter of my life, I was really thinking everything would be better! New job where I get to tattoo all the time, some comfort at home, like yeah ! Things are going to go well for me!

What a fucking lie I told myself, holy shit. I’m not making any money since no one’s been coming into the shop much, and I’m trying to put out good work but it’s not coming, and I’m at a point where I probably won’t even afford my phone bill. I can’t afford to even sit in the shop and work and hope for a walk in, I can’t even get myself something to eat without feeling like a burden onto my coworkers, even if they offer to get me something I feel terrible about it. And all the worse, I have no one to rely on at home. I tried and it backfired and I’m being told how nothing pans out right, how I can’t be helped anymore, “I can’t raise you” (what a crazy thing to say to me because I needed help, but what fucking ever right). I’m so sad for my boyfriend and I’ve felt like nothing but a burden to him. I hate that he feels he has to be a ‘crushing voice of reality’ to me and that he’s felt that way for months but has never said anything bc I get pouty. It isn’t even that I pout but I’m so hyperempathetic (or maybe just regular empathetic idk) that it makes me sad when things don’t feel okay to someone ! I don’t know ! And I feel so fucking guilty and the guilt never goes away, it just latches on to one thing or the other… and to top that off I have to struggle..

I can’t ask my mom, and I have no friends who could help me out, at this point I might have to walk to work ! I’m sure 4 hours in the summer heat won’t be bad for me at all. Im applying for part time jobs but all im getting is “we’ll reach out to you”. At this point im considering going back to my old job bc it’s the only thing I’m sure would take me, even though I hate it there, even though I know me trying to go back will cause a fight… I don’t want to keep feeling so doomed…

And alone…. I’m trying and failing not to cry in the shower over how horseshit my life actually is, how maybe I deserve all this after all, and that honestly this is a hell of my own design. I’ve done this too myself.

And I don’t know if I want to die, per se, to make this all end, but I don’t feel like living right now. Not that I will do anything about it. Not that this is really living to begin with. I can’t even bring myself to even self harm bc what’s the point? To cause another fight and to need to tattoo over it while I can’t afford it ? I’m a fucking joke, a tragic nearly Shakespearean joke of a human life. Hilarious tbh

[earlgreytea68]

Musings on Publishing

It used to be very popular for authors who published original stories but who “started out” writing fanfiction to characterize the experience in terms like this: “My fanfiction is like babysitting someone else’s kids, but my original stuff is like MY children.” The implication seemed to be that you had a closer, more enduring, lifelong bond with your original stuff (never mind this flattening of people’s relationships with children not their own).

I have no idea if authors still talk that way, because frankly once I became a published author I stopped listening to what people had to say about it. Because my experience of publication was so very much not what I expected it to be.

I’ll tell you a secret, which I can probably say now that I’ve ditched my agent and have no idea what I’m going to do in the future: I don’t think my original stuff is nearly as good as my fic, and I have much more of an attachment to my fic than to my original stuff. If we’re going to compare things to children, my fic is definitely much more my children. My fic is much more *me.* Every word you get in a fic is exactly how I wanted it to be, exactly how I chose it, exactly the things I wanted the characters to say, the mood I wanted to convey.

In my experience of publication, it is not that way. Maybe it’s not like that for everyone. I mean, I’m sure once you are an established author, you can do that. But maybe there are debut authors out there who, when they get edits back, just reject all of them and insist on the novel being published as they wanted it to be published. Maybe I should have done that. But I didn’t. As someone who has an aversion to editing but is told that it’s supposed to be a good thing, I made myself edit and edit and edit again, following all of the suggestions I was given. And at the end of the day, frankly, I hated the book. I couldn’t wait to never look at it ever again. I’m sure it’s better than I think, but it’s still not the book it was, or the book I wanted to write. It is something else entirely, some watered-down version of something, something that was stripped of all of my me-ness to make it fit into a marketing formula. You know the Fall Out Boy lyric, “I became such a strange shape trying to fit in”? That.

