#so i guess it's more work done than just that

[meazalykov]

commercial

alessia russo x actress!reader (requested)

summary: pairing up with a footballer for a commercial changed your life

based off of the adidas commercial she was featured in before the women's world cup in 2023

you never thought filming a commercial would bring you to london. 

being an actress with a hit hbo series and a partnership with adidas kept you busy, traveling constantly between coasts, countries, and continents. 

this job felt different. you’d always admired women’s sports, so when your agent called you with the news that adidas wanted you for their new campaign promoting the women's world cup, it felt like an honor. 

empowering women, celebrating athletes—it was something you could get behind since its what you cared about. you said yes without a second thought. 

now, with a plane ticket in hand, you were ready to make it happen.

the moment you step off the plane at heathrow, london’s summer breeze hits you—crisp, slightly cool, and carrying the scent of rain and freshly brewed coffee. your driver, an older man with a kind smile, helps load your bags, and you’re soon winding your way through the city streets. 

as you look out the car window, everything feels vibrant and alive. red double-decker buses whizz by, people spill out of cafes, and there's a constant hum in the air. 

despite being a little jet-lagged, you’re excited—more excited than you've been for a job in a long time.

the next morning, you arrive on set for the commercial shoot, and it’s a whirlwind of motion—producers barking orders, cameras being set up, and the smell of fragrancelingering in the air. 

a production assistant greets you almost the second you step out of your car, a polite smile on their face, speaking rapidly into their headset.

"y/n, so glad you could make it! we’re just about to start introducing everyone. can i take you to meet the other talents– the footballers i shall say?”

you nod, straightening your posture and reminding yourself to relax.

 

just another job, just another set. yet the excitement buzzing in the air makes your nerves tingle. the assistant leads you toward the back of the set, where a few women stand, laughing easily with one another. 

you recognize them immediately.. lena oberdorf, mary fowler, and alessia russo. you’d seen their photos in the media. never having enough time to watch ninety minutes of football, you still knew how good they were.

lena is first to notice you. 

“y/n!! you’re kidding?!!” she says to mary with a friendly smile, sticking her hand out. “nice to meet you.”

you shake her hand, grinning. “nice to meet you too. i’m a big fan of your game.”

“and i am a big fan of yours!!” lena says, seeming genuinely pleased. “looking forward to working with you today. the concept seems fun.”

mary and alessia both chime in their greetings.

there’s a moment of small talk as you chat about the campaign, the concept, and the filming schedule. but as you exchange introductions, your eyes keep drifting back to alessia. 

there’s something about her that draws you in—something in the way she carries herself, confident yet laid-back, with a gaze that's intense but kind. and when her eyes meet yours, you swear you see a flash of something else, something that makes your heart skip.

“so, you’re an actress..” alessia says finding small talk, leaning in a little closer. her voice has a certain lilt to it. warm, curious.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, 

“i’ve been working in television for a while, but this is my second sports commercial.”

“oh, really?” alessia tilts her head, her blonde hair falling to the side as she studies you. 

“guess we’re both kind of stepping into each other’s worlds for this one. i’ve never done a commercial myself unless it was for arsenal.”

“well, from what i’ve heard, you’ll be great,” you say, and it’s not just a compliment. you mean it. 

you’ve heard from your assistant about alessia playing for the england national team. she must be amazing. 

alessia chuckles softly, and you catch the way her eyes sparkle, like she's genuinely enjoying the conversation.

“we’ll see,” she says, that easy confidence still there but with a playful glint. 

“just don’t laugh at me if i mess up my lines.”

you shake your head, laughing. “only if you promise not to laugh at me trying to dribble a football.”

“deal,” alessia says, flashing you a grin that makes you wonder just how often she uses that smile to get what she wants. 

there’s something magnetic about her, and as much as you try to focus on the task at hand, your mind keeps circling back to her.

soon, it’s time to start filming, and the director calls everyone to their positions. the first scene you're shooting together is a lighthearted setup in a grocery store, meant to highlight how sports are part of everyday life. 

you and alessia are supposed to be casually shopping, pretending to pick out items until a boy accidentally passes a football to alessia, who starts dribbling the ball fantastically.

the idea is to show how these footballers are stars both on and off the pitch—effortlessly cool, effortlessly themselves.

you’re on the camera for the attention, the familiarity of many people seeing one of their favorite actresses on screen. 

as the cameras roll, you find yourself struggling to stay in character—not because you're nervous, but because you're genuinely awestruck. 

alessia makes it all look so easy. she maneuvers the ball around her feet effortlessly, as if it’s a natural extension of her body, and at one point, she jumps up and crosses her legs to move the ball up in a seamless move. 

the crew claps and cheers after the director says cut, and you have to remind yourself to look casual, to pretend like this is something you see every day.

"you okay there?" alessia whispers when you find yourself staring for a second too long. 

"yeah, totally," you reply, trying to play it off. "just, you know, impressed. you're kind of amazing."

“kind of?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “i’ll take that, i guess.”

you both laugh, and the rest of the shoot continues with an easy flow. 

the chemistry between you translates on camera, and the director nods approvingly after each take. 

by the time you wrap for the day, you're already regretting that it has to end so soon.

as everyone’s packing up, alessia walks over to you, her expression a mix of mischief and curiosity. 

“hey, i know you’re busy with your job but... do you have any plans while you're here in london?”

“not really,” you say, glancing down as you fidget with your hands. 

“i have some interviews coming up in new york soon, but other than that, i’m kind of free.”

“oh,” she says, her voice light but her eyes steady on yours. 

“how about we grab dinner tonight? there’s this great italian spot not too far from here—i thought it might be nice to hang out without all of the chaos.”

you don’t even have to think about it. “yeah, i’d like that a lot.”

later that evening, alessia takes you to a cozy restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of london. 

it’s intimate, dimly lit, with exposed brick walls and a menu that makes your mouth water the second you open it. the conversation flows easily—surprisingly easily—and you talk about everything from football and acting to travel, family, and your favorite shows outside of the ones you’ve been in. 

it feels like you’ve known each other for longer than a day.

“so, you travel a lot for work,” alessia says at one point, sipping on her lemon water. 

“ever get tired of it?”

“sometimes,” you admit. 

“but it’s also kind of amazing. i mean, many people would do anything for the opportunities that i’ve been given—like getting to meet people like you for example.”

alessia laughs softly, shaking her head. “you’re flattering me.”

“maybe,” you say with a playful smile, “but it’s the truth.”

alessia leans back in her chair, and there’s a look in her eyes you can't quite place—somewhere between admiration and something deeper, something that makes your stomach flip. 

“you know, you’re not what i expected,” she says, voice gentle but sincere.

“what do you mean?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“i don’t know, someone... a little more hollywood, i guess?” she shrugs.

“i get it. luckily i’m not from hollywood, i am from new york.” you smile. 

“that’s nice to hear.” alessia giggles. 

the conversation continues late into the night, and by the time you both walk out into the cool london air, you’re standing a little closer than necessary, arms brushing as you make your way down the street. 

she walks you back to your hotel, and when you say goodnight, there’s a moment—a heartbeat of silence—where you both just look at each other, and you feel it. 

something more than just a bond that was formed in one night.

“goodnight, y/n,” she says softly, lingering for just a second before turning to leave.

“goodnight, alessia,” you reply, watching her walk away, already replaying the night in your head.

the next few days fly by in a blur of filming and hanging out with alessia whenever you can. 

you text constantly, even when you're both too busy. a couple of weeks later you’re in new york city with castmates on your show– and alessia is with arsenal finishing the season. 

she sends quick messages between training, silly selfies with her teammates, and voice notes that make you smile every time you listen to them. 

it’s not long before you’re both sharing pieces of yourselves you don’t usually let others see. 

when alessia heads off to the women's world cup with england, you don’t expect to miss her as much as you do. 

you haven’t seen her since that night in london. her messages get shorter, more sporadic as the competition heats up, and while you understand—she’s busy, focused—you can’t help but wish you were there to cheer her on in person.

and then, one day, you get a text from her: 

wish you could be here. can't wait to see you soon!

your heart skips a beat, and without thinking, you open your laptop, check your schedule, and find a two-week window. 

before you can second-guess yourself, you’re booking a flight to australia.

when you finally arrive in australia, the world cup is in full swing. 

the streets are filled with fans, the excitement is in the air, and you find yourself caught up in the energy. 

on the day of the final, you’re practically buzzing with nerves and anticipation. you dragged one of your castmates to come with you across the globe, just to see alessia live. 

you find your seat, your heart pounding as you look out over the pitch.

when alessia takes the field, you can’t stop grinning. you cheer loudly, the sound almost getting lost in the roar of the crowd, but you know she hears you—somehow, you just know. 

the match is intense, every pass and tackle pulling you deeper in. but as the final whistle blows, it’s spain who takes the victory, and the stadium is filled with a mix of cheers and groans. 

your heart sinks as you watch alessia’s face fall, the disappointment clear in her expression.

as england’s players walk off the pitch, heads hung low, you feel helpless, wanting nothing more than to comfort her. 

you’re not sure if she’s even seen you in the stands, and you hesitate, unsure of what to do. 

then, you see leah, one of her teammates that became one of your favorites, give alessia a nudge and nod in your direction.

alessia looks up, scanning the crowd until her eyes land on you. for a moment, she’s still, and then she’s moving—walking quickly toward you, her face a mixture of surprise, relief, and something that looks like hope. 

before you know it, she’s right in front of you, and you’re pulling her into your arms, holding her tight as she buries her face in your shoulder.

“i’m so proud of you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. 

“you were amazing.”

she lets out a shaky breath, holding you close. “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“well, i couldn’t let you play in a world cup final without me,” you say, smiling softly as you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. 

“win or lose, i’m here for you.”

alessia’s eyes soften, and for a moment, the weight of the loss seems to lift. she cups your cheek with her hand, her thumb gently brushing against your skin, and you lean into the touch, your heart swelling with something warm and undeniable.

“thank you,” she whispers, her voice filled with emotion. and as the noise of the stadium fades into the background, all that matters is this—being here with her.

“maybe i can stay in london for a while, to make you feel better if thats okay?” you hug her again, holding her knowing that the world cup loss is still in her mind. 

“that is more than okay, y/n.”

masterlist

[remlionheart]

can i request a megumi x reader fluff >_<! so like while on a mission due to a cursed technique of the curse the reader gets turned into a child so megumi has to take care of them and yeah they’re dating BUT NOTHING WEIRD JUST MEGUMI TAKING CARE OF CHILD READER PLEASE 😭😭

not a lot, just forever...

intertwined, sewn together...

♡‧₊˚ ⋅ hi lovely! i sat with this idea for a few days thinking of a way to bring it to life because it’s honestly just so cute and the more i thought about meg trying to interact with a child, the more my heart melted. ((i also realized that this is the very first sfw thing i’ve ever posted on here (whoops lol)), it's more of a drabble than a full-fledged fic, but i hope you like it anyway ♡ 0.9k words. the fluffiest of fluff. lemme know whatcha think, luv you ‧₊˚ ⋅♡

⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹.

Megumi had watched the curse hit you. Watched the way your body went limp after you'd fallen to the ground. He'd held you in his arms, struggling to shove past all of the worst-case scenarios that had invaded his mind before scooping you up and getting you to a safe place while Yuuji and Nobara worked on defeating the curse user who’d done this to you.

He was grateful that you were okay – beyond grateful that you were still with him and somehow mostly unscathed, but...

He never expected to see you like this. He hadn’t even heard of the curse that had struck you until now and the effects of it were... surreal, to say the least. He knew this version of you from old pictures he'd seen and stories that you’d told him over the last year you'd been dating, but he never in his life thought that he'd one day be standing face-to-face with 7-year-old you…

"Hey," your voice was impossibly light, your tiny hand tugging at the sleeve of his uniform. "What's your name?"

