#so in three years or so someone NEW can come in and take the momentum built by rtd to bring the show into a new era

[lilydvoratrelundar]

I think Church on Ruby Road has finally firmly cemented my opinion that Murray Gold should not have come back.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

18 & 63 for the trope mashup please! <3

18. Circus AU and 63. Everybody knows, mistaken for a couple ^from the prompt mash ups game!

This is a Cirque du Soleil AU where Norris and Piastri are two trapeze artists who made huge names for themselves in their individual countries. They get paired up for new show, and it involves a really tricky sequence that people are convinced is not possible and has never been done before, let alone by two guys.

They have a couple of near misses on the attempts to nail the trick, and the whole gang is watching carefully from the safety nets. People are biting their nails, and george is totally double checking the insurance papers and trying not to freak out.

Anyway, Oscar hangs upside down on the bar, totally chill. on the platform, Lando shakes the last of his nerves from his fingers. he slides a firm grip down his own bar, the one place that’s been so familiar for so many years, and he takes a breath. It’s beyond conscious thought, it’s just muscle memory, stepping into the air. With faith that the other man will meet him, in that millisecond between complete connection and the plummet.

Hands. It’s all in the hands. Lando's own fingertips moulding to the floor the first time he nailed a handstand, someone else’s careful hands that taught him his first few balances and tucks. The way his hands bled bloody and blistered, until he worked up the requisite strength.

Now, Lando grips the bar steady with both hands. Now, the steady rhythm in the pit of his stomach. Once, three times, four — the pendulum hits the peak of the apex.

Lando jackknifes through the air, and he’s twisting, house lights blurring in his vision.

Oscar waits, hands outstretched.

Then, a firm clasp from a smaller hand. Callouses pressed against his own. Years of practice, leading up to this point of contact.

His body knows before his mind does. The snap of gravity into the right place, when moving object meets opposing force. It’s Oscar’s counter-rhythm that stops him falling, Oscar’s nimble strength that matches his own. The way they do this in silence, carefully cultivated trust. In that moment, their bodies are a marvel of physics.

Below, the cast erupts in whoops and cheers. Lando wants to run around, wants to scream, but in that moment there’s not really an option - he just clasps Oscar’s forearms, and lets himself be swung.

“Well.” Oscar says, wry. “That was easy.”

Lando looks up. “Yeah. Only took fifty four tries.”

Lando can tell Oscar’s trying not to laugh. Oscar's hands stay steady though.

Someone captures the footage and it takes a while to get going, but then they’re doing numbers on socials. Cirque marketing figures this could get momentum and gradually shares more behind the scenes footage of them both: heads bowed together to talk about the tricks, tightening their wrist wraps, dusting chalk off each other, and laughing as they sip their energy drinks. They even get a portmanteau: landoscar.

The final show is obviously a massive hit. Lando and Oscar’s segment ends up being a lyrical interpretation of the life of a papaya or something. It’s Seb Vettel’s show about the lifespan of plants and bees so they’re just rolling with the vision.

When Pride comes around, the two of them step out to get coffee and a snack at their regular spot. The barista waves at them and says: “a year's free coffee for the happy couple! thank you so much for repping queer excellence in the arts.”

And Oscar’s like, “oh, uh. I mean. I am. But we– we’re not…”

Then Lando turns to him. The morning light looks good on Oscar. Oscar who always lends him sports tape, always lets him order lunch first, and always, always leans forward to catch him. In or out of the ring, he is the partner Lando trusts more than anything in the world.

So Lando tugs on Oscar’s hoodie sleeve, and is like: “actually, I’d meant to ask you…”

[whatwouldvalerydo]

The theory of blow magic - Quidditch tent rumors - 2/9

OC's mentioned in this part belong to: @slytherindisaster @the-al-chemist @lifeofkaze and @that-scouse-wizard

Warning: minor sexual references (nothing major)

Come morning Ethel and Selene were sitting together at the far end of the table inside the Great Hall, breakfast cold as they studied a piece of paper, brows knit together as they turned and twisted it trying to make heads and tails of the piece of drawing in the right corner.

“It looks old are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. I feel it in my bones.” Ethel gave a firm nod “Plus I heard it was found in the Ravenclaw changing tents so it must be some strategy.”