I think maybe it’s possible that some writers just assume that’s what the experience of putting a story out into the world is like? Or maybe not, maybe other writers have a much better experience than I did. I mean, I have to assume they are having much better experiences, because they all seem to keep writing and publishing, and they seem kind of happy doing it? I mean, a lot of them also complain a whole lot about having to write, which…does seem kind of like they don’t really like it, so Idk. This is all to say:

I’d been writing my whole life, and I’d been publishing stories for years before I was published. And I loved all of them. I put them out into the world so excited to share them, so excited to see what people said about them, so excited that people might love my characters as much as I did and want to cuddle all of them close. To this very day, I love writing, I love what I have written, and I love putting it out there. And I love and treasure what all of you have to say, but I write for me first. And maybe that makes me narcissistic, but actually, I think that’s a form of narcissism I think we could all enjoy more of: loving the things we create, doing things just for us. I was re-reading “Saving Sherlock Holmes” the other night because, well, let’s face it, I, too, have written gay boy with dark curly hair falling for school rugby star, “Heartstopper.” And anyway, as I was reading it, I was like, “This story is great!” Yay! I hope all of you love what you do for fun that much!

This is a long introduction to say that I had set a deadline for this summer to think about whether I wanted to try to get published again. As I mentioned above, I parted ways with my agent a couple of years ago, because I felt that she just wasn’t a good fit for me. Maybe I’d always had the wrong agent. I’m not sure she was at all fannish, and that was probably a problem when it came to representing my very fannish writing. But at the time I got an agent, you really didn’t talk about having come from a fanfiction background. When I was done with my first book contract, my editor asked me for ideas for future books, and I pitched some stories that were kind of ficcy in tone and shape, and I was told, flat-out, very bluntly, “Fandom doesn’t sell. Only Rainbow Rowell can write that way.” …Wow. It actually took me years to write anything for publication ever again after that, because I was kind of like, Well, if the market doesn’t want what I write, then I’ll just write it *not* for the market.

But I look around the market now and I think, That can’t possibly be true anymore. It can’t possibly be the case that editors and agents would still tell me that fannish stuff doesn’t sell. And the truth is, I’m very happy with my life and my fic and the way my writing is, but I also think sometimes, like, would it be nice to have some extra cash to help my niblings with their educations and stuff? Well, of course! Who wouldn’t like that? Would it be nice to share my writing with a little bigger audience? Just because I would want as many people as possible to get to cuddle my characters lol. Would it be nice to be E.L. James? Well, that’s a complex question, but probably yes lol

But I’ve been having a huge debate about whether to try to go for it again. Like, I really didn’t enjoy it, as I’ve said. And it didn’t make me much money in the end, either. I shouldn’t say it’s not nice to have extra money come in, because it is! But it was kind of like “I can take a long weekend vacation on this money!” Not “I can travel the world on this money.” I heard someone say once it was “buy a designer handbag” money. And that’s about right. So it wasn’t a ton of money, and it didn’t really make me happy, and so why would I do it again? And at the same time, I can’t deny that I look at some of the things that are out there right now and I think, …I could have done that. I could have done that *better.* (Kinda looking at you a little bit, Sally Rooney lolololol)

So I felt like I had two choices: I could start over and try to find an agent who understood my writing a little better. Or I could self-publish. And then I was like, …why not both?

I mean, I have enough stuff written to absolutely cover querying to agents and also trying to self-publish. So. Why not do both? Because there’s some stuff I have written that I’m like, “Okay, this I could handle editing and handing over to someone else and having it become someone else’s thing.” But then I have other stuff, like “Swan Song,” that I decided I wanted no editor to come anywhere near. Are there parts of “Swan Song” that could be better? Undoubtedly. But I suspect what would really happen to “Swan Song” is it would be slashed of 100,000 character-development words and I would weep at what happened to Matt Usher.

So, I think I’ve made a decision to use this summer to try to give BOTH a try. I’ll draft up a new query letter and start over with the whole agent thing with one of my novels. And I’ll come up with a self-publishing scheme for another novel. And I’ll see!

