#reader totally free

[ms-demeanor]

I don't care about data scraping from ao3 (or tbh from anywhere) because it's fair use to take preexisting works and transform them (including by using them to train an LLM), which is the entire legal basis of how the OTW functions.

[ms0milk]

pitch in a teapot

sanemi x inn keeper

reader has a business to run and sanemi can't help but watch you do it well, barking orders, teaching firmly, smiling and scurrying around like a fancy little bell. There's something he's been trying to get out of you all afternoon but chores keep stealing you away. cw MDNI, frustrated thunderstorm quickie, reader w vagina + penetration, slight manhandling, desperation and a little bit of sass. 4.1k

thank you so much my darling @neiptune for requesting a little sanemi this @ficsforgaza season! you were so generous and patient waiting for this to come out, I hope you enjoy angel

Six bowls of soup upstairs and an old man somewhere in the bowels of the inn with a limp and half a shoe. Right, okay, send two girls to the garden– no. One to the garden and one to the kitchen. That’s dinner taken care of as long as the scholar with the fat pony– donkey, maybe– doesn’t regurgitate an encore of the rakugo performance that couldn’t have been funny in the first place.

You roll the sleeves of your apron slightly tighter in their tasuki. The cyprus walls of your inn bleed fragrance before summer thunderstorms so you make a mental note too, to order storm doors for the second floor before the clouds go black and blue. Incensed breeze, juniper, wisteria, paper windows, one foot, the next, again, each step down the wooden hallway is a quiet knock. Each summer at home is heavier, heavier, and this year is the flood.

“Oi.”

“Not my name,” you blow from the corner of your mouth without changing pace. That breath was ready to jump off your lip before the demon slayer even called out to you; he hates doing nothing and hates even more what great pains your staff take to avoid his room.

“It reeks.”

“Excuse me?” You huff and this time do turn enough to interrogate him via glare. Sanemi, ridiculous, folds his arms in the doorway of a very nice room, a too nice room, without any of the appropriate embarrassment of someone who has been lying in wait. The stippled blue pattern of his robes doesn’t suit him. They clash with his ugly scars and uglier attitude but don't keep him from wearing the chest wide open like a well paid rent boy.

“Stinks.”

“Whatever of, princess?”

He growls and drops his arms as you brace for the lecture, “Demons.”

His heart is incapable of peace and yours with it, and every summer he’s assigned a post in your mountains by a master you’ve never met and who couldn’t possibly be sane themself. Four years of this. Four years of twelve weeks of sixteen-hour-days of the world’s most neurotic demon slayer.

“The whole property is wide open for any fuck to attack.”

You adjust your grip on a slender bucket handle and the cloth in your other arm and continue back downhall, “You always say that.”

“I’m always right,” he nags and pushes free of his bedroom.

You met Sanemi when you were sixteen and still working under your parents. He was a brand new hashira then and prone to fist fights, spitfire, bloodshed. Nothing special. Nothing new. Hashira come and die and new hashira come again. They arrive in flashbangs and ego and leave like everyone else, in pieces.

Your parents were calm, they had peace and practice, they ran this inn, they welcomed Sanemi with his summer floods. They loved him, took his counsel and died by it, and they probably wouldn’t have lost an old man inside the house. But this is your inn now. They aren’t here anymore and at your inn sometimes old men get misplaced.

“And what would you like me to do about all that, sir?”

The hashira keeps an easy military pace behind you, “The gardens need to be reinforced and–”

“Nine acres of wisteria arbor need reinforcement? Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“The storm will take out ha–!”

“And the other half will hold until autumn. Go berate the kitchen staff for their unpreparedness– they’re all unarmed you know? Totally unprofessional.”

“Y/n–”

“Shinazugawa,” you spin and it all comes out as a threat, a hiss, instead of just a whisper so much so that the water in your bucket nips up your sleeve. “I am the lady of this establishment and you will not address me so familiarly.”

Dark cyprus, cool hallways, the undeniable scent of thunder. Sanemi rests his hand on his sword to glare like he does when his hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. His eyes roam, quiet under long lilly lashes until they have traced the shapes your tasuki makes with your waist and rise again to your gaze. “We’re not fucking finished.”

“Go eat,” you snap and turn back down the hallway, red at the ears. Lady of the establishment, great job.

Feet aren’t complicated, bone to tendon, tendon to muscle, muscle to skin, one step and another. You tilt your head back and an eager girl rises to wipe sweat from your temple.

“Like this,” you hum and tilt the old man’s heel in your palm. He winces but lets you continue while the girl stares on. “When the skin is split like this it can’t receive moisture– sorry sir, better?” You set his foot on the hammock of cloth between your thighs, “So you need to soak it first before applying salve. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the girl parrots, still unable to look away.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile through an eye roll but gesture for her to come sit beside you. You’ve been like this since he’s met you, too old for your body.

You’ll train anyone who asks, hire any runaway girl, absorb the cost of thieves when runaways are exactly that, and you will wash old men’s feet before eating dinner with the self preservation of a samurai. Famously long-lived, those. Sanemi has to look away when you take scissors to the gnarled yellow nails and almost covers his ears when your pupil starts asking you questions about it.