“Or a new play in order to try and gain an advantage.” Selene gasped, looking up in order to ensure no one heard them or paid close attention to what they were doing “Do you think they would resort to a last minute tactic.”

“Of course. Probably spent all year devising it. But why does it say magic?”

They both looked at the page once more, pushing each other as the idea came to their minds at the same time “They’re going to use magic.” Came their voices in unison, several people turning to look at the pair of friends.

“But that’s cheating.” Selene said alarmed while trying to keep her voice down.

“Indeed but it is not like we can go ask the captain if they plan on cheating. They would never divulge such information. And one gust of perfectly timed wind can blow someone off course at just the right time.”

“That is a vulgar notion. They cannot do that right at the end of the season. We must find out more.”

Ethel nodded her head before finally taking a piece of bread from her plate and shoving it in her mouth, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as she located Reuben in the crowd at the Ravenclaw table “Just look at him, chatting away.”

“Clearly up to something. We must to something.” She said casting a nasty look his way.

Cleaning the crumbs from her fingertips, Ethel devise a plan in two seconds flat “We divide and conquer. If there are several pages of this play, then someone must have found more. We ask around and if push comes to shove” she inhaled deeply “we go to the source.”

“Reuben?”

“No, the other source.”

Selene’s eyes widened “You know Leila will not utter a word.” Watching the girl in question pass the Ravenclaw table without sparing a glance at Reuben, the girls smiled at each other “The fates appear to be on our side.”

Letting some distance be created, they both nodded at each other as they bolted down the length of the Great Hall in pursuit of Leila. Turning a corner, Selene bumped into someone, causing Ethel to bump into her, the momentum carrying all three bodies to the ground.

“What the bloody muggle Hell are you two doing?” Laurent huffed as he gathered himself, a glare being directed at the two girls “Watch where you’re going would you?”

Apologies left their mouths as the girls got back on their feet, looking past Laurent, a heavy sigh leaving Ethel’s mouth “We lost her.”

“For now.”

Also getting up, Laurent picked up the piece of paper Ethel had dropped “Great, another one of these.” He rolled his eyes, passing it over to her.

“Wait, there are more? Can we have it?”

Shaking his head, he smirked “What’s it worth to you?”

“Only the very outcome of our most beloved game?”

Looking between them, Laurent shook his head “Don’t know what you two are on about, but we found a similar page in the Dueling club. Then someone started rambling about a curse or something.” Selene looked at him up and down as if the boy before her was talking a different language entirely “I don’t know who’s trying to stir trouble, but if it’s anything I know, someone is trying to blow some smoke up our asses right at the end and is playing a prank.” Passing then, he chuckled to himself “Blow magic, of all things.”

Looking over their shoulders, the pair straightened their backs and dusted their clothes. Hoax or not, something was happening and if by any chance it led to Quidditch being sabotaged, they would never forgive themselves for sitting back and doing nothing.

[thewatercolours]

6,11,14,15!

I'm answering specifically for Path of Kingship because it's stuck again. Just so you know, this gets wordy, and almost reads more like a brainstorming journal entry than a proper blog. Skipping or skimming this post is fine! Also warnings for possible, maybe-spoilers for the fic, because I don't know what will become canon and what won't. Thank you for indulging me with the ask - maybe having to write out my answers to this ask will help me think through it!

6. Is there a problem you are trying to solve?

So I could answer this in two senses. What's the problem that needs to be solved in story, and what's the problem I'm having in the writing process.

Hm - you know what? In story, I may be running into difficulty because there's most certainly a problem, but it's a problem Graham can't see. And so he's not actively working toward a solution. Thaaat could be throwing me off. Anyway, the problem he can't see is that he's living a sort of false version of what he'll do in a better way after the adventure with the goblins. He's trying to be his authentic self in his kingship rather than changing to fit people's expectations. But where he'll do that in an unselfish way later, at present he's doing in a blindly self-centred way. He doesn't realize anything's off with his guards and his staff even though they're in a bit of a crisis, because he's always off seeking challenges for his skills. He doesn't realize he's worsening relations with Serenia, which could potentially lead to an invasion because he's not keeping his eyes on his real responsibility - the good of his own people at home. But he thinks everything's hunky-dory, because everyone's trying to save him from the appearance of being a under his guard's thumb, so they don't correct him. So he's just kind of hanging out aimlessly, even as he's being very productive, and that's maybe slowing the momentum for me.