[owen-not-carvour]

cultural differences

i have a lot of international friends. and with me being american and them being from Literally Anywhere Else, we have discovered a Lot of cultural differences. pair that with curtwen/spies brainrot and you get whatever This is: 

- starting off strong with an obvious one: temperature. the age old fahrenheit v. celsius debate. like i imagine the guys just walking around whatever city they’re in for the week and (we’ll say it’s summer idc) curt’s like ‘it’s so hot out here, it’s gotta be like 90 degrees or something’ and owen just looks at him in Horror for a second (maybe he even says something along the lines of ‘mega ik it’s warm but that’s just overdramatic’) before he remembers curt’s american and that’s just Regular hot in fahrenheit and not like INSANELY hot like it is in celsius. and then he’s just ‘no its more like 32 degrees i think’ just to fuck with him bc the same though process will go through curt’s head and owen just wants to see his face before he remembers owen’s british and not just saying the opposite of what he said. and ofc they know both systems well enough; they’ve traveled around enough for that. and usually it’s not that weird; curt’s used to owen using celsius and owen’s used to curt using fahrenheit and they usually get what the other is saying, but Sometimes they just either forget or don’t want to convert what they’re saying for the other, so they just Don’t and let the other suffer trying to figure it out for a minute. 

-same with measurement. american measurement names are so weird to begin with, it’s like curt’s asking to get made fun of when he talks about how many feet something is or Whatever. (also just imagine owen mocking curt’s accent the way curt mocks owen’s at the start of the show,, yeah it’s great) Anyway- it’s pretty much the same thing as the temperature situation, but because of the american measurements curt just gets made fun of a lot more. like owen knows what he means when he says it but he’s still gonna respond like ‘what the ✨bloody hell✨ is an inch????’ (extra british to just make it that much worse for curt lol)

-chain stores. listen idk what all types of chains they had in the 50s (britain especially lol) but they for sure weren’t nearly as globalized as they are now (pretty much all i remember is that walmart and mcdonalds existed in the US at that point tbh) but ik based on conversations i’ve had with my international friends it’d go something like this (the same for if you flipped them too ofc): owen: hey have you been to *insert British chain (restaurant, store, Whatever)*   curt: sorry to What?? i’ve literally never even heard of that. what is it?       owen: ONLY THE BEST THING EVER???? i can’t believe you don’t have those in america, no wonder you’re so miserable...                                                         and then the second they have an opportunity to do so, owen drags curt to britain to experience Whatever The Place was lol. curt’s done the same with some american places, too. They both really love those trips :)

-names of every day objects. this one probably comes up between them most often (also the most obvious). of course there’s the difference between apartment and flat, trunk and boot, elevator and lift, etc. these types of differences generally don’t bother them (same with the extra u’s in words like colo(u)r), it just earns the other some classic accent mocking. it’s the pronunciation of some words has nearly ended their relationship a few times. examples include but are not limited to: 1) cicada; i imagine they’re out on like. a stakeout or something and it’s getting dark and curt’s like ‘woah the sic-kay-duhs are so loud right now’ and owen’s just ‘... the What?? are you talking about sic-ah-duhs?? like the bugs?’ ‘yeah... how did you say it???’ ‘sic-ah-duh.’ ‘wrong.’ and it’s just them realizing that this is yet another american/british relationship clash and argue about who’s right about the pronunciation until they almost miss their mission target moving. 2) scone; i’m not gonna write this one out like i did the last one but here’s the rundown: owen: scahn curt: skown. owen goes out to pick them up some breakfast from a coffeeshop or Wherever before a mission and gets them a couple of scones. He brings them back and calls them ‘scahns’ and curt is Appalled at that. they proceed to argue about the pronunciation of their breakfast until cynthia or barb calls to ask them why tf they haven’t even left the hotel yet. eventually they make it to their mission but the argument never stops. not until the end of the day. 