The wheels in his head weren't just spinning anymore, they were fully lifted off of the ground and exploding into the air as he looked back at you, desperately searching your face to try and figure out if you were still there or if he was really, truly in the presence of child-you who hadn't met him yet.

He cleared his throat, doing his best to sound calmer than he felt. If he was this disoriented, he couldn't imagine what you must be feeling, especially at the age you suddenly were.

"My name's Megumi." He said placidly, crouching down to become eye level with you. "And you?"

You giggled, the most innocent, wholesome giggle he thought he'd ever heard as you bashfully introduced yourself to him.

"That's a pretty name." He soothed, silently racking his brain for a way to explain why you needed to come with him.

He'd never really been great with kids, even when he was one. At this age, his dad had already abandoned him and he was being faced with the crippling reality that he was going to be sold to the Zenin clan. He'd been forced to grow up at such a rapid rate that the adults around him had never bothered to speak sweetly to him or treat him how they should've. He wasn't allowed to simply be a first grader with first grader problems, he was expected to be a man.

Though he might not have not known the perfect way to interact with you, the longer he stared back into your big wonderous gaze, he realized that he certainly knew how not to act from the people that had failed him. He couldn't undo the past for himself, but what he could do was be the adult that he wished he would've had at 7.

"Hey," he finally said, flashing you the steadiest smile he could manage, "You don't like..." He put a finger to his chin, scrunching his face for emphasis as he pretended to think. "Strawberry mochi, do you?"

Stars filled your eyes while your small hands clapped together. "That's my favorite!" You squealed, completely enthralled by the fact that he'd somehow managed to guess it on the very first try.

"Really?" He asked, trying to mimic your excitement, "Mine too. Do you wanna go get some? My friend Shoko has tons of it."

You nodded emphatically; all 120 centimeters of you ready to run there though you had no idea which way to go yet.

"Alright," Megumi said, "But you gotta do me a favor and stay close to me until we get there, okay?"

Thankfully, he'd been able to move you to a secluded area before the curse had turned back the hands of time, but he still wasn't going to take any chances. He summoned his dogs, biting back a sincere smile when he heard you cheer, "Puppies!"

They were equally as ecstatic to see you too though. Both of them wagging their tails and leaving slobbery kisses across your face while you laughed, the two of them acting as if they really were puppies and not deadly shikigami.

He gave you a couple of minutes to pet them before redirecting their focus and reaching for your hand. Both dogs immediately got into formation, guarding you while you began your journey back to Shoko's office.

"So – Megumi."

"Yeah?"

"Ummm," you sputtered, trying to think of what question you wanted to ask him first. "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Favorite number?"

"Seventeen."

"Favooorriitteeeee.... food?"

"Anything that pairs well with ginger."

You made a face like you'd tasted something bitter, shaking your head as you giggled at his response. "What abouttt yourrr....favorite... person?"

He smiled to himself, squeezing your tiny hand in his. "Well..." He said, pausing to look down at you. "I think right now, I'd have to say it's you."

"Me?" You beamed, "Really?!"

"Always."

⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹.

[bballlvr8]

So I watched Genos interview because I wanted to get the context and pick up on the vibes in which he said everything here are my notes

- new players looked a little lost

- whole month of september hasn’t been anyone that separated themselves (freshman, and sophomore)

- sarah is just a great player, got a lot of skills to take advantage of

- kaitlyn her adjustment is ok because she’s aggressive and plays hard, she attacks.. transition is easier because she came from a winning program. Geno likes her approach and attitude.

- Jana and Yanna are doing ok getting back into full play.. they are over aggressive sometimes. Yanna looks great physically, had a pretty good september. Jana has been off and on. Geno is happy where they are at this point

- Nothing going on with the that group (Morgan, Azzi, Aubrey and Caroline) at different points of disrepair… said it jokingly

- Morgan has lingering issues from high school and is doing more and more everyday

- azzi is on her regular schedule, we won’t see her playing 5x5 for a little bit,

- aubrey hasn’t done anything really

- Carol is all guess work :(

- They won't be ready for exhibition game, Morgan will tho!

- Bigs are fluid with ball, need to get the chemistry right

- Not necessarily wanting to keep paige off the ball, he wants to see what happens. Thinks there is an advantage to both, lot of success playing with 4 guards last year.

- Guilty of not having the ball in paiges hands more last year

- Paige is living up to being more aggressive, and he's ok with her forcing some things. SHES being a ball hog lmaoo

- New basketball shot tracking info on the goals

- Expectations of KK and Ashlynn, go to another step, they will be a little more comfortable, theyve both improved. Ashlynn more defensively than anything else. KK understanding more on how to run a team.

- Needs Sarah to have a role that impacts winning for them. Not putting any limits on her, her role will be determined by what she does in practice

- ice is their “post” veteran lol — kind of gave a funny face lol

- replacing Nika and Aaliyah with players who haven’t played a lot of basketball so you have to wait out and see. they’ll be more aggressive than defensive like last year.

- Azzi will be back before everyone like we already saw, he said that she definitely wouldn’t be back the first week of November, but he wasn’t sure about the second week in November. Says they’ll know more when she starts getting out there. Hoping that she’s there before they get into their deepest parts of their schedule, keeping his fingers crossed. She looks great. She feels great and she’s confident. More of a lets be cautious thing with Azzi!

- so many things he likes about Kaitlyn and felt that if she was here since her freshman year, she would be an All-American and probably a very high draft pick.

-

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

*

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and  a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

[revelboo]

hiii, I love you and have been brainrotting over your works for the past 20 hours 🫶

I just write the silly things that pop into my head, but I’m glad, and surprised, other folks enjoy them.

Stand Too Close

Megatron x reader- playful

• Shrill and painful as a something drilling straight into his processor, Megatron winces as the sound finally cuts off. An alarm or..? No, of course not. There’s the human running full tilt from an open doorway, Soundwave’s cassettes in pursuit. As Ravage pounces near, the human screeches again in mock fear despite their grin.

• They’re… playing? How long has it been since he’s heard any Cybertronians cutting up? Having fun. He just stops, not sure what to make of it. Especially as Rumble catches the human around the waist to sling over a shoulder upside down. Prey caught, the cassettes finally notice him and go still. It takes the squirming human longer, but their grin fades when they realize the fun is over and spot him.

• And even thought they’re all grown, they react like sparklings caught doing something wrong- they all bolt, Rumble dropping the human in his haste.

• That jerk. You land mostly on your shoulder and back in an inelegant sprawl, staring upside down as Rumble runs like all of hell is right on his heels. Which might not be too far off, you decide as you roll to your knees and keep your head down. Because the Decepticon leader is staring at you with a frown so severe you want to hide and there’s nowhere to go.

• Venting heavily, he kneels down to offer you a single servo, his big hand hovering close as if he wants to pick you up, but isn’t sure. Cautiously, you grab onto that servo and allow him to gently pull you to your feet before letting go. And he just stares at that servo in silence. Probably wondering what all germs you just got on him, you guess. He certainly doesn’t look happy about it and your shoulders droop slightly.

• “Do you fear me?” He asks, not quite sure why when he knows the inevitable answer. Fear is the currency he’s learned best how to spend over the decades. It keeps his motley ranks mostly in line. He’d accepted a long time ago that it was better to be feared than loved. Safer, too.

• Head tipping back to stare up at the huge mech, it’s a surprise to realize that, no, you don’t exactly fear him. He’s had plenty of chances to hurt you and hasn’t. Oddly enough, Skywarp is much scarier. This one? The big, bad warlord? Honestly, he just seems too exhausted all the time to bother with being a threat. Though, come to think of it, you have seen the other side, too. Little glimpses of an ice cold, barely restrained violence in his tone when speaking with his subordinates. Apparently, you’re not worth the doom voice. “Should I?”

• Probably. He’s not sure if it’s naïveté or bravery when you meet his optics, seeming genuinely curious about his answer. “Why were they chasing you?” He asks instead.

• Nose wrinkling as he ignores your question, you shrug. You’re an adult, but yeah, it’s not like it really matters what the giant aliens think about you. You get bored. “Playing tag,” you admit. And losing badly at tag, because you’re so much slower than they are. His stare is still blank and you throw out your arms. “Someone’s it. They have to tag someone else to not be it. Being it is bad,” you ramble.

• More silence. You’re definitely being judged by an ancient, evil robot. Exasperation winning out over caution, you lunge over to swat his servo. Hard. “You’re it.” Glowing red optics slide from his servo to you and you still have no idea what he’s thinking. What you’re thinking? You really, really wish you hadn’t done that. “No tag backs,” you yelp, realizing his retaliation is likely to smear you on the floor.

• Instead he vents softly, rises and stalks away. For a second, one corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. You suppose evil warlords don’t play games. Probably ruins the whole evil appearance he has going. Heart racing, you start back toward Soundwave’s quarters, not at all surprised when Frenzy and the other cassettes are waiting around a corner safely out of range of retaliation to ambush you. And you’re it again.

[ghyulia]

𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦?

cw: Shouto Todoroki x Reader, wc ~3.2k

disclaimers ;3 - angst, misunderstandings, & fluff!

It was no secret amongst UA students that you and Todoroki were attached at the hip. A better way to describe it would be that you frequently tugged on the boy, yelling his ear off, rambling, training together, and the like.

It wasn't always that way, of course. At the beginning of your first year at UA, you and the half-hot half-cold boy did not get off to a good start. You showed him your well-practiced friend-making kindness, he responded in a not-so-nice manner, saying that he didn't care for friends in such a condescending voice, and you decided that you didn't like him. That decision lasted less than a month though, when he later apologized for his coldness and you forgave him. You were never one to forgive easily, so it came as a shock to you to see yourself immediately accepting his apology. How come?

Your relationship with Todoroki only went up from there. It started with being paired as training partners which turned into exchanging books and studying together, walking to class together, hanging out together, eating lunch together, and doing just practically about everything together. You attached yourself to the dual-color haired boy, even giving him his own cute nickname of sorts. Todoroki had never said outright that he hated it. In fact, if you had to guess, you would've thought he was okay with it--liked it even. (But now, that assumption only feels like your biggest mistake.)

It's a morning like any other. You trudge down the hall of your school, mentally dreading entering the classroom. You told Todoroki not to wait for you as you wanted to get to class a bit earlier. (You two had a habit of making it to class just by the bell, wasting copious amounts of time talking through breakfast.) You wanted to stop by the support course to pick up a part of your hero costume, and you knew it wouldn't be possible to if you had waited for the boy. You giggle lightly to yourself thinking about the face 'Roki will make when he sees the new addition to your costume. You're about to turn the corner when you hear a string of familiar voices. It makes you stop dead in your tracks. Curiosity always got the better of you. You quickly recognize the voices to be Kaminari, Kirishima, Midoriya, Iida, and Todoroki. You smile lightly to yourself, thinking what an odd combo it seems to make. Your smile drops almost immediately, though.

"Everyone seems over the edge these days with exams coming up, huh Prez? Whaddya say about us holding a class study session?" You hear Kaminari suggest. "I don't think that would be efficient nor effective! We also have to consider if some of our classmates study better in small groups or large groups!" Iida replies, and you can see him waving his hand in an engine like way. "I'm with Prez on this one, sorry bro." Kirishima adds, scratching the back of his head. "I feel the same way!" Midoriya chimes in, before whisper-rambling about who in the class seems like they work better alone. "I agree too. I wouldn't participate. It would most likely distract me from getting any work done at all." You hear Todoroki say. "Yea, well of course you wouldn't join! You and (Name) would probably chum it up with the books before we would even get anywhere! It's no fair! How come you always get to hang around (Name)?" "It's not like that. (Name) is a distraction to me too. In many more ways than anybody I've ever known is." "Woah, dude! I didn't know that's how you felt about them. I so thought..." You feel your heart sink to your feet. Suddenly, everything about you feels weird. You didn't know that was how Todoroki felt about you. Suddenly, your feet are moving by themselves, in the opposite direction. Anything to get away from here. From this situation. And so you make a mad dash to the restroom. You couldn't bear to hear the rest of the conversation, when it had been made so clear to you that the guy you thought was your best friend had felt the exact opposite about you. You felt so pathetic and in shock that you couldn't even cry. If you were so annoying and distracting to Todoroki, why didn't he just say so? Why did he let you pester him and waste both his and your time? You don't understand. You just stood there in the bathroom, leaning against the door of a stall. Slowly, you come to, slap yourself in the face, and walk towards your classroom once again. That day, you make another decision, with more resolve than the previous ones. Distance.