“Feels good right?” You chuckle at the man’s response to your ministrations, and then a little louder, when you realize just how seriously the girl beside you is trying to focus. Birdsong. “Do you have companions on your pilgrimage, sir?” He shakes his head.

You lean away again so the girl can dab your brow and push back stray hairs and turn back to explain overdetailed care instructions to this man who is obviously so embarrassed he can’t hear a word you’re saying. Something about tallow and socks, Sanemi tries to read the syllables off your lips and loses focus the second time your teeth catch damp and pillowed pink.

The man seated in front of you grumbles some and flexes a few fingers around his cane like old men do, but doesn’t protest your instructions. He nods instead of thanking you like a real tough guy.

“Fetch a new pair of sandals from the garden shed,” you instruct your girl who bolts up and out the door past Sanemi without so much as a breath. “And you,” you turn back to your patient, “keep the nails short, you hear?”

He nods again, increasingly avoidant of eye contact. Sanemi tenses in the dark outside the guest’s complimentary room and hates ungrateful fucks enough for both of you.

“And don’t skip any more meals.” 

The man’s wrinkled skin unfolds at his eyes and he pulls his legs back underneath him. You dry your hands after scrubbing clean in a soapy pot and stand to collect your tools. “I couldn’t find you this evening and I hate to lose track of my guests at mealtime.”

You are going to feed every stray you find until the economy collapses. Peasant monks, pickpockets– you’d put up a demon if its stomach growled. After too many unnoticed minutes watching you, following the white x between your patterned shoulders, eating your voice, warming the hallway, you finally pick out Sanemi’s eyes in the dark behind the sliding door. He’s waiting for you. You clear your throat for the broke old pilgrim one last time, “You don’t owe any money. Do not skip meals.” And bid him a wordless good night. The door cracks shut behind you. It isn’t late enough for sunset. Thunderstorms make it so dark so quickly and they mask the scent of blood with all their rain and iron. “What is it?” You deadpan and shuffle towards the stairs with all the confidence in the world a tenured hashira will work to keep up with you.

“Not fucking finishied with you,” Sanemi grunts, working to keep up with you. The apron over your service kimono forces your hips to sway in tight little circles and Sanemi sucks his teeth. He doesn’t look away.

Through the hallway and down the servant stairs, socks on polished wood, you tap, tap, tap nimbly to your next assignment. The room below radiates heat and life. “What do you want?” you whisper.

“I–” he slips barefoot on the slick last step into the kitchen and you stumble in your newly damp right sock. “Euh, I–”

“Mimiko!”

“Lady?”

“Wet.” You point behind you, palming Sanemi out of the way, and a free washerwoman dives for the spot with the rag tucked into her belt. The kitchen rages silently in the easternmost corner of the mansion; men and women sweat over donabe, rinse their body weights in rice, and beat little fires with littler fans. Two women and a boy linger just outside the paper door in clothes that match yours for formality and Sanemi assumes as he weaves through the bustle, that they are responsible for bringing food to customers and for doing everything they can not to sweat through their pretty borrowed uniforms. Your own kimono is purple tonight, a cool little shape bobbing nimbly between flames.

Sanemi opens his mouth to shout after you and shuts it again just as quickly to grind his teeth instead as you lift your apron over your head. You let a girl feed you a spoonful of something on your way out of the room and she wiggles when you nod several times before ducking through the door.

Laundry next, then a double check of the firewood cache and the whole while Sanemi occupies your shadow. A few times you hiss over your shoulder at him for looking so gruff, for looking like a bodyguard, for making your customers imagine your distrust of them, always you bite back before he can get more than a few words out but mostly you just scurry in preparation for the storm picking up warm wind outside.

You avoid the entrance with him so close in tow, armed and obstinate, but make a show of circling both tatami halls where guests come after dinner on rainy nights to stretch and smoke by the brazier with strangers. A female musician trills her koto. The sky hasn’t let loose a single drop of rain yet but wet hangs like a fog and thunder scents the air ahead of its arrival. As Sanemi trails the outer walkway of the mansion behind you, the sky bleeds with the last of day’s light in the cracks between bruised and racing storm clouds.

“Second floor secure?” You confirm with the men slotting thick panels into grooves where paper doors usually go. They nod in their white uniforms. Beyond the porches, beyond the east garden and its fat green vegetables, beyond dogwood trees and sarusuberi and maples that have begun to tremble violently in winds buffeted by humidity and nightfall, the wisteria arbor glows. You radiate a cool purple pull beside him just like your flowers.

The arbor surrounds the property on all sides for half a mile and all three paths away from the house are barred by gates of twisting wisteria vine. The inn belongs to your family, but does not serve Ubuyashiki. Theirs is not the only house that discovered a use for these flowers. Yours is not the only wisteria business in the country. 

“Do you see that?” You murmur at so much the same tone as the wind that Sanemi almost cannot hear you.

Three years ago he left before the end of summer, called away to investigate a massacre nearby. A tree fell that season. It crushed a straight path through the edge of the mountain forest and onto your property where, lured by so much blood and wine, a pair of sister demons descended through the broken orchard and devoured everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide in the flowers like the slayer suggested they should in an emergency. Your parents evacuated the house and died in it with the guests who couldn’t walk on their own. Nestled under three braided vines at the far edge of the property, you listened to them die.