(the scone one is literally based on a recurring conversation i have with a canadian friend of mine)

Bonus: y’all know how curt’s from Texas? well i’m from the south as well (different region of the south, yes, but shhhh this is funny ok) and WELL. that opens up a whole new section of cultural differences, but the first one that came to mind was sweet tea. i hate unadulterated sweet tea so much but OHHHHHH does it make for a great headcanon. so i hc that owen is a tea over coffee type of person,, not just bc he’s british (though that certainly doesn’t help) but just because i feel that suits him more. And of course curt very much so makes fun of owen for drinking tea (a la when he mocks his accent at the top of the show) too. but one day curt’s like hey owen i made you some tea. totally harmless right? WRONG! he made sweet tea™️ and it might as well be poisoned bc that shit is sweeter than sugar itself (bc that’s practically all that’s in it). but owen doesn’t pay it any mind and accepts it as his boyfriend just doing something nice for him (though he does give curt a Look when he takes it). but curt knows exactly what he’s doing and waits for owen to taste it. the second he does he just. imediately gags and curls in on himself (yes it can be that bad when you’re not expecting it lol). curt can’t stop laughing. a few moments later when they both recover (kind of) owen’s just. shocked. absolutely speechless. he just sits there staring at curt with murder in his eyes until, “...what the hell did you just give me?” “sweet tea” “no shit, but this isn’t tea by a long shot. how much sugar is in it?” “no clue” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NO CLUE’?!?! YOU MADE IT!” “just bc i made it doesn’t mean i measured.” “WHAT??!?!” “that’s just how you do it :)” “NO??????” 

owen doesn’t forgive him for a week. he also doesn’t trust curt to make him tea (or really any drink) at all after that unless he can actually Watch him make it :)

[jackrrabbit]

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

[themorphine]

cym as fanfic tropes!!

tysm for re-asking this since my dumbass brain decided to delete this post instead of post it <3 idk if au’s count as tropes but it’s fineeeeeee

@confused-as-all-hell a soulmates au. you’re constant and lovely and don’t give up. you love and love and even if that love is not given back you still love. you somehow long for love and somehow don’t believe in it at the same time which is common in these fics. what you give to someone is forever, whether it be love or hatred. i think people should be grateful if they get either. we know how you end and yet you still amaze us, defy us, defy everyone. found family too ask you create things on your own, and put yourself back together when others break u down

@twelve-kinds-of-trouble a super duper fluffy florist au!! full of love and blushing and meet-cutes, you always make this world shine a little brighter, but it’s ok to dim it too <3

@crazy-random-bookworm-17 a modern high school au. you’re light and warm, full of hope and promise for something more. there’s also angst near the ending, bonds breaking apart as you grow older, but there is hope they will grow back together when they meet again <3

@juxtaglomerularapparatus you would probably be a stem au where the characters are working in stem or in uni, while also challenged between the idea of what they want to do in their life. what they want to be. where they want to be it. the struggles of academia but the high of knowing if you’re in it together you can do it. you show me that anything can be done, of how selfless you are and how much i admire that.

@investmentofmyheart hurt/no comfort. you don’t sugarcoat anything. and yknow i rlly like that. you don’t try to be nicer to make someone feel better. that’s not your job. and somehow you provide some comfort knowing that you do these things for a reason. bringing comfort to yourself instead of trying to make others happier. you’re an ending thats right for the characters even if it’s not what the readers wanted. you could also be a gambler au depends

@iambecomeyourvillain hmm. a friends to lovers au where they are friends since they were younger. you’re filled with promise and a sort of care-freeness that are in friend to lovers au’s. there’s tension but there’s also mystery, not knowing what you feel and if it’s ok. the tiptoeing, the staying up late and falling asleep on the couch, all of it is you.

@themoonthestarsthesuriel enemies to lovers who work at the same company. a fic full of hating one another with a spark, eating leftover take out with friends while you bitch about work and your enemy, getting coffee with said enemy, and maybe fall in love with that enemy. you’re full of fun and joy, with a certain twinge of sadness too. i wouldn’t change a thing <3

@emikadreams a fic with a major character death. you show so many good memories, and you make others so happy all the time but your poems give me major character death vibes. that death is to be interpreted, it could even be a part of you. you also give off some coffee shop au as well tho which is slay

@story-scribbler academic rivals to lovers. you just give off those vibes. the tension and not knowing what you feel and getting to know eachother better and. you want to make the world a better place and i think u will <3

@fandomstalker27 librarian au. you love to help others and show others what you find. you love to scream songs with me on tumblr, but that’s only when the library is empty <3

@the-sky-is-full-of-stars a college au. full of in decision and staying up late and meeting someone and seeing eachother on campus and a certain unknowingness of what happens after you finish your degree. you’re fluffy and light and amazing with a twinge of angst.