I wonder if another short interlude from someone who *does* see the problem might help, although I've kind of been doing that with brief guard perspectives, and it's not pushing the story forward. I wonder... Clockett's been a motive force in Graham's new way of doing things. Could I give him a pov in which he starts to notice what's going wrong, even if he's a bit blind to some of it, and maybe tries to course correct Graham as he heads out.

11. What’s going through each character’s head in this moment?

Graham: THIS is what I was meant for. Not paperwork - being a hero! I feel so free!

Clockett: I want to see if I can get away with designing a new crown of Daventry. There are probably a million addenda between me and that goal, but that never stopped me before.

Number One: It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Just keep telling yourself that. Where he falls short, i can pick up the slack quietly. It's better than letting the world assume I'm controlling him. I am just going to keep biting my tongue and making this work.

Number Two: Can't believe Number One isn't hallucinating from sleep deprivation yet. I gotta come up with some way to convince him to take eight hours. Oh, also, we really need to hire a new Guard Number Three. That could help a lot.

14. What do you like about this WIP?

I think it has some memorable images. Crazy tollbooth going off with Graham dodging around for his life, moonlight chat with Triumph in his stall, improbable hair wash in a rocking chair in the stable, cloth of gold. It like playing around longform in a canon compliant way. I like how, in some passages at least, I really think I managed to convey the same feel that was in my imagination. I like the way I can use it both to explore canon and some things I went through myself a few years ago (though definitely not the same as Graham!) I like some of the fun I have with words and characters when writing it. It like the community aspect of sharing the story, some of the brainstorming you all have helped me do, encouragement, etc.

15. What about this WIP is ticking you off?

Just that I'm at such a loss for what even happens next?! The next chapter is helpfully outlined as, "SETTING: Shrine of the Shining Stars. Tollbooth's spiritual successor. Graham goes to the shrine to solve their problem, intending to be a big darn hero. He fails humourously, suspensefully, and thoroughly, in a way that also makes him realize he's no better off with this approach to kingship than the previous one. Also has to do with his bad eyesight." Wow, very specific.

Hm... the problem has to incorporate Graham's flawed approach. He has to fail in part because of it. Ways to incorporate it?

The Shrine, unlike these other adventures he's been having, could be in the heart of Daventry, just offscreen from where we've been in game. Could involve villagers/castle people.

Alternately, the Shrine could be in Serenia so as to highlight the deteriorating situation. Maybe Graham decides to sneak over the border in disguise so he can deal with the adventure easily rather than having to go through a lot of "foreign monarch visiting" red tape - and so he can avoid talking to people in Mannerly Stove, since he's border crossing? Ooh, he could get in some big trouble if the Serenians found out who he was. A foreign king who seemingly refuses to see your ambassadors, but sneaks into your kingdom in secret, is a big deal. And it ties into the themes.... Oooh.... Maaaybe?

I doubt Graham is the kind of silly boy who won't wear glasses because it doesn't fit his vibe (although Clockett might be of this persuasion), but I can see Graham being in denial about his eyesight getting worse (because what does that mean for his archery? No, no, nothing wrong with my eyes!) and just not following up on getting it checked. And that could lead to him missing an arrow shot at a crucial moment in this sequence. (Of course I eventually gotta fix his eyes so we can keep a bit canonical - maybe after this incident he can go get magic glasses from the Hobblepots. Glasses that will fix his eyes in a few months if he wears them consistently.) Ooh - thematically this has echoes! Graham's turning a blind eye to the realities at home - he doesn't see. It's an obvious bit of symbolism, but the fact it's occurring organically rather than planned makes me want to embrace it.

Hm. You know, this might have given me something to try. Thank you!