The winds kick up sand from your vegetable garden and you step off the porch into the start of the storm. Tiny and purple. “Y/n!” Sanemi lunges for you. His sword whips the meat of his thigh and you step out of his way before he can grab any part he intended to. The men on the porch watch you both scramble through the backyard. You snap at the strange guest and duck when he swings a hand towards you, hop in your sandals when he tries to trip you into his arms and dart away like a dragonfly.

“Get back here!”

“Go inside!”

“Y/n!”

“How dare you!”

“Motherfucking, Y/n!” 

“That’s enough!” You bark and twist back towards the garden shed. Your pupil left the door wide open and all its shining tools caught your eye across the yard. Sanemi was staring when you stepped outside. His eyes feel like beads of sweat on the few bare parts of you. His gaze is all teeth on the back of your neck.

With all but one storm door up, not a single guest can hear the ruckus you two kick up outside in the prologue of the storm. “It’s about to pour!”

“Then go join the other guests!” You shout through a particularly violent breeze and you have to grip to the break in your kimono closed. He does not. By the time you lay a winded hand on the wall of the shed, it has started to rain.

A silencing wall of water falls from the back of the property straight towards you. It kills dust clouds in its path and paints every surface soaked in a perfectly straight line. Sanemi rushes from behind and nearly lifts you off your feet to get inside the shed as you watch the supernatural army advance on your home.

“Shit,” he grumbles and winces when the rain overcomes the little shed and splashes off the pavement into his face. He pulls you deeper inside and you jolt. The first crack of thunder is a scream that shakes the ground, “Scared of thunder now?”

“Scared of my profit margins, you oaf.”

Under his shoulder you are glaring at the storm between this shitty stuffy shed and your business. You are so small and wrapped so tightly in layer after layer of fabric. It must be hot. The damp drips down his open chest and thighs, it frizzes his hair at his ears. You must be sweating somewhere in that formal getup. Wet glistens at the curled little hairs on the back of your neck where the skin is just barely visible and it sparkles under your high collar.

“I can’t walk back inside soaked,” you groan, “there’s not enough time to change before final rounds.”

Sanemi takes his hand off his sword. There must be damp parts of you hiding from him. He brushes his knuckle up the bare skin of your neck, across your throat, and you falter slightly.

“Sanemi–”

“Nuh uh, don’t address me so familiarly,” he smirks and cups your cheek in his big hand when you jerk around.

“That’s not–!”

“Not what?” He smiles now, and drops his hand back to his sword so that you might find your own weapon and finish the fight. Four years of this.

You shove a finger into his chest, “You’re such a clingy fuck Shinazugawa,” and shout a little because you know the thunder will hide it. A sudden gust blows the sheet of rain sideways and straight inside the open door of the garden shed, up your dress and down his robes and through your prettily pinned hair. “Y/n this, y/n that, I’m busy Sanemi, I’m stuck in a shed! You’re the only one who calls me and people think we’re fucking! You want my attention you have it so please tell me all about the demons that’re gonna slurp up my customers and fuck my taxes to shit and–”

The door creaks in Sanemi’s hands even through the oceanic sounds of storm when he begins to close it. He nods as you get louder, nods as he slides the door closed and flicks the latch.

“Do not,” you growl, “there’s five thousand–”

“Five thousand little bitches in there lost without direction? They’re fine, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“They’ll survive, little lady.”

You spit, “not better.” And the new humidity of the closed shed begins to swallow you whole. It fills your throat. “What about all the demons you’ve been crying about?”

“You’re such a cocky cuss.”

“And you’re needy,” you taunt. It’s Sanemi’s turn to wince and his frustration starts to drip from all those places he shoves it away from you. He's been gentle with you since that summer. He lets you interrupt him, he follows where you go. “I watched you check perimeters this morning, you don’t need to talk to me about demons.”

“Eyes everywhere huh?” His throat is pink, “Lady of the house.”

You grin and pull him by the loops of his robe into your tiny purple kiss, “Shut up.”

“M’lady,” he growls against your lips and succumbs.

Four years of stolen touches, lips on damp summer skin, coming out of empty rooms too ruffled and pulling the hashira between your legs without disturbing the folds of your work kimono. “Don’t call me that either,” your breath hisses against his throat like an iron and he drops his sword quickly to gather you in his arms.

Too much fabric. Shovels and shears clatter against the floor and one another when the thunder shakes their little house again, and they tremble at every thump and roll of your body against Sanemi’s. He pulls your hips against his and guides your legs around his waist so he can sink into those soft parts of you. So he can tilt his head back to look up at you, so you can pour your kisses down his throat like wine.

You drag your nails up the back of his head when he offers his tongue to your lips, biting, suckling, drawing out gentle sounds and eating them before they compete with the rain outside. Where his hips dig into your own the folds of your skirt fall apart. Legs that glisten with sweat and rain part nicely for him and his own robes grow clingy with exertion where he grinds hard against you. Every subtle roll breaks your concentration in kisses, in lips sliding, begging with salvia and rainwater. His hands cup your cheeks, thighs, the collar of your kimono shudders open for him when he dips to suck bruises under your jaw and the swordsman’s hand loses control as he grips your belt to free you from all this formality. He’ll press crescents into your breasts, he’ll lower his tongue through your peach sweet folds and drink until you cry– but you pull his head back with a sharp yank of your wrist.