And so when you make it to class just by the bell and half-hot half-cold boy inquires why since you specifically left early, you just shrug and tell him you had some things to take care of. And when lunch comes around, you decide that you want to sit with Mina and her friends. And when it's time to train, you ask Midoriya instead. And at the end of class, when Iida proposes that you, Midoriya, Todoroki, him, and Uraraka should have a study session, you pass. You pack up your things, bid your friends a cya later, and make your way out of the building. You're changing your shoes when Todoroki makes his way towards you. He has a slight grimace on his face, but to most people, he looked like he normally did. (Why did you still want to know why he was making that face? Why did you get so attached in the first place? You hated yourself for it. )

"..Hey. Is there something wrong? You were unusually to yourself today. You didn't even pair up with me for training or sit with us." Todoroki asks, outstretching his hand to take your bag as you fumble with your shoes. You don't give it to him, and instead opt to bring it even closer to you. You muster up the best smile you can, and reply with all the gusto you can bring. "I'm fine! I have to go now though, so see you!" You say hurriedly as you quickly finish putting on your shoes and readjusting your bag. You all but dash out of the building and make your way to your dorm before Todoroki can even offer to walk with you. You hope he doesn't notice how stiff your smile was. But how would he anyway? He had only seen you as a distraction. You leave behind a distraught and confused Todoroki, who watches you disappear into the distance. (The boy immediately noticed how fake that smile was. Your smile was never like that. Ever. You didn't tell him about your day. You didn't eat lunch with him. You didn't even say a full 3 sentences to him today. And for the first time, Todoroki felt a sharp pang! in his chest. It hurt.)

Before you know it, you're at the dorms and finally, everything comes crashing down. You feel like you're about to have a meltdown. And so you quickly whip out your phone and shoot Mina a quick text.

You

Hey Mina, not feeling too hot rn. I'll be in my room

Mins

omw

"Not feeling too hot" was your and Mina's unspoken way of saying hey, I'm about to lose it, hellp! When Mina had first texted you something along those lines, you decided to check up on her, only to find her hysterically sobbing into her pillow. Safe to say it's a term only used during emergencies. Like now. By the time you make it to your room, you feel the waterworks coming. You quickly wriggle out of your uniform and fight back the tears that threaten to release from your eyes. You're doing well you think, until Mina comes in. All it takes is a "Hey babes, what's wrong?" For you to absolutely crumble into your best friend's chest. It takes a while for you to finally get everything out, along with the reason you're this way, but by the time you do, you feel a lot better.

"What the hell is wrong with this dude...It pisses me off but, (Name)! Listen. The best part now is that you know, right? No more clinging or worrying about that twat!" You sniffle. "I know, Mins. I really know, but it still hurts, you know? I'm embarrassed, hurt, and sad. But above all, I'm angry. I've been making a fool of myself. I hate it. And I hate how much I liked him." You croak out, throat dry from all the crying. "I know, I know." Mina coos, and you hug her tighter. Eventually, she leaves, and you sprawl across your bed. You already know what you're going to do. It's easier this way for the both of you guys, you think.

And so you continue to give Todoroki the cold shoulder. You shoot him a text saying that you can't walk with him anymore, and even decide to make breakfast to-go just to avoid seeing him. You stop greeting him in the morning. You ask Midoriya to be partners for the foreseeable future, and he agrees. You walk home with Mina. You eat lunch with Mina and her friends. You begin to study with them, too. And go out on the weekends. You barely even spare the dual color haired boy a glance. Whenever you speak to him, you keep it curt. (But how come it still hurts?) And this lasts for around a month, before the last straw.

Breaking up your friendship with Todoroki gave you more time to hang out with other people. It was fun to talk to new people, and it also served as a way to take your mind off him. This Friday is like any other. Todoroki watches you walk in, and a part of him hopes that maybe you would say good morning! in your chirpy voice. You always made it a point to smile at him and say good morning, but now, you don't even look at him. He watches as you take your seat and talk to Kaminari about something stupid. pang! Eventually the lesson starts, and the day flies by as "normal". The normal being rarely any contact between him and you. This isn't how it should be, Todoroki thinks to himself. He's packing up his things to go when he sees you and the metal quirked kid from Class 2b near the door. He can't hear what you two are saying, but he does see Metal Quirk lean in and all but tackle you into a hug. He's definitely heavy with the way you can barely hold yourself up. But you're laughing. He hadn't seen that in so long. pang. pang. pang. And before he knows it, Todoroki is making his way towards the two of you. He pulls Tetsutetsu off of you albeit a bit rough. "(Name). Mr. Aizawa is calling for us. He's in his office." And before you can respond, Todoroki clasps your hand and starts walking you two towards the office. Although shocked, you manage to use your free hand to wave to Tetsutesu before confronting the boy keeping such a tight grip on your hand. "Thank you, but I can walk myself. Do you know what he needs us for?" You ask, but there's no answer. To your surprise once again, you both pass by the office. "Hey, Todoroki. I thought you said Mr. Aizawa was in the office? Where are we-" You feel his grip tighten a little. "Todoroki, let go." You say with a hint of seriousness in your tone that makes the boy hesitate in his walking. But he doesn't stop. You finally manage to yank his hand away at the lockers. "Todoroki! Seriously, what the hell?" You half-yell, both confused and annoyed. "I should be asking you that, (Name). What's happening? You don't talk to me at all. It's like I don't exist to you anymore. And now you're all buddy-buddy with everybody. Did I do something? I just want answers." Todoroki says, and you feel something in you explode. Maybe it's the pent-up frustration from his seemingly obliviousness, or just the sheer fact of the nerve he had to say what he just said. Either way, you don't spare the boy. "What's wrong?! You should be happy I'm doing this, since all I am is a distraction in so many ways. If I was such a pain, you should've said something. I overheard your conversation with the others about me. I couldn't even listen past the distraction part because it hurt so so bad. I know what you said. I thought I was doing us both a favor by ignoring you, so that way you can focus. And I can't even begin to look at you, because when I do, all I think about is how embarrassed and mad I am that you would let me stick around you all this time and not express how you truly feel! You never cared about me at all, did you?" You don't even realize you're crying until you feel one trickle down your cheek. You don't even bother to look at the male before you mutter a quick apology and make a beeline for the exit. Once again, you leave Todoroki standing there. (When he saw your tears fall, and chest heave, all he could wonder was how could someone look so beautiful even when crying? He wanted to slap himself. Why was he like this?)

You feel so idiotic as you sob into your pillow. And you sob, and sob, and sob until you physically can't cry anymore. By the time you look up from your snot covered pillow, it's darker. Dinner has already passed, and you weakly grab your phone to see a swarm of texts from Mina. Before you can type out a reply though, you hear frantic banging on your door. You sluggishly make your way to the door before creaking it slightly open. You're greeted with the face you least want to see right now, and you grimace. "What do you want, Todoroki? If you're sorry, it's okay. If you're not, it's okay too. I just want to be left alone." You shut the door faster than the half-hot half-cold boy can hold it, and you just stand there for a bit. You think he's left until you hear his voice. "(Name). I'm just letting you know in advance. I'm burning this door down." You quickly yank the door open. "No! What the hell." This time, Todoroki makes use of the open door and comes in. You both are just standing there until he speaks up: "(Name). I want to clear this up with you. I won't deny that I said what I said. And even if you had listened to the whole conversation, it wouldn't have made things any better." "How is this supposed to make me feel better?" "Sorry. What I mean is that It's the way I meant it that matters. I don't have a way with words. I've never been able to articulate my feelings quite well. (Name), you are a distraction. At first, I thought that it was maybe your quirk. Whenever I'm around you, it's hard to focus. My palms get sweaty, my heartbeat becomes irregular, and I just feel...odd. I talked about it with my sister, and she and I are both sure that I harbor romantic feelings for you. When I said you were a distraction, I meant...more so romantically. Kaminari and the others are just plain distracting in the annoying way. But you? You distract my heart. I can't pay attention to much other than your smile, your words, just you. This past month, week and 5 days have been horrible. That's what I meant, (Name). You're special to me, and I'm sorry I made you feel otherwise. I'm not lying. We can check for proof." He takes your hand softly places it on his chest. You can feel his heart beating rapidly, and when you look up, you see a faint red hue adorn both his cheeks. You can't help but shed a few happy tears. "You idiot. I'm just so glad right now...You don't understand how bad I hated not talking to you. We have so much to catch up on! You better be ready because I'm really gonna talk your ear off tonight." "I wouldn't have it any other way." Todoroki smiles and pulls you into a tight embrace.

extra!

"You do realize that you just confessed your love for me, right 'Roki?" "Yes." "And you counted the days, you loser. hehe." "...But Wait, so what does this mean for us? Since the feelings are mutual." "If it's alright with you, dating with the intention of marriage in the future?" "...Who told you that would be a good idea to say?" "...Tokoyami."

xxtra!

A while later, Todoroki ends up talking with Kaminari, Kirishima, Iida, and Midoriya. "I have a question. When I said that name was a distraction to me, what way did you perceive it as?" The male inquires. "Like ya hate her! I was so shocked. I still can't expect that from you of all people Todobro!" Kaminari says to which Kirishima agrees. "I thought the same way! But calling a classmate a distraction is far from appropriate! I take it you apologized?" Iida asks, to which Todoroki scratches his ear. "O-Oh WHAT?! Is that what you meant, Todoroki? I for sure thought you meant that you held romantic feelings for her which in turn led to um...distractions." Midoriya says, and The dual color haired boy half smiles at him. "Yea. That's what I meant." "How did you know Midoriya?! What the hell!" Kirishima asks, shellshocked. "Oh, um well I thought it was kind of obvious. Well actually, I have some notes about it in my notebook. Not in a creepy way I swear! It started off as an analysis of both of their quirks in battle since they always paired up together. They had a lot of synergy so I wanted to take some notes. But the more I observed the two of them together, the more I noticed. Like for example..." The green haired boy flips through his notebook until he reaches a page that says, 'TODOROKI & (NAME) ALLIANCE'. "Here it is! Like when they fight together, Todoroki takes a different stance than when he fights with like say, Bakugou. At first, I thought it was because he wanted to dominate against the enemy, but that didn't make sense since their strengths are close to equal. Then I realized his stance was more protective because he personally didn't want (Name) to get hurt. And also, when he's with (Name), his facial expressions are more animated. His smile is wider, and his eyes are always looking at them. He's always got his eyes on (Name). Even when we go out to stores, he always looks for something to bring back for them. The biggest solidifier for me though, was this past month when (Name) and him kind of drifted. His mood was significantly worse. He ate his lunch slower and would always look towards their direction. He would study slower, and he was looking at name even more. It was almost like they were his drive! It made me realize instantly that something was up.....and....and....." (Todoroki didn't even realize the extent to which you had captured his heart. But now he was sure. He had you, and he was never letting go.)

a/n: oh my goodness I'm so sorry for being inactive :(( I'm back now and this was kinddaaa rushed but I think I like it tho!! aaaa I've been missing shouto a lot lately so here this is!! I hope ygs enjoy and if anyone has any ideas at all pls send them my way! I would love to do them!