[deathjitsus]

wrestledream predictions

mark vs jericunt

if mark doesn't win this someone will have to die

darby vs brody

if they really are trying to build darby as the chosen one and actually want him to hold the world title someday i feel like he really needs to win this match. feels like a very put your money where your mouth is type thing because if he's talking big only to get his shit rocked by brody then i dunno man. I just don't know

jack vs shibata

i think this match will be good but the build has been unimpressive which is kind of the theme of 95% of matches on this card. i get it we're screaming hot off the tails of the all in/all out double team but it feels like not nearly enough love was given to putting together this show. ANYWAY that being said i don't think it's shibata's time. i think he would be a great tnt champ whenever that day comes and potentially elevate it a lot more than jack has been doing with his reign (no offense) but i don't see the title changing hands here.

ospo vs takeshita vs ricochet

okay i know okay but listen. REALISTICALLY do i feel like ospreay is probably retaining? yeah. HOWEVER i think takeshita winning the belt would be amazing for him and also further will's feud with the dcf especially if there was some interference (maybe from a certain new member?). plus it's a three way match which iirc means will doesn't need to be pinned to lose the belt which protects him for a rematch in the future. i just really really want a takeshita singles run ok

bucks vs private party

see jack vs shibata i don't think this match has been built particularly well for either team. private party has been booked like shit basically all year if not longer and to rocket into the tag team title sphere again seems very sudden for them so i don't really see them taking the titles off the bucks at all but i do hope that this will serve as fuel for the fire and they'll start getting taken a little more seriously again.

mariah vs willow

i want willow to win this so bad but i know it's not her time. but i have to have hope that one day she will get her time in the sun

hanger vs jay white

i feel a little conflicted about this match. jay white has been gone since what june? july? this is his first match back from injury in months. my problem is i feel like hangman has built a lot of good momentum for himself coming off his win at all out over swerve and i think a loss for him here would kind of cut that off at the knees, but i think jay is similarly trying to establish some new momentum coming off of injury. i think at the end of the day jay white will take this one—whether swerve is somehow involved or not i don't know, but hangman has a history of taking losses and further working them into whatever he's doing so i guess we'll see what happens.

as for what happens when swerve returns he's said we're going to see a new evolution of him and his character—i fully expect him to ditch nana and align with mvp and his new faction (whether they're calling it the hurt business or whatever name they go with). maybe i'll be surprised who knows! but that certainly seems like the direction they were headed

hologram vs mortos

this feels like a weird choice for a ppv match but i won't complain because i'm sure it will slap. i know tony has put a lot of stock into hologram but i'm just not necessarily on the train yet is all. hologram is undefeated in aew as of today so i'm kind of back and forth on whether or not this will be the end of that streak—i think a 2 out of 3 falls match is a good way to do it and paint mortos as a bit of an underdog but tony also might be looking to get hologram his first ppv win so who knows. right now i'm saying hologram wins but it's really a 50/50 for me i don't necessarily care but i do think it will be a good match either way

bryan vs mox

can i be honest with you guys. i don't know if i'm feeling the intended emotion over the build to this match. a lot of the promotional materials have painted it as a fight for the future of aew and while on one hand yes, conceptually i understand that mox is going for the title because he wants power and is attempting to make change to aew and the culture of the company, i also feel like this is much more personal than that and the world title belt has simply got caught in the crossfire because bryan has it right now. it's not about the belt, it's about bryan danielson and jon moxley. and on one hand i think that's a good thing because i really do feel like there's a lot of tension going into this match but i also feel like a lot of the build has actually been focused on wheeler yuta rather than mox and bryan. and i get it, bryan can't wrestle and mox is busy doing whatever the fuck he wants, but i feel like these two haven't really spoken at all in the build to this match its just been mox shitting on bryan and bryan laying down and taking it. i dunno i just feel like its been set up really weirdly and idk if i like it. that being said i think all of this would make it a very weird time to retire danielson. imo it would have been a much more satisfying conclusion to have him finish at all in (when he was clearly in kayfabe Ready to Go) instead of dragging things out even more to give him a month or two with the world title. this world title reign feels like a sequel to a book that never needed one.

[lamuradex]

40K In 42 Days Update: Week Two

@the-wip-project

Alright, Week Two Update. We're one third of the way through! Let's go!

Last week I was at 4,140 Words, 10.35%.

This week I'm at 17,995 Words, which is 44.9875%

Okay! From being a bit under target last week, I have seriously picked up the pace. I've managed to find my feet with this book a lot more, even adding in some fun new chapters I didn't originally intend, and keeping up the momentum of writing a decent amount each day.

I hope I can keep this up, but I'll likely wind up taking a bit of a break at some point. I am enjoying this though.