Your breath comes in clouds. The inn glows with candlelight across the yard but the light through the shed’s window is too weak. Welts of lighting illuminate the flush of your chest and cheeks. Two seconds of bright and twelve of dark warmth, shaking swirling thunder and then only rain. Sweat rolls from your temples and into the depths of your kimono. It’s been days since he’s had you like this and longer since you’ve had true privacy, others a whole yard away.

You can’t be gone long, he knows. Staff watched you race in here together, watched him shut the door, he knows he knows, he just can’t put you down yet. He leans in for another kiss and you let him fall close enough for his chest to crush yours before pulling back on his hair again.

“Y/n,” he’s suddenly not above begging but you hold his gaze tight. You watch him as your hand slips between the place your bodies meet. Pretty fingers reach for the heat between his legs. Pretty knuckles ghost over the swell of his robes and draw the fabric aside instead of ordering he bring you back inside. Sanemi’s cock perks up in free air as high as this position will let it and rests heavy under the swell of your ass.

He kisses you again, toothy and smiling and when you kiss him back your sharpest teeth clink together. He ruts into your desperation against the wall, harder than the rain, harder than the wind that threatens to blow your shed away and you with it. Obviously he wouldn’t let it but the thought that nature might be jealous of the rumple you made of each other drives him harder against you. Slipping, cock hard and suddenly shifted up against the hair under your belly. Peach fuzz yields to warm slick and Sanemi drops his head to your chest when he shudders to avoid whimpering into your mouth. He slips through your folds with a tight hold still under your thighs and drags himself up, down, up, hypnotized always by the faces you make when you’re trying to keep quiet.

The scars across his body are forever numb, but when your clammy hands paw is his chest he swears he can smell color. He can touch light when you pull his face back to yours frantically, when your hips with all their fabric flowing off of them buck sloppily against his, when he thrusts once deeply inside of you and forces a broken gasp from the back of your throat.

Before you can catch your breath your lips have crashed against his and his hips against yours. Sanemi keeps the relentless, restless, starving pace you like and knows he’ll last only the next few minutes before the worst of the storm blows over. Again and again he carves a palace for himself inside of you. You guide him with the falter of your kisses when he finds that perfect spot and with the slick that coats both of your thighs. Your voice escapes you in choked whimpers, his name comes out in hiccups. You’re a little bell in his arms folded in half and singing for him.

Again and again, out and so deep back inside, Sanemi’s feet grip the floor as he plunges his hips into yours and both of your bodies into the swelling wood walls. His rhythm staggers as you flutter around him and with his head against your shoulder he watches the circles you draw on your clit with the tips of four clumsy fingers as your other hand muffles your voice. He grabs that quieting wrist without thinking and without taking his eyes off the place your bodies connect with lewd squelches and sticky white threads. His threatening grip, his thick cock and your fingers push you right over the lip of your pleasure and fluttering becomes milking spasms quicker than Sanemi can think to treat you gently. That half-sobbing voice he loves so much cheers him towards his own climax and the more sensitive you grow the easier it is to coax those sounds out of you that you try to keep hidden, “Don’t– don’t be so quiet.”

“Inside,” you whisper in reply and draw his face into your hands as his pounding stutters in pace and loses all flow completely under your dreamy gazes. Sanemi can’t keep his eyes open when he cums. His pretty lilly lashes flutter with lost concentration. He shudders, ruts you deeper into the wall and groans with release as he fills those swollen wet parts of you. Warmth pools in your belly and trickles off his cock still buried. Sweat falls like the rain outside.

“Wanna taste,” Sanemi rumbles without setting you down or stilling his thrusts fully. He nuzzles somehow farther into the dip of your collarbones. Soft snow white hair, a heartbeat in the fingers that grip you. Every twitch of his hips is a starving ache.

“C'mon,” you grin, “dinner’ll get cold.”

“Let me taste you.”

“Sanemi, what will I eat if you eat me?”

“Have a few ideas,” he smiles back through the trembling of the shed in encores of thunder and gale. A leak tip tap tip taps nearby. Four years of this, maybe more.

[specshroom]

Imagine Demon Suguru tempting you (a nun) into thinking very sinful thoughts about Priest Nanami.

Feeling so guilty for touching yourself at night while the malicious demon whispers lustful thoughts into your ear, not knowing that Demon Gojo is doing the same thing to Nanami in his own bed.

Following him around during the day whispering sinful thoughts into his head about the nice nun he's always paid special attention to. This all culminates when you confess your sins in the confession booth with Nanami on the other side, gripping his rosary, barely containing himself as he listens to the source of all his sinful desires confess to such debouched thoughts about none other than himself.

All while Satoru and Suguru grin at each other, very pleased with their demonic work.

[samaraxmorgan]

I was reading this fic by @sukunasteeth and I just HAD to draw him <3 the fic is SO GOOD btw go read it if you haven’t!!!!

More than welcome to repost with credit!!

[miradelletarot]

B/c I'm still in the mood for it... Gale/Tav (or Gale/Caleb!), the laziest, quietest day at home, whatever home looks like for them.

Ohhh, I've been thinking of this a lot lately. I hope it's ok that I set this as Gale x Reader so it could be anyone! Tav, Caleb (bc I imagine him curling up like a cat in this tbh,) or literally anyone else who sees themselves in this moment.