@saltyfortunes exchange student au. trying to find your footing because the world you lived in wasnt right for you. meeting new people and loving it but also missing what you had back home and wondering what to do.

@thehalfbloodfreak summer camp au. going somewhere you go every year. meeting old friends and relaxing, even if it’s just for the summer. something stable but erratic at the same time.

@wafflesandschemingfaces full on enemies to lovers. jude cardan type stuff. knife to throats, cocky comebacks, the whole shebang.

[chasingpj]

𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

pairing: leo valdez x child of iris!reader

requested?: yes!

translation: full of color

warnings: uhh, mentions of mental health and ?? maybe some typos lmao

category: headcanons, fluff, best friends to lovers

pre-relationship

though, leo saw you around camp often, you caught interest in him before he caught interest in you

i mean, he literally couldn't miss you because your outfits were always bright, whether it was a combination of colors or monochromatic

you and your siblings actually look like a rainbow threw up on you guys, and it's honestly iconic

no one at camp can not notice the children of iris, especially when they're in a herd

one day, you were sitting alone at a picnic table near the lake, and you found yourself drawing him in your sketchbook

you sketched a portrait of him while he spoke to piper at a table nearby

you've always found the floppy curls and how his brightest smiles always look a little manic to be adorable

when you sketched his portrait in your notebook, you didn’t intend for him ever to see it

until a couple of weeks later in the arts and crafts center, leo passed by and caught sight of a new project you were working on

he stopped in his tracks to compliment your drawing

since you were nowhere near done with it, you couldn’t admire the piece as much as he was

but his enthusiasm was so endearing

he politely asked if he could see more, and you didn’t hesitate to slide over your sketchbook

he noticed a lot of your drawings were scenery and people at camp; especially your siblings

he stumbled across a detailed sketch of a woman and her child sitting in a bus

“wow… who’s this?”

“oh, I don’t know. It was just a little girl I saw on the train with her mother.”

“so you just drew her?”

you never realized how weird your habit of drawing random people was until he had asked

you giggled nervously, quick to explain yourself, “I tend to draw people or things that I find beautiful. I wanted to capture how calm and happy she was with her child ‘cause at the time, I was stressed and angry. Watching and drawing her made me calm.”

leo nodded, a faint smile on his lips before looking back down at the drawing. “that’s really cool,” he complimented, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly shy.

And then it hit you

you were so willing to show leo all your works that you had completely forgotten that his portrait was in that book

your pulse thumped loud in your ears, mind racing to figure out a way to take away your sketchbook before he could see it

you ended up spending so long thinking of what to do that he arrived on the page in no time

right before he could see the drawing in its entirety, you slammed the book closed and snatched it

leo’s startled expression turned into a mischievous smirk

“was that me?”

you froze in your place; a squeaky sound escaped your throat in your embarrassment

leo’s brown eyes sparkled as he leaned into you, your gaze fixed on his, “y/n, you think I’m beautiful?”

AHHHH!

^^ that was you in your head btw

leo laughed, amused at your attempt to deny it

“then why did you snatch it away?” he raises an eyebrow before reaching over quickly to grab the sketchbook back

you didn't pull it out of his reach fast enough, leo getting a grip on one side

the two of you pull it back and forth, leo laughing at you as you continued to deny what he saw

though you were incredibly embarrassed, you couldn't contain the laughter bubbling in your chest

gods, of course, this would happen to me, you thought

he got it out of your grip, and you sighed in defeat, watching him flip to the page of him and piper

he was quiet, studying the picture for a second before giving you that playful smirk

“you think I’m beautiful?” he asked again

you playfully rolled your eyes, “it was more piper than you.”

your tone was sarcastic, only fueling leo’s banter with you

“oh really?” he chuckled to himself, “but i’m the only one colored in.”

you were silent at his observation before scoffing, “whatever.”