[leighsartworks216]

Strawberry Thyme Blondies

Zayne x gn!Reader

I wrote 4 fics today what the fuuuck

Warnings: food/eating, kissing, bakery au

Word Count: 1,943

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The bell jingles softly as the door opens. It stays open, held by the newcomer to let out leaving patrons who titter happily about the new sweets they scored. As they went outside, Zayne could hear them cheering about getting the “last ones”.

The bakery was small, but passion made it lively and loved. What it lacked in room for tables and chairs, it made up for with lots of displays for the treats, both savory and sweet. There were several constants that never switched out - muffins of all kinds, cookies, slices of cake. But he had his eye on something new, a recipe the owner had gushed to him about being excited to try, telling him to visit when he gets the chance so he can try it, too.

But the tray was woefully empty. It looked out of place among the persistently freshly-restocked trays beside it.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” one of the employees asks from the counter.

Zayne looks up. “Do you have any more strawberry thyme blondies?”

The employee frowns apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, we just sold out. You’re welcome to wait until the next batch comes out.”

So, the pair he held the door for were talking about the sweet treat he coveted. He shook his head. “It’s alright, thank you.”

As they turn to assist someone else, he peeks back into the kitchen. The muffled clinking of metal trays being placed in an oven, a blender whipping up something airy and light, a laugh or two from the bakers who labor with love in their hearts. A face appears in the window of the door.

You wave excitedly at him. Even from afar, he can see the flour and icing on your cheeks, accentuating your bright smile. He smiles back. And then you’ve disappeared somewhere he can’t see. As the morning begins to mature, more clientele pour into the tiny space.

After the last customer lets themselves in, he catches the door and lets himself out.

-

Zayne pours himself into his work, barely getting a chance to sit down between consultations and surgeries. It’s late afternoon when he does get the opportunity, but there’s not a second of relaxation before he’s working through medical reports. It’s definitely past his work hours. He can’t find a single reason not to get them done now.

A knock at his office door doesn’t fully jostle him out of his focus. His fingers pause briefly over the keyboard, but continue right where he left off.

“Come in.”

The door opens. He doesn’t look up, trying to finish off this last sentence before he loses it. It closes again softly. The light crinkle of a plastic bag follows the newcomer as they walk toward his desk. The smell hits him right after.

When he looks up, he’s surprised to see you there, smiling coyly down at him as you place the takeout on the corner of his desk. “I knew you’d still be here. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“You’re right, I haven’t,” he confirms with a nod. He looks from the bag to you. “But this is more takeout than I can eat.”

“Mhm. Coincidentally, I haven’t had dinner either.” You smile like a mischievous cat as you begin pulling containers from the bag, separating his order from your own. He reads the labels; they’re all his favorites. You’ve even requested no carrots on one of them. “Try to save room for dessert.”

He chuckles lightly, collecting his containers as he stands and leads you over to the couch in his office. It’s barely used. “What else do you have hidden up your sleeves?”

You plop down comfortably on one end. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

-

Dinner goes by rather quietly. It’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. In your time knowing the doctor, you’d learned how to enjoy the silence, take in the stillness while you could. When you work at the bakery, you don’t really get the chance to. The quietest it ever gets is 3am, when you’re up prepping dough and pre-baking goods to sell in the early morning rush, and even then, the sounds of working in the kitchen steal it from you.

You idly watch the city through his large floor-to-ceiling wall of windows, studying the towering buildings as evening begins to take hold. Your bakery is relatively close by, so these buildings are all familiar to you, but they look different from way up high. You’re so used to staring up at them, it’s almost surreal to look down at them now.

Zayne sets his container down on the coffee table. You watch him closely now, grin back on your lips. “Do you have any more work to do?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Why you’re asking.”

You chuckle and nudge his knee with your own. “Dessert, on me. I didn’t want it to get messed up, so I didn’t bring it.”

He sighs. There is work to be done, but it’s nothing so urgent he can’t leave it until tomorrow. “Give me a minute to grab my things.”

While he turns off his computer and gathers his keys, you place the empty takeout containers back in the bag and throw it away in his office trash can. You can’t seem to stand still as you wait for him by the door.

-

The key in the lock clicks, and that familiar bell jingles once more. All the lights are off, tables wiped down and chairs flipped over on top of them. Any leftover goods from the day have been picked off by your small batch of employees and all else donated to the hospital for the patients. Your generosity was a vital component in keeping everyone’s spirits high. He had to admire it.

You lock the door behind him so no nighttime stragglers try to slip in. The last thing you want is to deal with somebody who ignores the blatant “Closed” sign on the door.

“You disappeared so quickly this morning,” you say as you lead him behind the counter and toward the kitchen. He’s never been back here before. “Didn’t have time to say hi?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your rush hour customers,” he corrects. “There seemed to be more than usual today.”

You laugh joyfully at the thought. “There were! They’d all heard about my new recipe and wanted to try it out.” You push the two-way door open with easy familiarity.

The kitchen is about as cramped as the rest of the shop. There are multiple industrial ovens along one wall. What counter space there is has been decidedly dedicated to preparing specific treats. One is labelled for gluten-free prep, with signs reminding employees to take precaution and follow the guide to the letter. There’s a small alcove for employee belongings, with hooks for coats and bags, shelves for other personal belongings, and a separate set of hooks dedicated to aprons. Yours is easily recognizable from the rest, still dusted with powdered sugar and marked with icing.

“Yes, they were sold out when I came earlier. Do you plan to add them to the normal roster of products?”

“That’s the plan! I just have to find a more efficient way to make enough to last longer than they have been.” You lead him around prep tables and shelves of baking trays to a fridge. When you open it, it’s immediately clear it’s meant for personal lunches and drinks for the employees, rather than ingredients for baking. A box with your logo sits on the top shelf. You pull it out and set it on a table. “Anyway, I’d planned to give these to you this morning, but you ran out before I had the chance.”

You pushed the box toward him. He eyed you curiously before lifting the lid to reveal 6 beautiful blondie squares. They were a perfect golden brown, topped with light pink mascarpone mousse icing and decorated with slices of strawberries. The fresh scent of thyme tickled his nose. He looked at you.

“How much-”

“Please,” you cut him off immediately, “they’re a gift. You had to listen to me talk your ear off for weeks while I perfected the recipe; this is just my way of saying thanks.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You make listening to you sound like a burden.” He delicately lifts one of the bars with two fingers. The brown-butter blondie is still soft and perfectly moist. “I like listening to you talk about the things you’re passionate about.”

He holds the treat out for you, hovering it a few inches from your mouth for you to take a bite. You blink up at him. “They’re for you. You don’t have to share any.”

Undeterred, Zayne steps closer, watching you with calm hazel eyes. “If they’re mine to have, they’re mine to share,” he says softly. The quiet creeps in from the edges. He holds the blondie slightly closer to your lips.

You hesitate, staring up at him like he might retract the offer before you get the chance to accept. This is the most quiet your bakery has ever been. You don’t want to disturb it.

You carefully hold his wrist as you lean in for a bite, eyes lowered to the strawberry thyme blondie you spent a larger chunk of time than strictly necessary baking earlier that morning. You’d wanted them to be perfect for him.

It practically melts on your tongue. Soft and chewy, creamy mascarpone and nutty browned butter dancing together. You look up at him, expecting him to take a bite now. His eyes seem transfixed on your mouth as you chew. You hear your heartbeat in your ears when you swallow.

Your hand follows his as it’s lowered to the box. You can see him rest the bitten blondie haphazardly on top of the rest out of the corner of your eye. His other hand rests on the counter beside you, caging you in as he crowds into your space. His eyes find yours again.

“Can I have a taste?” he whispers. His cool breath touches your warm cheeks, his nose so close to brushing your own that you feel lightheaded.

You nod.

He stares for a moment longer, as if taking in his actions for the first time since he opened the box. Then, he moves in and his eyes close.

The kiss is tentative at first. An unsure press of lips, like teens who had yet to experience their first kiss. You lean further into him, opening your mouth in greeting. His breath hitches in his throat as he accepts the invitation.

You taste sweet. Perhaps unsurprising given your profession, but it burns a lasting mark in his brain, a reminder of this precise moment. He can taste the summertime sweetness of the fresh strawberries, the hint of thyme ensuring that it doesn’t become overbearing. He sighs into the quiet as he tilts his head, seeking out more of you.

His hand finds your hip, pressing you gently into the counter. Your hand slides up his arm, along his shoulder, brushes up his neck, until you’re cupping his cheek. Your other hand rests on the edge of the counter for support, pinky brushing his own hand. It creeps over to hold yours.

When he pulls away, you follow, trying to steal another kiss from him. He huffs a quiet chuckle, pulling you back to your senses as you open your eyes to look up at him. His cheeks are pink with blush, and he shyly looks away to the box of sweets. “These are my new favorite.”

[kulemiwrites]

How about how they react to lewd texts ;p

Characters: Masato Aizawa, Akira Nishikiyama, Reina, Osamu Kashiwagi, Kazuma Kiryu, Goro Majima (Nishida makes an appearance), Taiga Saejima, Shun Akiyama | GN!Reader

Rating: Some of these are suggestive and some are actually kinda explicit. Use your own discretion!

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the request! This was so much fun to write omg, you have no idea. I lost my mind on some of them.

𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

When he first gets the texts, he would do that double take thing where you read a text then but the phone down for a split second until it registers then bring it back up to reread it before locking the fuck in. He’s not good with words in the sense that he could keep a good sexting sesh going. He’ll be okay at first then somewhere down the line say something sorta wild that derails the conversation and makes you laugh more than it’d make you horny. He’s learned that it’s best to just lean in on his partner and let THEM do all the talking by saying stuff like “Oh yeah?” “Keep going. What happens next?” “Tell me more.” Then when he thinks there’s enough build up, he’ll slide in a “Wanna see what you do to me?” before sending a horribly angled dick pic. Guess it’s a good thing it’s pretty because he’s no photographer.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐈

Send him the right thing and you will open the floodgates for his filthiness. He can either be a taunting little tease, leaving you literally aching to see him or he will be downright disgusting. He lets you set the tone and then he follows suit. In truth, he’d ask for pics of you all the time if you were down. If you’re apart for a bit he’ll ask you to snap a few in that cute little number he bought you and when he gets it, he’ll be like “fuck, im omw” and while you thought he was joking, he disappears on you for like 20 minutes before he’s knocking at your front door. He can’t leave sexting as just sexting for too long before he has to have a slice of the real thing.

𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐀

God, do not send this woman overtly lewd texts! Please, she does not have a good poker face. She will read the text, her ears would turn red and she’ll send back a quick, “You stop that.” And while she seems unreceptive to the text, it certainly had its intended effect. She’ll spend the rest of her work day fanning her collar, fiddling with her necklace and rubbing at her neck in an attempt to soothe herself. Rile her up enough and she’ll find herself uncharacteristically spacing out when she should be fulfilling drink orders. She’ll be annoyed at you about it but surely you can make things right somehow?

𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐆𝐈

He will just not respond.😭 He’ll read it and it might even do a little something to him but he will not dignify that text with a response. He’d be lying through his fucking teeth if he said that it didn’t make his mind wander though. When he finally gets to see you, or if he can’t get to you, he’ll give you a call and grumble something along the lines of “Just what did you think you were getting at with that little message of yours?” Feel free to continue teasing him but he can only take so much before he’ll want you to ‘do something about it’.

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔

It’ll sorta throw him when you first send him something of that nature to the point that he’s not even sure what to say in response. He’d probably just send a single emoticon and (accidentally) immediately nip whatever mood you were hoping for in the bud. He won’t say so but he’d be a little disappointed that you didn’t say anything back. He didn’t want you to stop, he just didn’t know how to participate. Once he gets it though, he will try in earnest… Even if it doesn't quite get the job done. Prepare for short responses like “I want that too.” “Mm, sounds good.” “Ha, seems you know what I like.” “Hope to see you soon too.👍” He’s TRYING for the love of God! He’s doing his best!

𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

There… was a time when he left his phone with Nishida because he couldn’t be bothered to keep up with it. He lost it all the time or he’s had to replace the screen because he was uh, roughhousing, for lack of a better word. The day you texted him something a little risque, and put both him and Nishida in a particularly awkward position, things changed. That when a little something like this:

Nishida: Excuse me, boss! Uh, looks like you just received a text from _____-san.

Majima: Oh, yeah? What’d ____-chan say then?

[Nishida opens the text thread. His eyes widen after reading the contents of the text. Red rises from his neck to his forehead and he’s looking at his boss with a horror unlike anything he’s ever shown the man before. Majima pauses what he’s doing for a moment and shoots a particular nasty frown at the younger man.]

Majima: The hell’s your problem? Ya got diarrhea or somethin’? Read the damn message shithead!

Nishida: B-Boss, I, uh.. I think it’s better if you read this one yourself.

Majima: What? Ya forget how to read all’a sudden? READ IT!

Nishida: C-C… *sweating profusely* C-can’t w-wait to.. Uh, Ehem… 

Majima: Yer pissin’ me off. *stomps over to snatch the phone from Nishida* It ain’t that hard ta read a damn message! *clears throat* Can’t wait ta get my hands all over you. Dying to let you fuck…my throat… Huh… *sees there’s a pretty risque pic attached and immediately wacks Nishida in the head* YA LOOKED AT _____, ASSHOLE?!

Nishida: B-boss! I HAD DO IDEA IT WAS THAT KIND OF PICTURE OR I WOULDN’T HAVE OPENED IT!

Majima: FORGET WHAT THE HELLA YA SAW AND DON’T EVEN LET ME CATCH YA LOOKIN AT _____ WRONG OR I’LL SLICE YER EYES OUT MYSELF! *still whacking poor Nishida*

He, uh… He keeps his cell on his person these days.

𝐒𝐀𝐄𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

He’s like Kiryu in that he’s not good at responding to texts. Lewd or otherwise. When you send him any text, he will simply react to it. It’d take you telling him that he should say something back because otherwise your racy text thread would look a little something like this:

Probably best to keep the dirty talk to bedroom for this one, huh?

𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀

You’re pretty much the reason Hana refuses to allow Akiyama to use his cell while in the office. He sends you pretty racy messages himself throughout his work day and if you play along, he pretty much forgets anything but the conversation he’s having with you. He’s sent Hana on a “lunch run” just so that he could lock himself in the office, call you and pick up where you left off while he “took care of himself” before. Hana was none the wiser thankfully, otherwise she’d be a little hesitant about what she touches in that office.

Please do not reupload/repost/rewrite but reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated. Thank you for reading!

[twilightrocksfanfic]

I just had a thought about Breaking Dawn.

So knowing that the story of the rich, white vampires moving into the territory of the poor, native werewolves and thus forever altering the course of said minorities lifes, without said minority being able to do anything about it or reverse the damage done to them, makes twilight basically a colonizer story, the whole gathering an army thing in Breaking Dawn is infinitely more detrimental to the werewolves than to the vampires, right?

HOWEVER, in addition to that not only do the Cullen's just not care about the effect they have on this indigenous group, in the case of Breaking Dawn, having all these kids turn, is actually in their interest.

They are building an army and at least partially expecting to fight a war to the death with the oldest and most powerful vampire clan in recorded history (recorded in the twilight books that is). Having more werewolf's, aka vampires neutral enemies, on their side is good for them, no matter the consequence to those kids getting turned.

I'm sure someone has pointed this out before but I've just always overlooked it I guess. In the source material this colonizer narrative is never directly acknowledged so I always kind of blamed it exclusively on the author and assumed the characters didn't think that hard about it and SURELY would've handled the situation differently if they had. But why would they if this worked out in their favor like this?

It also means one more way in which the story forces Jacob to betray his people in order to stand up for his weird vampire baby crush.

[quibbs126]

have you done elder faerie and dark cacao…

So I ended up getting on this because I saw an announcement for an eldercacao week, but it also means I got through this design, so here we are with Silver Clay Cookie

So Silver Clay here is supposed to be a weaponsmith, though she specializes in silver weapons. She's got a noticeable amount of silver in her dough, and it makes her have a particular attunement to metal, as well as being able to shape it out of clay. It makes her pretty important around the Faerie Kingdom

She's also a bit of a germophobe, and hates stains. They don't really get on her, but she's got a bit of a compulsive need to get rid of germs and such when she sees them. She also instinctively does not like the yeast creatures around the Faeriewood, for the same reasons (it's because silver is antibacterial)

She generally lives in the Faerie Kingdom, and is expected to take up the mantle of Guardian if something ever happens to Elder Faerie. She does visit the Dark Cacao Kingdom, but not often with the Licorice Sea being a barrier. The metal powers make her more important to the Faeries than the Dark Cacao Kingdom

She has a tendency to be rather high strung, and has inherited some of her father's (Dark Cacao's) traits of not really letting loose and relaxing. If you see her at a party outside of the start of it, it's because someone's keeping her there or because she's multitasking. It makes her odd among the Faeries, but she doesn't pay it much mind in favor of more work

She also doesn't really have wings, due to only being half Faerie. She says it doesn't bother her, but it always kind of has, at least in the back of her mind. She wonders if things would be better if she grew up and lived in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, but she usually shakes it off as it doesn't really matter, she's living in the Faerie Kingdom

Where she stands post Beast Yeast Episode 2, I don't really know. I haven't put much thought into where she fits in the timeline, since I don't know when Elder Faerie and Dark Cacao would have hypothetically met. That's also why there's no mention of Dark Choco here either

I don't think I have much else to say on her, so let's move on to design things

So I actually didn't spend much time on picking a name. Her name's Silver Clay because silver is associated with the Faerie Cookies, and I know someone used it in a chocolate knife once. Silver Choco was also a consideration, but I went against it because I feel like I give too many Cacao kids the name "Choco". That's about it

I probably could have come up with a better name if I had spent more time on it, but I didn't, so

Silver clay (idk I couldn't find a good picture of the clay itself):

To be honest, I don't really know what to put here

Her design's me trying to mix Elder Faerie and Dark Cacao design elements. Though I do also feel like she ended up being too plain at the end

I mean she is supposed to be a weaponsmith, with that being her primary role outside of her princess status, so I guess it works? But also I still feel like she's plain looking. Maybe she needs an alternate outfit

I'm gonna be honest, my main takeaway from Silver Clay is that she's underbaked. I did not spend much time at all fleshing out her concept, or in general the concept of an eldercacao kid. I didn't really even have a name and I went with the first idea that popped into my head. She has not been marinating

I feel like I feel this way with a lot of recent fankids. I guess I really don't have as much time to think about them as I did before, but in general I feel like I haven't been putting as much thought into them. And their designs just come out okay to me. But maybe I'm just being too hard on myself?

It doesn't really help that if I do wait, I get even more backup than I already do. Like, the 100+ unfinished requests will never be done. And even at this rate, it'll be forever until I finish one. This person's lucky I happened to have something force me to do this request

But yeah, I don't know. I guess Silver Clay isn't terrible, but she's undercooked in my opinion. I feel like I could have done better

But I hope you at least enjoy her

[bimbo-baggins17]

I have a kinktober request >3

I neeeeeed Crossdressing with Stephen Glass. Feminizing him with his pouty little lips, cheeks red from the attention. His long legs laced with pink fishnets, panty almost soaked with pre and his cute little twink thighs on display to bite. I can imagine him with a lacy bralette, calling him baby girl and kissing his glossy lips as you ride him into oblivion…

Evie. I love you for this holy shit. I didn’t expect Stephen to go with cross dressing but you are definitely onto something.

“Are you sure about this? I feel stupid.” Stephen asks turning to face you, looking down at his feminized body. He’s somehow managed to let you convince him into wearing pink fishnets, lacy panties, and a bralette.

Your eyes rake over his hungrily. “Oh im sure about this, Stevie. You look hot.” His cheeks flush immediately. “Besides, a good writer must put themselves in their subjects shoes, yes?”

“Er-yeah I guess but-“

“Wait,” you cut him off and come up to him, dabbing some lip gloss onto his plump lips. “There.”

“I feel stupid.” He mumbles again.

Your eyes drift lower down to the noticeable bulge in the panties he was wearing. “Not completely, obviously.”

His eyes follow your’s and his cheeks darken even further. Humiliation was apparently something he was into. “I-..I don’t know I just-“

You shake your head, nudging him back onto the bed, “It’s okay baby. If you like it, I don’t mind because I love it.”

The back of Stephen’s fishnet covered legs hit the bed and he falls back onto his ass with a quiet ‘oof’.

You stare down at him like he’s prey, stepping closer to clash your lips onto his lip gloss covered ones, smearing it. You settle between his legs, looking at him one last time before you’re pressing kisses all over his twink thighs, nipping at the skin.

Stephen whimpers, feeling his tip start to leak pre cum. You work your way up his legs before pressing a kiss to his panty covered bulge. He squirms under your touch.

Pushing up off the floor, you swing your legs over him and straddle his lap. “I’m gonna take good care of you baby.” You promise softly, your own core dripping from the feminization of your boyfriend.

He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action and nods his head.

Reaching down, you move his panties aside letting his hard cock spring out. Without much more warning you sink down into him. He groans, gripping your hips tightly.

“Oh baby girl you feel so good.” You murmur once he’s fully sheathed inside your velvety walls.

His cock twitches at the nickname. You open your eyes, finding his and your gaze darkens. “You like that angel? You like being my baby girl?”

He whines but nods his head, his glossy lips wobbling as you start to ride his dick. “S-so much..”

Your smile widens, bouncing on his cock, making your tits bounce in his face. “Such a pretty girl. All f’me Stevie.” You praise. Easing the top of his bralette down and tweak his nipples.

Stephen’s eyes widen at the new sensation, accompanied by a loud moan. You were finding out all new kinds of things about your boyfriend right now.

He mewls pathetically as ride his cock, unable to do anything else than grip tightly onto you. His head dips back, eyebrows pulled together in pleasure. “I-..I can’t hold it anymore..I’m gonna cum.”

Before you can give him permission, he’s sloppily thrusting up to meet your movements and cumming deep inside of you.

“Good girl, Stevie, good girl. Give it all to me.” You encourage him breathlessly, feeling him continue to shoot his big load into you.

When he’s done, you slow your movements to a stop. You grin at him, “I think that’s the most you’ve ever cum,” You point out almost proudly.

His expression is flustered and he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

You tut and pull his head back to look at him again. “Don’t be shy now. I’m gonna have to make you dress like this more often. My pretty little Stevie.”

[black-arcana]

THREE DAYS GRACE Announces Return Of Original Singer ADAM GONTIER

Canadian rockers THREE DAYS GRACE have announced the return of original frontman Adam Gontier. The 46-year-old musician, who left THREE DAYS GRACE in 2013, will share lead vocals in the band's new lineup with singer Matt Walst, who has fronted THREE DAYS GRACE for the past decade.

THREE DAYS GRACE teased a reunion with Gontier earlier this week by posting a voicemail message in which Adam told Matt that he would "be at the studio soon, if you can just let everybody know."

Gontier said about his return to THREE DAYS GRACE: "I feel like it's been seamless, better than we were expecting. It's like we got back in a room together and picked up where we left off. We have been friends for so long, it's kind of natural to get back in the room together."

Walst added: "It's been so much fun and inspiring making this record. Combining over 20 years of THREE DAYS GRACE and doing something that no band has ever done. I'm excited for the fans to hear it!"