The scene is this:

It's a cool day in Waterdeep, the doors to the terrace are open, welcoming in the sounds of the rolling waves against the shore, the sails unfurling from merchant ships heading out to sea, and the faint smell of ozone mixed with the salty air that sends the promise of a gentle rain.

Gale tosses a couple of logs on the fire, and fluffs up the blanket for you both to cuddle in on the couch.

You emerge with a hot beverage in hand for each of you, and he accepts his with a kiss. "Gods, this is divine," he muses as he takes a careful sip. "Thank you, my love."

He ushers you to the settee where you curl up immediately, appreciating not only the warmth of the fire, but that of the blanket Gale just fanned out over you. Once he joins you, you flit one side of the blanket across his lap, and snuggle yourself into him as he drapes an arm across your body, his free hand reaching for the book he's been reading to you every night.

The crackle of the nearby fire is the perfect accompaniment to Gale's warm tones as he recites every word. It's enough to lull you to sleep despite how eager you are to hear what he's reading. There's something magical about the way he speaks that makes you melt, makes you feel content, and at peace.

While he uses a mage hand to help hold the book and turn the pages, his other hand is spent tracing slow, idle patterns across your skin.

You finally relent as your lids become heavy and you stir, nuzzling yourself into Gale's body as he leans over to kiss the top of your head.

And you smile as the soft pitter patter of rain adds yet another lovely sound to this sweetest of symphonies as sleep finally takes you in the safety of your lovers' arms.

[allieinarden]

The original “curtains were blue” meme that everybody is still referencing actually made an excellent point that I’d cosign.

[thatdeadaquarius]

"all we really know about this one is it's some kind of insult" Alhaithem gestured to the stone in the case "The first words of the beginning line should translate to 'your parent', with the second one saying 'you take that'. We can only assume it to be of insulting nature, unless you say otherwise...?" He looks toward you, curiously.

"...buys you megablocks instead of legos" you mumble unconsciously, holding in laughter because he wasn't wrong.

"What?" He leaned in to hear you better.

"Nothing, you're right but it's not an insult that really makes sense here" You swiftly move along to the next showcase, after reading it things become clear that these are from about the 2010's. "Alhaithem we should probably move on, most of these are obscure references to... plays, and jokes. Like this one" you point at the case "is Fre shavaca do".

"Fre...shaca do?"

"It's um, a joke about someone mis-writing a sign"

10/10 i cant believe this has been sitting here like the gem it is ToT

im so glad im posting all these at the same time tho bc i love confusing/bullying Alhaitham, call me a Kaveh kinnie ig

ANYWAY SORRY FOR NOT SHARING UR GREAT WRITING WITH THE WORLD BEFORE NOW THIS IS HILARIOUS

this kinda reminds me of my most recent post abt, but 10x more frustrated Alhaitham LMAO

You, constantly: "nah u wouldnt get it bro, u had to be there"

Alhaitham: "But I AM here, I would "get it", ahem, honorable sibling Lord??"

btw here's my lowkey bullying Alhaitham post, hehe

☆

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

(not tagging beloveds bc i be harassing them this week with short posts rip)

[fictionadventurer]

So many types of books that have strong summertime associations that I spend all my time cycling through cravings for certain genres or books.

Within the last month, I have wanted to read/reread:

Jane of Lantern Hill by L.M. Montgomery

The Electrical Menagerie by Mollie E. Reeder

Valiant by Sarah McGuire

Retellings in general (especially Cinderella retellings)

Golden Age mysteries, especially Josephine Tey and Agatha Christie

The Moon-Spinners by Mary Stewart

Books set in locations that are not America or England, especially warm climates

Books set in wintery/cold weather settings

Science fiction/space opera

Superhero stories

Civil War history/Presidential history

D.E. Stevenson books (and other mid-tier vintage light fiction)

Wilkie Collins books

Graphic novels

And I'm sure there are others that I'm forgetting

[mismatched-sockss]

remember when i asked you guys who you'd like to see for the time travel au?...

the thing one has to remember when writing time travel - especially when you're trying to have zero continuity plot holes - is the god damn consequences of actions and all these god damn paradoxes that have been and will be existing because of said consequences...

and what happens when you have a lot of ideas but they end up conflicting each other but you want to use them all? exactly, you write more than one... you make it a fucking trilogy. (and ask yourself why you even made a poll, when you end up writing for all three characters anyway....)

so, uh... the whole thing is gonna take more time than i already thought it would take (i'm sorry), BUT i have pretty much planned them all out and have written about a third of each fic!

[peipakao]

that post about the lack of fic in opm fandom made me remember this fuckin. essay i wrote like a year ago for a reddit comment that i then shamefully deleted cos it was so entirely irrelevant to the original post. but i saved it so. here it is. a fanthropological analysis on the state of fic in opm fandom:

One Punch Man is not a small fandom by any means, but it definitely seems that most fans are of the 'dudebro who likes to powerscale' variety, and I'm continually surprised by how small the shipping and fanfic writing side of the fandom is in comparison. Like, this is one of the most popular well known anime series in the world, I'm pretty sure even the most casual of anime fans has to have at least heard of it. But it only has 5k fics on AO3, which isn't exactly small, but considering its popularity and in comparison to other popular battle action "shounen" manga (technically OPM is seinen but no one remembers that so), it is bafflingly tiny. I've thought about it a lot, and I think it comes down to multiple related reasons, both internal to the story that limit the likelihood of a fan to write fics for it, and external, lowering the number of ppl who would want to write fics for it that become/stay fans in the first place.