leo only laughed as you take the book away from him

“don’t you have somewhere to be, fire boy?” you asked and nudged his shoulder

the glint in your eyes made him smile, and he shrugged, “i guess i do. i'll see you around."

you nodded, too shy to do anything else, and he walked off

after that, leo took it upon himself to talk to you every day

leo teased you about the drawing all the time, and he found the way you would play along to be funny

before you both fell in love, you were close friends

you had such an optimistic point of view about life, and it was pretty contagious

somehow when leo was in the dumps about something, you always knew what to say

you were just so easy to talk to, and because of this, your friendship just grew naturally

your first kiss was towards the end of summer

leo invited you to hang out with him in bunker nine at, specifically, 6 pm

you teasingly asked if it was a date, and you remember the way he tensed up a bit

with a mumble, he asked, "what if it is?"

from the tone in his voice, you knew he wasn’t joking

in fact, his tone was hesitant, a part of him was expecting you to reject him

then the heavy pit in his stomach turned light when you smiled and said, "then I'm down."

the grin leo gave you made your heart flutter like crazy

your first date consisted of eating snacks and watching a movie on one of those portable DVD players

You picked up on the tension between you and him, and noticed the opportunities for a kiss kept passing

it was until Leo walked you to your cabin that night did you have a moment of boldness and asked, "so are you going to kiss me or?"

leo's eyes widen in surprise before his face broke out in the familiar smirk he gives when he flirts with you

you rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into you

your first kiss was sweet and soft; a little awkward

his hands hovered over your sides for a second, not sure what to do with them until he decided to rest them on your waist

it was the perfect way to mark the beginning of your relationship

relationship

since you guys are both broke teenagers, you got creative with date nights

you came up with the idea of paint splattering with him

you guys got canvases, covered the walls and floors with plastic to make sure you didn't dirty them

then you filled water balloons with paint and just threw them

despite you guys singing and dancing around in the midst of it, the canvases came out so good

and to commemorate the beginning of your relationship, you hung them up side by side in bunker nine, and when you guys get a place together, you hang them up in the hallway of your apartment

leo is a huge gift giver; as i’ve said before in my “how he shows he loves you” headcanons

he’s made you a lot of things; canvases, jewelry, little trinkets with scrap metal

one of your favorite gifts from him is a suncatcher with rainbow quartz

you fell in love with it and when you move in together, you make sure to hang it up in the kitchen with the bunch of other suncatchers that he’s made you

i love the idea that you would attempt to bring more color in his wardrobe

a lot of his clothes are muted in color; you don’t mind it but you were interested to see what he’d look like in a colorful outfit like yours

To say the least, he was not that enthusiastic and maybe, you shouldn’t have put him in a monochromatic orange outfit but… you still thought he looked cute

leo thought he looked like a traffic cone though so it didn’t stick

it’s okay because you like him the way he is anyways

another thing is that you guys are super supportive of each other and leo loves just how you manage to lift his mood

once leo was having a bad mental health week

you guys were sitting under a tree, looking out at the water

his head laid on your shoulder and small sniffles came from the other

it hurt to see him like this and you wished you could do more to make him feel better

then you had the greatest idea to make a rainbow for him

so you did

leo was so stunned when he saw the rainbow form over the lake

he looked at you surprised and when you admitted to making the rainbow for him, the emotion on his face was indescribable

and then you laughed and held him when he started crying because he said it was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him

another time, you insisted that meditation would be good for him

he literally sat down for like 3 minutes with his eyes closed before he was itching to get up and do something

even when he was sitting down, he was still bouncing his legs and fidgeting

so that fell through too but you still helped him in other ways and he’s so grateful for your optimism and bubbly personality

leo always says that you bring color to everything; literally and figuratively

one of the things you bring color to is his life

and he’s constantly reminding you of this; that his world just feels brighter now that you’re around

and it’s literal too

since you painted the walls of bunker nine a bright orange

he asked you why orange, and you told him because orange encourages productivity, creativity, and most importantly, optimism

it may have also reminded you of the orange outfit you put him into

anyways, you told him that it hurt you to see him get down in the dumps, and you insisted there was no way he could be sad in a bright orange room

needless to say, you were kinda right

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