In April 2023, Gontier reunited with THREE DAYS GRACE onstage during the band's concert in Huntsville, Alabama. Gontier rejoined his former bandmates when they opened for SHINEDOWN at the Probst Arena At The Von Braun Center to perform two classic songs from THREE DAYS GRACE's 2006 album "One-X": "Never Too Late" and "Riot".

THREE DAYS GRACE later shared a post-performance photo with Gontier on social media and wrote in an accompanying message: "Soooo we did a thing."

In July 2022, Gontier said that a reunion with his former bandmates was "likely" to happen "down the road at some point." The Canadian-born musician made his comments just a couple of weeks after he and two members of the band's most recent lineup, bassist Brad Walst and his younger brother, vocalist Matt Walst, were inducted into the Norwood District High School Hall Of Honor in Norwood, Ontario.

Asked in an interview with Rock Feed if he would be open to working with THREE DAYS GRACE again now that he appears to be on good terms with his former bandmates, Gontier said: "You know what? Yeah. I mean, for sure. We've all grown up. It's been a while. There's no hard feelings or anything like that. We're all in touch now and we talk and text and stuff. We haven't really talked about doing anything — not yet anyway — but I feel like something like that is most likely down the road at some point," he added.

When interviewer Brian Storm noted that Adam's reunion with THREE DAYS GRACE would be a "big" deal, Gontier said, "And it would be a lot of fun." Storm then reiterated that the reunion would be "very big," to which Adam said: "Probably would be. You never know, man. We haven't really talked about it. But, yeah, I guess we'll see."

Earlier in July 2022, Brad Walst spoke about reconnecting with Gontier at the Norwood District High School event in an interview with Tommy Carroll of the 97.9 WGRD radio station. He said: "It's funny 'cause the high school's been calling us for years. And, obviously, we've all had kind of different schedules, and Adam's been doing his thing and we've been doing our thing. And until recently, to be honest, we hadn't really spoken that much — we'd text and stuff. But Adam's moved back to the area, and he's got a great family and a great wife. And we've all kind of been chatting and hanging out. Yeah, I called him and just said, 'They want the three of us' — they want Matt, Adam and myself. And everyone agreed, and it was, like, 'Okay, let's do this.' So it was pretty cool to see [our] high school, where you grew up… It's nice to be acknowledged."

He continued: "It's funny, 'cause I texted Adam, 'You made the Hall Of Fame.' He's, like, 'Yup. Straight-B student.' [Laughs] But I think just having us together in that room was way more powerful, for sure. So it was a pretty cool feeling."

In 1992, Gontier, Brad Walst, Phil Crowe, Neil Sanderson and Joe Grant formed GROUNDSWELL while most of the members were still in high school. That band broke up in 1995, but two years later Gontier, Sanderson and Walst reformed as THREE DAYS GRACE. Gontier left the band in 2013 and was replaced by Matt, the vocalist from another Norwood band, MY DARKEST DAYS.

In a 2007 interview with The Oklahoman, Gontier said that he met some of his first bandmates while they were freshmen at Norwood District High School.

"I ended up hooking up with Brad because we had the same love of music," Gontier said. "He didn't play anything at the time. I suggested him getting a bass, and he did."

Gontier said that Canadian bands, including THE TRAGICALLY HIP and OUR LADY PEACE were early influences, along with the Seattle rock scene, particularly the group SUNNY DAY REAL ESTATE.

Gontier initially went into rehab in 2005 in Toronto after admitting an addiction to Oxycontin. The rehab stint influenced some material which would appear on THREE DAYS GRACE's "One-X" album, including the songs "Pain" and "Over And Over".

Gontier left THREE DAYS GRACE in the spring of 2013. At the time, the Canadian rockers cited unspecified "health issues" when his departure was announced. Adam later released a statement explaining he exited THREE DAYS GRACE to pursue new projects, and not to deal with addiction.

Gontier is currently a member of SAINT ASONIA, which also features STAIND guitarist/founding member Mike Mushok. The quartet is rounded out by Cale Gontier (bass) and Cody Watkins (drums).

THREE DAYS GRACE's latest album, "Explosions", was released in May 2022 via RCA Records.

[loganjameshowlett]

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

02: FACTS DON'T DO WHAT I WANT THEM TO

pairing: peter parker/muntant!reader summary: you're getting good at pretending everything is normal. peter's getting less good at the very same. word count: 3.2k+

series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

When you woke up on Thursday, the bizarre scars were still uncomfortably present on your shoulder blades, and you kind of wished the SUV had finished the job. 

It was 3:07 PM when you rolled over– an action accompanied with a certain measure of full-body agony– and squinted blearily at your phone screen. 

“Shit,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and checking the time again. You had missed both of your classes for the day, and had to be over to the bodega in just under two hours for a shift. It was unlike you to oversleep, or to ever miss a class, and you tamped down the anxiety already bubbling in your chest about falling behind or missing something crucial. It was also unlike you to get fully run over by an SUV and live to tell the tale, you supposed. And it made for a hell of a good reason to have missed class, anyway. 

Your body felt like it belonged tucked into a bed in the ICU unit over in Bellevue. When you finally dragged it out of bed and in front of the mirror to check, the line of unsightly, discolored tire track bruises had bloated to cover most of the skin from your ribs down to your hips. The same wave of questions from the night before welled up in your mind, and just as the night before, you pushed them all away just as fast. You had enough sense to know you weren’t going to come to any meaningful answers standing on your own in the middle of your bedroom, and you had to shower and get ready for work, anyhow. Another place where you were not likely to get answers, so best not to think about the questions. 

By the time you were done with a near-scalding shower, your body was actually feeling mostly okay and you were well on your way to convincing yourself that whatever happened last night was a fluke. A one time thing. Yes, it was completely bizarre and should have been impossible by all accounts, but those were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with if it never happened again. A few decades from now, you’d probably think it had all been a particularly vivid dream, the way most people who glimpse one unexplainable thing in their lives and then nothing ever again do, and that was alright by you.  

***

“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,” Mickey says, grinning and coming around the counter as soon as you came through the door. 

You stole my line, you wanted to say, but you were making a valiant effort at not devoting large quantities of brainpower to thinking about last night, so you didn’t. Instead, you walked behind the counter and shed your jacket on the plastic chair in the tiny storage-closet-turned-office, tossing a look Mickey’s way to show her you were listening to her story. 

“Two minutes away from my dorm, I ran into fucking Klara,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a roll of her wide brown eyes. “She has somehow gotten more fuckin’ unbearable than ever.”

“In other news, the sky is blue,” you interjected, and Mickey waved a hand dismissively. 

“That is not the point of the story,” Mickey said. “She stopped me on the path with her bullshit smalltalk for about thirty seconds before dropping that fucking Spider-Man had just swung through campus five minutes earlier!” 

“He has been known to do that,” you nodded. “Couple weeks ago he webbed up some finance frat loser who was trying to start fist fights with everyone who walked past him.” 

“Yeah, I know he’s around sometimes, but I have never seen him! And there I was last night, missing him by a matter of mere minutes.” Mickey huffed, dropping her chin onto her hand. 

“Your time will come, Mick,” you assured her. “And then you can try to flirt your way into his spandex, or whatever.”

“I will succeed in flirting my way into his spandex, thank you very much,” she responded haughtily, and despite your mood and the soreness still ebbing its way through your body, you laughed. 

Gary hopped up onto the counter, wending his way through Mickey’s arms, and then crossing over to do the same to yours. Absently, you sunk your fingers into his soft orange fur, gently scratching his little head. 

“Hey, you kinda look like shit. Did something happen?” Mickey asked, startling you out of the blank-gazed factory reset your brain was trying to accomplish. When you looked up at her, her head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

“If staying up most of the night doing homework counts as something happening, then yeah,” you shrugged. “This is just what a me approaching midterms looks like.” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” she drawled, but you could tell by her voice that she wasn’t totally convinced. Mickey was your best friend, and years of telling each other everything without a second thought had culminated in both of you being able to easily tell when the other was, on those rare occasions, hiding something. And usually, as soon as Mickey seemed even marginally onto you, you would spill everything to her. But this time, you couldn’t say a thing. What even would you say? Nothing good could come out of telling her that you’d been run over by a car and then just… walked home. 

“Can we finally talk about how Josh McClellan is clearly coming in here several times a week just to see you?” you asked, trying to change the subject as smoothly as you were capable of. 

“Okay, so it’s not only me who was thinkin’ that?” Mickey launched into a play-by-play dissection of her interactions with the guy immediately, and you sank onto the stool behind the counter in relief of the attention no longer being on you. 

The rest of your shift passed mostly without incident. Mickey followed Gary around the bodega, harassing him with pets and occasionally fixing up or restocking a shelf or two. The after-work crowd even seemed a little less disgruntled than usual, which your hourly deteriorating people skills appreciated greatly. 

“Think we can bump off early?” Mickey asked, as the clock reached eleven. “It’s only an hour.”

“I wouldn’t do Mr. Browne like that, and neither should you,” you said, aiming  a scolding look at her over the shelves as you idly pushed a broom back and forth in front of the coolers. “And, ‘sides, this is the easiest hour of the shift. Basically nobody comes in between now and closing.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the bell above the door chimed. Mickey shot a told ya so look at you, before turning around to see who came in. 

“Oh– hey, Peter,” you greeted, eyes widening slightly as you realized it wasn’t just some random schmuck looking for mixers for their pregame. You knew this schmuck. Kind of. 

For his part, Peter froze in the door, looking a little too much like a prey animal for someone simply being recognized when they didn’t expect it. His eyes met yours, and he forced an awkward smile onto his face. 

“Hey,” he said your name, accompanied by a small wave. “I didn’t know you worked here.” 

“Didn’t come up while we were discussing your essay?” you asked, and Peter’s smile grew into something a little more embarrassed, cheeks pinking slightly as he ducked his head. 

“Sorry, that was stupid,” he said, wending his way through the aisles and clearly searching for something specific. You brought the broom back into the office and situated yourself behind the register for when Peter was ready to check out. Mickey met your eye from across the room as she hoisted Gary into her arms, giving you a look that was clearly asking what the fuck? You shrugged almost imperceptibly and looked away, but you could still feel her eyes on you. 

A few minutes later, Peter ambled up to the counter and set three different flavors of Celsius and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos down in front of you. Fascinating snack for this time of night. 

“Still on for tomorrow afternoon?” he asked as you began scanning his items. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you said, looking up to offer him a small smile. Up close, the bags under his eyes were so pronounced they looked like true bruises, and there was a pretty fresh cut almost completely hidden in his hairline. 

“You okay?”

The words came out of both of your mouths at the same time, followed by twin looks of confusion. 

“Me?” you asked, brow furrowing as you finished ringing him up. “Total’s $13.50, by the way.” 

“Yeah– uh, sorry–” Peter said, fishing a couple of bills out of his jacket pocket. “You just… it seemed like something might be wrong.” 

You blinked at him for a few seconds, frankly dumbfounded that he– a virtual stranger– was able to pick up on the general wrongness of the current state of your existence. Realizing you’d been quiet for a weird amount of time, you sucked in a breath and responded, “Oh, yeah, no, I’m good. Just exhausted, s’all– you know, finals coming up and everything.”

“Oh, sure,” he nodded, like it made complete sense. “Right there with you.”

“And, uh, what happened up–?” you asked, gesturing toward the cut along his hairline. You noticed then that the skin around it was starting to bruise. 

“Oh, that,” Peter said, bringing a hand up to ghost along the offending injury. “I was in the lab earlier for my, uh, my internship and there was a little accident. You know how labs are.”

“I really do not know how labs are,” you said, and the same embarrassed smile from earlier grew on his face. 

“Right. Yeah. Accidents are par for the course.”

“Well, make sure you dress that properly when you get home,” you said, fighting the urge to fuss over the wound. 