Let's start with internal reasons. The cast of characters is huge, made up of mostly men (a lot of whom are young + attractive). Which seems like it should be a definite boon to M/M shipping--the backbone of a large number of fandoms! But I think there's a difference in that with so many characters, screentime/focus is really spread out across them, and I'd find it hard to really tell you who counts as a "main character". On top of that, there's not a whole lot of interaction between them, they all seem much more isolated. I think this is especially the case in the biggest arc that took 7 years to complete. Even the biggest ship/pair had a ~3 year gap in the manga where they didn't appear together at all.

But there are definitely still lots of ships with potential and interactions to fuel shipping (although I still think less than comparable media), so that's not the whole story. Which brings me to my next point about external factors. Most of those ships are not in the early parts of OPM, and you're probably gonna have to read through the manga and also the webcomic to get to them. Most people have not done this, and have probably only watched season 1 of the anime, considering that was the peak of its popularity. And those early parts are much more comedic, so I think the impression most ppl have of OPM is that it's primarily a gag anime/manga. Which is still true, but the story has definitely gotten more complex and serious. So I think a lot of people who might want to write fic for OPM probably don’t get into it because they don't expect it to have much potential in that regard.

I think the release schedule of the anime also plays a huge role, with the anime taking 4 years to come out with a (widely considered) disappointing second season, and with a third season trailer having been released after like 5 years. It’s probably not an understatement that most anime/manga fandoms are much more focused on the anime side of things, and not everyone who enjoys an anime is going to then get into the manga.

And let's not forget the manga and webcomic release schedule, with the webcomic releasing basically solely according to ONE's whims, and the manga constantly going through redraws. Which I'm not necessarily complaining about since we get all this lovely content for free! But it does pose another hurdle for new potential fans, and I imagine there are quite a few who simply didn't want to put in that commitment over time, or honestly just got confused about what was going on.

OPM as a whole has lost a lot of relevance, it seems not many people are getting into it right now and many fans who did write fic for it at the peak of its popularity have probably left the fandom in search of greener pastures.

This is all just speculation though. I wasn't actually in the fandom when it was popular, only got into it a few years ago, so my theories on its decline aren't super backed up. I hope it gets popular again, having said all that I think there's so much fandom potential that isn't being tapped into. Like others have said, a lot of fandom/fic is based on filling in gaps and aspects that weren't explored, and there's plenty to explore in OPM.

[yanderederee]

I want a yandere too. I want someone to love me even with my flaws, bc I tend to lose focus and I do things last min and I'm neurodivegent and I feel like most of my yanderes (especially baji) wouldn't judge me or see my as weird.

Just wanted to pit this out there bc I saw your tags on my last asks and I wanted to respond to that and ig start a discussion or suggestion?

I hope u accept.

For a while now, I’ve been shifting this ask through my head to conjure a proper response …

For starters, I forgot Yandere was part of the prompt I started writing; so I see this as headcanon in Baji’s actions/reactions in types of situation. I could write a whole separate indulgence piece on how yandere!Baji would develop past this:)

I find myself taking a realistic approach to it all. At first/in youth, I don’t think Baji has enough maturity to really understand other people’s neurological/psychological struggles. He’ll understand there’s some tension in those aspects, but I feel that Baji would be quick to frustrate.

Baji doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly giving him the cold shoulder, when in reality you’ve found yourself non-verbal. It wasn’t that fucking hard to place a food order?

Let Baji be dramatic at first. Let him pick apart what’s actually happening.

Once he sees the way you struggle and try to muster the courage to ask for a refill of your drink, he’s in awe with how relieved and proud of yourself you are after managing the small task.

He’d probably seem pissed off and go quiet himself, but it’s cause Baji is mulling the idea over in his head how you can’t to feel that way.

“What gets you so nervous about being in public anyway?” Baji asks blatantly.

You felt this question at the tip of his tongue all day, and while his actions were putting you more on edge, you noticed little details.

You would notice how his tone is lower, not scowling or rolling his eyes at you anymore. You could tell he felt guilty for his immaturity, after his own actions and choice of words.

Just, the way you were so quick to put up your defenses confused him.

“There’s a lot of … unknowns, I guess.. it doesn’t really make sense to me either, Keisuke… I just— my body reacts like I’m doing something, wrong. Like, I’m inconveniencing everyone around me. If I wasn’t standing here, If I wasn’t taking up someone else’s time, other people’s lives would be more… convenient.”

You could tell you were barely getting anywhere with him, but he was trying to understand. So you kept trying to help him understand.

“L-like even now… if I hadn’t dragged you out to hang out with me today, your time could have been better spent. Mikey and Draken invited you out right? But you declined on my behalf..” you smiled, but that same tinge of guilt hit hard.

“Yeah, doing the same lame shit I’ve done for the last week, no creative pass times with those bone heads sometimes,” he laughed. “You don’t think I’m having fun now?” Baji asked.