“First thing when I walk through the door,” he promised, and you nodded, satisfied, as you handed over his purchases. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, ‘night,” Peter said, waving as he took a few backward steps from the counter, before disappearing through the door. 

As soon as he was out on the sidewalk, Mickey materialized on the other side of the counter, red curls and freckled expression of shocked interest taking up your entire field of vision. “What the fuck was that?” 

***

You spent Friday morning valiantly trying to finish your biology work so that you actually had something for Peter to look over that afternoon. You figured that, honestly, bringing a blank lab worksheet to him would be just as useful as bringing one you filled in by yourself; it was like the synapses stopped firing in your brain when you opened up this stupid lab’s Canvas page. 

And anyway, your lack of ability to concentrate on anything that looked even remotely like STEM homework had become a hundred times worse since the Incident (you had taken to thinking of it as this: capitalized so as to be given proper weight, and named so that you never had to dwell on any of the details). Suddenly learning about plant tissue culture seemed entirely meaningless in the greater context of your increasingly bizarre life. 

Meaningless or not, you still had to pass the class. The universe worked in mysterious ways, and as you skimmed the same textbook page for the ninth time, absorbing not a single word, you thanked it for sending Peter Parker your way. 

When you reached the second floor of the library at five minutes to two, Peter was already sitting at the table the two of you had occupied the other day, general backpack detritus spread haphazardly across half the surface. He had a fresh printed copy of his edited essay in front of him, partially obscured by his arm resting on top of it, which was, in turn, supporting his head while he napped. 

You approached the table, dumping your bag in one of the empty chairs as gently as you could. Peter’s hair stuck up in all directions, and you noticed that the bruise blooming out from the cut along his hairline had matured into something nastier looking since the last time you saw him. 

For a moment, you stood awkwardly at the side of the table, waiting to see if he would wake up. You felt bad about the prospect of waking him– he clearly needed the sleep badly– and you briefly thought about just leaving and emailing him to set up a different time, but you knew he’d feel bad about it and selfishly, you needed to submit your lab by midnight. 

“Peter?” you asked, voice pitched low for the library. Hesitantly, you reached a hand toward his shoulder, unsure still of what you would do with it once it reached its destination, but just before your fingers brushed his sweatshirt, Peter’s head bolted up as if electrocuted. 

He took a few seconds to gaze, confused, about the room, before his eyes landed on you and a blush that was quickly becoming familiar pinked his cheeks. 

He said your name, half confused question and half surprised exclamation, and blinked up at you a few times as if trying to orient himself. 

“You alright?” you asked, moving to sit in the seat catty-cornered to his own. 

“Yeah, I’m all good, I– honestly, I can’t believe I  fell asleep here,” Peter answered, reassuring smile an afterthought. You watched how the smile dropped quickly and his brow furrowed, skin creasing above the bridge of his nose; he seemed far too concerned about accidentally falling asleep in the library. 

“I can’t tell you how many naps I’ve taken at this exact table, let alone the rest of the building,” you told him, tone light. You weren’t quite sure what about the situation had him so worried, but you hoped you could reassure him a bit anyway. “You wanna start with your essay, or my lab?” 

“Your lab deserves to go first,” Peter decided quickly. “What’s this one on?”

You attempted to explain the lab to the best of your ability, eventually giving up and handing over your entire biology folder so Peter could read it himself. For the next two hours, he talked you through each aspect of the lab– it felt like finding God, finally being able to understand something for this fucking class. 

Peter perked up with every question you asked him, as though getting the opportunity to explain biological concepts was literally reinvigorating him. His eyes brightened, his posture straightened– he was more confident than you’d ever seen him now that he was given the space to ramble about something he knew well. You were embarrassed to have to forcibly stop yourself from openly staring at him about half a dozen times. 

“Sorry, we got way off track at the end, there,” Peter said, suddenly cutting off a tangent about some research on chloroplasts that one of his internship colleagues was conducting. 

You waved him off, a genuine smile on your face. “Don’t be, I like listening to you. ‘Sides, I learned more from you this afternoon than I have from Dr. Katz the entire semester,” you said earnestly. 

Peter grinned, ducking his head a bit. “Well, I aim to educate and entertain, so I'm glad I hit on both of those today.”

“I really think you could have a future as Bill Nye’s successor with these skills, Parker,” you said solemnly, and Peter laughed. 

“With this kind of unwavering support, maybe I will be conducting science experiments on direct-to-videos being played in seventh grade biology classrooms all over the country very soon.”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “If you’re lucky.”

***

Three years into college, and Peter still hadn’t quite mastered balancing the student and hero halves of his life. 

Submitting work late and having no consistent social life were just, he guessed, par for the course. His entire life seemed to be made up of excuses, and he was helpless to change it. Mostly, it didn’t bother him. Being Spider-Man was just who he was; he wouldn’t give up any part of that for “the traditional college experience” or “having friends”. He shuffled his half-dead body between chem lectures and getting 18-wheelers thrown at him by the Rhino, and in the exceedingly rare moments of quiet between the two, he kept his head down. And that was that. He was good with that. 

And then he met you. 

He’d never needed a tutor before Professor Liu, and when he finally bit the bullet and asked her for help, he expected to be paired with some pretentious, Moby Dick reading, flowy blouse wearing poet who would eloquently tell him exactly how much of a dunce he was when it came to literary analysis. This probably wasn’t a fair assessment, but he didn’t know many English majors, and anyway, anyone who was held in such high esteem by Professor Liu was somebody whom, he assumed, he would never get along with in a million years. 

And then he’d shown up to tutoring, and there you were at the table in a giant sweatshirt, dog-eared book held open by one errant finger as you tapped at your keyboard, and you’d remembered his name right off the bat and smiled at him– one of those patient, encouraging smiles that could make anyone open up about anything– and somewhere between breaths the tutoring session had become the highlight of his week. 

He’d left with the guarantee of seeing you again in a few days, and then it was like his brain got the flu because all he could think about, any time he idled, was you, and how you laughed at all his stupid jokes and were so casually witty and– honestly, the torrent was never ending (not that he was trying to end it very hard) and maybe worryingly distracting (he’d only missed the broad side of a building with his webs once, and he rebounded before he became a stain on the pavement, so really, no harm no foul). 

He thought he was hallucinating when he walked into a bodega at random after a surprisingly nasty spat with a would-be car thief, spandex still on under his jacket and a pair of sweatpants, and there you were, too, name tag pinned to your sweater and broom in your hand, existing in your own right away from the library, which was, for some reason, a shock to him. He said something stupid (a curse he was sure he would never get rid of) and had to fumble his way through normalcy even when you, through what you claimed to be exhaustion but was pinging his spidey senses as something much more, noticed his little bump on the head and asked if he was okay. His heart had done a painful, spasmodic little dance at the thought that you cared enough to ask, and he didn’t really know what to do with that. 

Sitting on this rooftop was becoming frigid, and all he could think about was your hand touching his when you handed him back his change, and your voice so earnestly saying I like listening to you. 

God, but he was fucked.

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff that Helps Me Write: Procrastination Busting (Intro)

My entire writing process, I've learned, boils down to trickery.

I'm the queen of procrastination (I think that royal title automatically comes with your ADHD diagnosis). That applies to literally everything: I will procrastinate eating. Sleeping. Hydrating. Bathroom breaks. Working. Not working. Doing shit I am actively looking forward to. I have a graveyard of games I never finished because I got too close to the end and my brain went ‘I’m enjoying this too much to finish, So I guess I’ll just never play it again’.

So obviously writing’s no exception to my ability to postpone doing anything and everything, but for some reason, it’s impacted less than everything else. So why?

Because it’s my job, but that goes for literally every other part of my job too, and I can procrastinate just fine on those parts. Just look at how long publication takes me.

Because I frequently hyperfocus on it, but in order to get into that state of mind I still have to start, and that’s the part that procrastination impacts the most.

Because I enjoy writing, but as I’ve just said, enjoyment has no bearing on whether I’ll do it. Ditto the fact I find it meaningful, and satisfying, and am invested in where it’s going. None of that makes something immune to procrastination. In fact, as those poor video games show, sometimes that makes me more likely to procrastinate.

So why don’t I generally procrastinate writing?

The fact that it's my job, and I enjoy it, and find it adds meaning to my life, all have in no way made me less likely to procrastinate, but they have meant that for 20+ years, I have been methodically figuring out workarounds for said procrastination. Things will work for a little while, until procrastination inevitably pops right back up with a new excuse, and then I have to figure out a workaround for that one. It’s been a very extended game of whack-a-mole, but I now have an entire toolbox to work with, and writing is now the most consistent thing in my life, only second to reading, which I basically do daily, and don’t consider a ‘habit’ to work on any more than most would consider watching TV or playing video games every day a ‘habit’ to work on.

Now, when I say consistency, I don’t mean I write on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays at 5:30 am with a lit candle and a fragrant mug of tea like I have been told to do (writing guides all seem to require writing before dawn, which is something I only ever do accidentally, wrapping up a ‘whoops, got an idea in the middle of the night’ session).

I have found some things help with that sort of consistency (and that may be another post), but I'm not that kind of consistent. Every week looks different. Every day looks different. But on average I write between 200k and 300k a year, at a rate of between 1000-1500 words a working day. My schedule may vary — I might write five days one week, three days another, might write double one week to the next, might write 12,000 or 30,000 in a month. But when I zoom out, I'm consistent as fuck on a long-term basis (with the caveat that shit can happen, such as family emergencies or ol' bastard eye acting up again)

So uh, how?

All the common wisdom is has been distinctly unhelpful, in my experience. Treats don’t work on me, as I am aware I can just…not do the thing and have the treat anyway. Rewards don’t work on me, because ‘thing in nebulous future’ doesn’t have much to do with me now, does it? Holding myself hostage (‘no dinner/break/bathroom break until you write’) does not work, and should not be done, because those things aren’t rewards, they’re basic bodily functions (…apparently).

This is, I’ve learned, literally due to my wiring. Neurotypical people have an importance based nervous system. Motivating factors for tasks are the task's importance to them (duh) or someone they care about, the rewards associated with completion of the task (offer yourself a treat! Reward yourself at the end!), and the consequences associated with not completing the task.

None of that works on me. Like. At all.

It was only in recent years I learned about the interest based nervous system, and how it’s motivated by completely different things. Things that work to motivate me involve novelty, challenge (some will use competition interchangeably here, but I am not a particularly competitive person), urgency, and, well, interest.

And in hindsight, every single trick that’s ever worked for has touched on at least one of those categories.

I’m going to stop here, because I am literally procrastinating on writing Robbie by writing this, and the irony is too much for me right now, but I think that a larger than average portion of my readership may also be helped by tricks that specifically target novelty, challenge, urgency, and interest.

So, next week — an actual bullet pointed list of shit that tricks my brain into doing the thing. Some are more targeted to writing, some can be applied to plenty of things, but all of them have, at one time or another, made me Do the Thing, which, as the queen of procrastination, is a damn triumph.

[curtis-corner]

STAND BY ME (Darry Curtis) PART 9

I realized I never linked Part 8 to the masterlist, it's up there now and linked here incase you need to catch up/refresh!

As always, thank you to everyone who has shared how much they are enjoying this story. I read every message about 50 times :)

Taglist : @lovelylegolas2123 @amnestyliketaz @spuffyfan394

Enjoy getting into Darry's head for this one!

PART 9

Darry POV

I watch her close the door to my bedroom to get dressed, a room I’ve only just started to consider mine at all, and I turn to my brothers.

“She’s gonna be staying here a bit, so one of you has got to clean that bathroom. And I mean bleach it good.” Soda and Pony make matching faces of disgust and Steve starts to snicker.

“Aw Darry, bleach makes me itch.” Pony whines.