“Well, it can be hard to tell,” you chuckled back, weary of meeting his gaze. “I can’t really tell if I’m being entertaining enough, or when people get tired of my needless input. I’m.. kinda slow, I guess, I lose focus on what’s happening sometimes and suddenly I’m not on the same page as everyone anymore. But, like, with everything.”

“Does that make sense?” You sighed, heart palpitating in suspense.

It felt good to vent out all the things that made you anxious, especially when you can’t tell why most of the time. Maybe in time, it would.

Baji cycled through your words, silently.

“I… think so.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

“That part of you’s kinda, what I like about you, though?”

Your eyes twitched, and with an unbelieving look, you eye him cautiously.

“Like yesterday, when you spaced out while Chifuyu and I were arguing about Gekijyo, you suddenly jumped right in with a whole other thing from left field. It was hilarious, but I just remember thinking, ‘who the hell thinks of stuff like that?!’ In-in a good way… you’re pretty smart, yaknow. I really respect the way you handle yourself when you’re caught off guard.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, how you go through live so cautiously and worried all the time. But you make smart analysis out of situations that seem unwindable, and,” Baji held out his hand, and carefully pulled a stray hair from your face.

“I just can’t help but like you. You’re funny, and encouraging. When you’re comfortable, you shine. I see so much passion in you, and can’t help wanting to fuel that part of you.”

Baji gently pressed his palm against your cheek.

Sure, little things could sweep you up in thought, distracting you to the point of frustration. So long as he could keep quipping back and forth, laughing, and watching you smile so genuinely— Baji imagined he could take on some of those struggles of your behalf. Maybe, with just a little weight lifted off your conscious, he could watch you grow and eventually take them on with ease, with a smile.

꘏

Over time, Baji would pick up on any stims you had, if you had any.

Started picking up on signs that something was becoming too hard for you to handle, or perhaps comprehend.

He learned your mannerisms, and how to talk out down from any panics you may undergo.

Baji takes it upon himself to learn about the people he cherishes.

He doesn’t drop people because they’re too hard to deal with. Baji doesn’t break off ties, especially when he can tell you’re working through struggles. Physical and psychological.

Baji Keisuke would eventually become surprising attentive, but mostly only with his partner.

He doesn’t walk on egg shells around them, but he will reconsider if he’s acting too harshly.

[woahjo]

au where pro hero katsuki and reader meet one night at a bar and hit it off (SEX) and start casually seeing each other. but the catch is that reader runs a popular pro-hero blog (opinion blog but borders on gossip) under a screen name and keeps their real identity secret. katsuki lets it slip one night that he just so happens to know the blog... and hate it.

[kakusu-shipping]

The Rising Volt Tacklers as Caregivers

(this post is specifically about the adults, if you wanna know my hcs for Liko, Roy, and Dot or any of the Pokemon of the crew as CGs or Regressors feel free to ask)

Friede is a very adaptable Caregiver. Whatever kind of little you are, he can match. He's best when winging it, so not much for schedules. He's surprisingly a big stickler for rules, like no baby on the top deck unsupervised, because those kinds of things are there to keep you Safe. When not with the little he's a massive worry wort, you're constantly on his mind even when left with someone else. He's just concerned you're not having a good time. Sensitive babies make him anxious, he desperately wants to avoid making them cry but.. He can be a lot.

Murdock loves a little he can hold on his hip. He loves to cook with and for littles, watch them eat, clean them up if they make a mess. He'll experiment and try all sorts of things for you if you're a picky eater, anything for his baby. This man has baby fever like you wouldn't believe. Ten THOUSAND photos of his baby on his rotom phone, at least. He's who Friede goes to if he makes the baby cry on accident, because he is a master of stopping water works. He's the best there is. I think the only kind of little he'd struggle with is someone who's grumpy or fussy no matter what, mostly because he'd take it very personally and be very broken up about it, worried about being a bad caregiver. He'd go crazy trying to become the perfect CG.

Orla doesn't really know the Dos and Don'ts of babycare. What do you MEAN a baby can't held disassemble an alarm clock? That's what she was doing as a kid! You have to be a very specific kind of little to find Orla's baby activities entertaining, as she completely does her own thing with you along for the ride. Like Murdock she can very easily pick you up, at least, though she's less on her hip and more a piggy back kind of gal. You're at high risk of boo-boos running around with Orla, luckly she always carry's bandages and gives the BEST healing kisses.

Mollie seems like the type who's really awkward around kids under a certain age. She's not a baby person, she does not want to hold the baby she does not want to baby talk the baby, she thinks they're kinda yucky and a pain, no offense. She does better with older kids she could have a conversation with, but even then she's entirely too polite and might snap someone out of littlespace by talking to them like an adult. The ONLY time she's good with a little is when they've regressed while sick. She's a doctor and she takes that role very seriously, so if you need to be baby talked into taking medicine, or blown raspberries while she's taking your temperature, she'll do it, and you might even catch a little genuine smile on her face while she does.

Ludlow is a very go with the flow kind of CG. He does best with a stationary little, a baby having tummy time or someone so sleepy they just can't seem to move. He tells stories in a very soothing voice, and offers the best hugs and comfort on the ship. Though again, he's really only good with a baby willing to sit and stay with him. If you were to get up and start waddling away, he'd follow until the two of you come across someone to take over for him and return to his fishing spot. He also could easily pick you up and hold you on his hip.

[knightthyme]

have we thought about orv tma before. has anyone done this yet. because its haunting me. it would work so well guys. guys,

(rambling in the tags)

[totalize]

TODAYS COLLECTIVE 3 CARD SPREAD

#33 The Raccoon and Sycamore - curiosity

#48 The Dragonfly and Pansy - balance

#29 The Squirrel and Chestnut - preparation

The order in which I pulled these cards went curiosity, preparation, and balance. But I put them in this order because it’s how I read the message….

You need to balance both these two elements (curiosity and preparation) to fully align with your manifestations.

Balance allowing yourself to be free and curious while grounded in physical reality. Consciously attend to the life you’re manifesting in the 3D while subconsciously imagining your best life in the 5D.

Affirmation: “May all my actions match my intentions, in the highest and best good for all.”

The Dragonfly is a descendent of prehistoric creatures such as dinosaurs (and dragons if that’s what you believe in) and carries with it tons of spiritual wisdom and knowledge. The dragonfly reminds us that anything’s possible as long as you’re willing to do the work and show up for yourself. Make sure you balance the endless days you spend sitting in bed, starring out your window listening to music with getting up out of bed and physically creating the life you want.

You don’t want to just be daydreaming forever.

You can look at it like a balance of autumn and spring.

In autumn you put away the lessons you’ve learned over the years (some lessons being disguised as trauma) and let them transmute themselves to use to your advantage as tools and gifts in the spring.

It all comes back to Yin and Yang energy ☯️

A balance of light and dark, feminine and masculine energy united as one.

Brighter days are here. Do the work for yourself and believe you will be gifted and rewarded in return.

Blessed be ❤️

Card meanings from the guidebook:

The Raccoon and the Sycamore - overall meaning that curiosity is rewarded. “Calls us to explore a thrilling new interest, idea, or opportunity.”

Upright - “You are well-equipped to explore uncharted territories. Climb high into the tree of your interests, bounding from branch to branch. Now is an auspicious time to discover new truths about yourself and your abilities.”

Reversed - “You may be feeling bored, left out, or like nothing piques your interest. Take time for rest and self care. We cannot feel curious when our most basic needs are unmet.”

The Dragonfly and the Pansy - a symbol of balance. “Nimble and attuned as a dancer, it (the dragonfly) moves effortlessly through the air, shifting direction with ease. Pansies are named for the French word pensée, meaning thought, and were given by the Victorians as tokens of thoughtfulness. Together, the dragonfly and pansy indicate a harmony of thought and action.”

Upright - “Like a dragonfly hovering above water, you are healthy and confident. Your physical skill is matched by your mental and emotional strength.”

Reversed - “You have stumbled into an unhealthy obsession. Recall the way a dragonfly shifts direction with ease and aim for the same nimbleness of thought”.

Be conscious of where you are focusing your energy. You are in control of your own energy.

The Squirrel and the Chestnut - “careful preparation will often yield riches”

Upright - “You have prepared well and can expect to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Your resourcefulness and foresight will be rewarded.”

Reversed - “Prepare for the winter ahead. While fun and games are necessary parts of life, don’t become so distracted that you forget to provide for yourself.”

Remember you have to fill your own cup first before you can fill others! Prepare to be the person you want to be.

This collective reading was from the 52 card oracle deck & guidebook “Woodland Wardens” by Jessica Roux.

Please ONLY take the messages that resonate with your gut and intuition. Always trust yourself first.

Personal readings can be purchased on venmo or cashapp :)

Cashapp: $emmamenem

Venmo: emmamenem

$5 a card

3 for $12

[skeletonlvr22]

Hey! I was wondering which state do the other skelies live in?Like Wine seemed really surprised when he found out that Coffee was in Indiana, so is Indiana really far away from the state that they live in? Where on the map do the rest of the skeleton bros live?

Hope this question makes sense. Love the fic BTW ❤

Hiii!!! This is actually such a fun question!

So, when planning the fic out, I wanted Mt. Ebott (both the mountain and the city) to be in a place that IRL there wouldn't be mountains (I think it adds something that there shouldn't be a mountain there, but there is anyway) but also a place that a fictional one wouldn't be too out of place.

So, strangely, I looked up where some of the Appalachian plains are! I figured it was in a close enough area in a semi-mountainous region that could theoretically house a mountain but typically doesn't.

Funnily enough, there is some in Ohio, so I choose that as their genesis, specifically somewhere in the southeast.

Plus, if magic and monsters were going to burst out of a random mountain anywhere in America, I believe Ohio is definitely in the top three areas, even if the closest thing to a mountain in Ohio is an overzealous hill. 😭 Basically, the skeletons are from Ohio because of course they would be.

Oh! And about Wine, Indiana isn't exactly far from Ohio (in my opinion lol), but to Wine it totally is especially in reference to Coffee. If memory serves correct, it's about a four hour drive from Ohio to Indiana. Realistically, walking from one end of the underground to the other would take maybe a few hours on foot and Coffee's driving. In contrast, it's a huge distance, and one that makes Wine feel wildly out of (control) reach.

Thank you so much for the love 💗 I really enjoyed answering this 😊