“No it doesn’t, he just told mom that to get outta cleaning the toilet.” Soda rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care who does it, but it better be done when I get back. Whoever doesn’t do the bathroom is more than welcome to clean up Soda and I’s old room.”

“Is that where we’re putting her stuff?” Pony asks.

“She didn’t sleep there last night.” Soda grins and Steve wolf-whistles. I give an unimpressed look to both of them.  

“She’s okay, right?” Pony asks. It’s not lost on me how young he is, and how many people he’s lost already. He’s nervously biting the inside of his lip. I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t shrug me off like he used to.

“She’s gonna be just fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

--

The house is freezing when we go in, and I work on covering up the busted window with cardboard and tape while she packs up some things in her room.

I told her to take anything she wouldn’t want to go missing – while the house was messy, it didn’t look like anything was stolen. But that may not be the case next time someone comes looking. 

I tape a trash bag behind the cardboard to stop as much air as I can and walk back towards her room. I’d never been in a girl’s room before. The walls were white but the sheets and blankets were covered in pink flowers and even through the cold air I could smell the perfume she always wore.

“Just about done,” she zips up her small suitcase and I walk over to wrap my arms around her, rubbing them up and down to warm her up.

“You okay? Being here?” It was hard to believe less than twelve hours ago she was running from a break-in. She shrugs and I pull her closer, kissing the top of her head. “You need me to carry some bigger things to the truck? We can take whatever you want.” She bites her lip and looks around, her eyes lingering on the piece of furniture that looked like a small desk with a mirror attached to it. I had seen something like that in a magazine once, I knew girls usually had it and it probably had some fancy name.

“No, just the suitcase and this box please.” I pick up both and we head out. I see her glance back at her bedroom and my mind was made up before we even went out the door. I put her things in the back of the truck, then turn to her.

“Here, you can start the engine and get warm.” I hand her the keys. “I’ll be right back.” She gives me a quizzing look but gets in the drivers side to start the car and I do a light jog up the path, not wanting to leave her too long.

When I walk out of the house holding the furniture and little stool that was in front of it, I could see her surprised expression through the passenger window.

“You packed my vanity.” She says when I get into the car, and I guess the piece of furniture has a name after all.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it looked like you wanted it.”

“I don’t need to bring it over to your house.” My girl could certainly be stubborn when she wanted to be. I drum my fingers on the wheel.

“I think you’re underestimating how long Soda spends in front of the bathroom mirror. You want a chance at getting ready for work, you’re going to need your own spot.”

She raises one eyebrow, a trick she picked up from Two Bit faster than the rest of us ever did. I can’t help but smile when she does that, and then she’s smiling too. She leans over to give me a too quick kiss.

“Thank you, Darry.” And I know she means for more than the vanity.

Someday I’ll figure out a way to tell her that she never needs to thank me. That it’s me who should be thanking her: for so long I felt like I was drowning and then she was there, the raft that could keep me above water. Every day that I’m with her, I can breathe a little easier.

It’s an easy drive to the general store, and when I pull up to the front, I see her looking down at her bandaged arm. I know she’s thinking about having to tell the story to Mr. Murphy and reliving it again.

“Do you want me to go in first? Talk to him?” I offer and she shakes her head.

“That’s sweet to offer, but I’ll be okay. I just don’t want Mr. Murphy worrying about me.”

“He cares about you, baby. Just like we all do.” The tips of her cheeks turn pink. God, my girl is so sweet.

“It’s nice, you know? I feel like I have this big list now of people I care about who care about me right back.” I lean my forehead down to meet hers.

“Am I at the top of that list?” I ask teasingly, but she leans her head back a little to look me in the eye and let me know she’s serious.

“Always.”

And I can’t help but kiss her after that.

When we finally break free and she looks into the rearview mirror to check her lipstick, I remember our conversation from the night before.

“You want to go to the hardware store after work? Look at paint colors for the kitchen?”

And then she gives me that smile, the big, full-on one that knocks me off my feet every time. I’ll let her paint the whole damn house if I can keep her looking this happy.

“I sure do.” She leans up for one last kiss, and then she’s out of the car and walking towards the store. Before she goes through the door she turns and gives me a little wave and I don’t fight the smile that’s taking over.

But as I drive the smile fades and I think about running into the living room last night to see her shivering, crying and barely able to stand. I think about dropping her off every night to a dark house while her father was out gambling away their food money. How her father got himself in trouble, and in doing so he put his daughter in harm’s way.

I think about what happens if he doesn’t come back. Or worse, what happens if he does.

I miss Dallas Winston for a whole lot of reasons, but I really miss him now. He would know what to do in this situation.

I take a left turn instead of a right turn, and I head to the person Dally would have gone to.

--

Tim Shepard is on his front porch when I pull up.

I’d known Tim a long time: growing up in similar neighborhoods, then finding ourselves in similar situations. But unlike mine, Tim’s parents left by choice.

It made him hard and bitter, and I judged him before I knew what it was like. Before I knew how hard it was to fight against those feelings taking over your whole being.

“Curtis.”

“Shepard.” He leans the box of cigarettes my way and I take one. It’s rare that I smoke, but I have a lot on my mind, and I need something to take the edge off.

“Been waiting for you to come around.”

“How so?”

“I know who your girl is. And I know who her daddy is.” I am both relieved I don’t have to explain the situation to him and pissed he’s acting so smug about knowing it.

“You know two men broke in her house last night?” Tim raises his eyebrows, mildly surprised.

“Her daddy owes half the bookies in town. It was a matter of time.”

“You know who he owes? Who would have sent these guys?” I ask and Tim takes a long drag before answering.

“I can find out. Maybe spread the word that’s she’s yours and off limits.” I narrow my eyes. Tim and I understand each other, but he doesn’t do favors for free. “My gang’s having a bit of trouble with the Carter boys from Louisville Heights. It doesn’t die down, we’ll set a rumble to settle it.”

“And you want me there.”

“I want your gang there, just like I brought mine to your fight with the west side.”

I don’t like it, but he’s got a point and I won’t argue it. Well, I won’t argue most of it.

“I’ll be there. And I’ll bring whoever wants to come. I ain’t making people fight, not after last time.” And I sure as hell wasn’t letting Ponyboy fight at all.

The silence is heavy and I can tell Tim doesn’t like it, but he gets it. That’s usually how our conversations go.

I put out my cigarette in the ashtray and get up to leave, but Tim starts speaking again.

“Some men can walk away from the table. Your girl’s dad ain’t one of them.” Tim stands so we are eye to eye. “It’s important she knows that.”

I nod and leave and as I drive back to my house, I replay his words in my head. I know I’ll have to tell her.

But I don’t have to tell her today.

--

I pull up to the store a few minutes before four o’clock, but I barely make it through the front door and say hi before Mr. Murphy is calling me over.

“Just a word with Darrel here,” he tells her and she shakes her head, like she knows what he’s playing at. I follow him out the back door and to the back alleyway. He takes out a pack of cigarettes, but this time I decline.

“She told me what happened. Her goddamn father can’t do right be her one day of his life.” He sounded angry and it was strangely refreshing to hear someone else as protective as I was. Mr. Murphy takes another long drag. “She says you’ve got a spare room at your house she can stay in for a few days.”

“Yes sir.” I answer and Mr. Murphy gives me a look. He might be old, but he ain’t dumb: he knows there’s no way she’s staying in a spare room.

“I offered her the apartment above the store, no one has lived in it for a bit but it’s not a bad place if you open up the windows for a day.” I school my expression into something less thunderous than I feel and try to stay calm for my reply.

“With all due respect sir, I didn’t like dropping her off at an empty home even before all this. I’d like it even less now.” I don’t break his stare and after a minute, he shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“You know, I remember your dad when he was your age. He loved your mama something fierce.”

I remember. Plenty of kids in my neighborhood only had one parent around, and even the ones with two didn’t always have a happy home. But my parents were different. They filled our house with so much love that Soda once told me he can still feel it.

And my dad loved my mom. He was a pretty easy-going guy, but if something made my mom upset, he would do just about anything to fix it. He’d take the whole world on if he had to.

I get that now.

“I just want to keep her safe.” I tell Mr. Murphy and his eyes turn kinder, the same look I see him give my girl.

“Seems I got nothin’ to worry about then. You just let me know when the wedding is gonna be.” He puts out his cigarette on the pavement and opens the back door to go inside.

It takes a lot to make me flush with embarrassment, but that comment nearly did. I shake off thoughts of rings and weddings cakes and follow him.

“Y’all alright?” She asks and I give her a smile.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about.” I lean on the counter while she finishes stacking the receipts. The front door jingles and Sheila walks in looking like her usual moody self. They switch cashier spots and we are about to head out before Mr. Murphy calls out one more time.

“Darrel?”

“Yes sir?”

“Bobby Evans says you help him out with bookkeeping from time to time.” I nod. It shouldn’t surprise me that Mr. Murphy knows my boss: Tulsa may be a city, but it’s really just a big small town. “My eyes are getting’ older so what would you say about helping me out sometimes? I’ll pay you the same he does.”

I knew what this meant: I had earned his trust. Not just with the books, but with someone he cared about.

“I’d like that a whole lot, sir.” We nod at each other, an understanding passing between us. I put my arm around my girl and we walk out into the bright sunlight of a Saturday afternoon.

And when she looks up at me, smiling that special smile she does, I fleetingly think of rings and cakes.

NEXT: Living with our fav Curtis brothers

[yuurivoice]

hai there!! how are you doing today? :3

Exhausted, but about to be productive. Gotta film a few Vtuber things, get some writing done, and build a little table at the office. I need to do some posting on socials for the Alphonse plushie. Busy afternoon coming up.

Aside from that, I'm good. I've started doing my 3 weekly gym sessions without my trainer and I think I enjoy the experience a lot better when I can just vibe out listening to music so that's fun.

Got some blood test results and things are looking good there.

I've been cooking a lot more lately, and really enjoy grilled chicken thighs with salt/pepper/garlic + chipotle + garlic butter seasonings. Juicy af and gets a good crisp on it. That's nice.

Uhhhhhhh...how else am I doing?

Very thrilled about the Alphonse plushie so far, we crushed our early launch numbers from Charlie and I feel good about how the longevity will work out. We'll be running a BitterSweet marathon stream on the channel over the weekend and I hope that'll help raise awareness for the plushie as well! (This is what I'm recording some stuff for)

Gonna do some fiddling with a type of video sometimes soon, which is essentially a Talking Head video but it's either the MeTuber, Alphonse, etc telling a story or discussing something related to the channel. FAQs, the literal YuuriVoice backstory, that sort of thing. Types of stuff that won't be BANGERS, but will be really cool to have on the channel in general over time.

I got a goddamn ethernet cable plugged into the PC so we shouldn't have anyyyyy stream issues again. Ever. Not even once. That's good.

I do have some bangers lined up for spooky season, though it wasn't quite what I had wanted it to be when I was brainstorming half a year ago. That's life.

Gonna fuck around and record the BitterSweet Director's cut lines...again. Looking forward to that.

Extremely excited about Dragon Age at the end of the month, though I won't really get to play much of it because I'll be going to a Ren Faire that weekend! But the following week? I'll be locked the fuck in.

Back in relation to YuuriVoice things, I've started taking a serious look at Wiki solutions for the fandom, and think I've settled on one that I'm excited about firing up. I will be doing my best to get that up and running BEFORE Echoes of Evalas. The tool I have in mind is way more impactful than a simple Fandom Wiki, and should involve no annoy ads, a great browsing experience and....uh, info. Lots of info, I guess. This spawned from the need to have a visible timeline for the fandom to visualize when and where things were happening, and I went down a rabbit hole.

Also, maps...I need to...find a map maker...

I can't think of anything else I've really got going on right now. The big focus now is consistency. I need to keep this up through the rest of the year and end it strong, so we go into 2025 rocking and rolling.