Anyway, as with last week, I'll post an excerpt of the last bit I've been writing. This time, Gideon and Madeline are being questioned by a detective that Gideon has known for a long time.

Enjoy below the break.

They got about three steps outside the door before someone shouted.

“Mr Tailor,” the voice beckoned.

Gideon knew the voice. He turned, wearing his best smile, to the pleasant if slightly older face of Detective Holida.

“Johnny! Always a pleasure,” he greeted with a deliberately false grin.

“Mr Tailor. Miss Anthorne,” he greeted them in turn, lighting a pipe and taking a puff. He was the sly kind of man who, in perhaps a few more years, could carry off a pipe.

“Hello, Officer Holida,” Maddy said meekly, trying to remain invisible.

“What brings you here, Johnny?” Gideon said brightly. “And how’s the husband. Marriage counselling going well?”

Holida puffed his pipe. “I’m not here to discuss my love life, Mr Tailor.”

“I’m just trying to work out of there’s an opening.” Gideon shot him a wink.

“Really. Rumour has it you’re with Miss Scarlet, right?” Holida countered.

“Oh, Miss Scarlet doesn’t date anyone. Any of her regulars could tell you that,” Gideon parried. “But you? I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

Holida chuckled in a sour way. “You really think the gay jokes are doing you any favours?”

“Whose joking? You’re a good looking man,” Gideon answered. “But, anyway, what brings you to my door, Detective?” he continued, their pleasantries out of the way.

“Potentially a pair of handcuffs,” Holida said sharply. “I got an anonymous tip that you, Mr Tailor, were involved in a robbery earlier this week.”

“Me? A robbery? Which one?” Gideon put a hand to his chest in an offended way.

“How many robberies have you done?” Holida challenged. “Ever heard of Efram Malik?”

Gideon shook his head. “I’m not really a tech person.”

“But… how would you know he’s a tech person if you don’t know who he is?”

“What else would he be?” Gideon shrugged.

With that unassailably stupid reasoning, Holida moved on. “Mr Malik’s home was robbed last week of almost a hundred grand in art and electronics. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Gideon glanced around. There was a cop car waiting nearby, but this wasn’t an arrest. Not unless he confessed here and now. This was just so he’d lie and entrap himself.

“Why do you think it was me?” Gideon asked.

“Because the tip we got specifically named you,” Holida answered flatly.

Gideon paused. That was a ill omen. Still, Holida’s partner was still in the car. This wasn’t an arrest.

“And you believe them, this anonymous voice?” Gideon thought about that more. “And the tip didn’t come from this Malik gentleman himself? That’s weird, right?”

“It is odd, yes. You wouldn’t happen to have an alibi, would you?”

“You haven’t told me the date or the time, Detective.”

“Thursday, somewhere between eight o’clock and five in the morning. That’s when the cleaners found the place in disarray.”

“I would have been at home in bed,” Gideon said innocently. “I get to bed early these days. Busy with work.”

“And you wouldn’t happen to have a witness for this?”

“Well, there’s Madeline here. She can vouch for me. She goes to bed at the same time. Different beds though, of course.”

“Can confirm,” Maddy said simply.

“Right,” Holida rolled his eyes. The alibi was as strong as tissue paper and everyone knew it. “What do you two do for a job nowadays, Mr Tailor?”

“Currently unemployed but freelance,” Gideon answered confidently. “Maddy got fired from her cleaning job just this morning actually. Tell me, is it illegal to fire someone because they have a disability?”

“Are you looking to report someone?”

“I’m just wondering,” Gideon shrugged. “But, if that’ll be all, we do need to get going. Nice seeing you, Johnny.”

“And where are you going?” Holida asked, narrowing his eyes again.

“My niece’s sister’s birthday. It promises to be a big affair,” Gideon smiled. They were back in their obvious lying game.

“And you're sure you were nowhere near the robbery?”

Gideon caught that one. “You haven’t told me where Mr Malik lives, Johnny.”

"Right." Holida smiled in a frustrated way. “You realise I know you’re full of shit, Gideon.”

“I’m not inclined to argue,” Gideon said calmly.

“First of all, I know you don’t have a sister.”

“A hasty marriage in the family.”

“You don’t have any siblings whatsoever,” Holida asserted. Then his face creased. “Wait, wouldn’t your niece’s sister also be your niece?”

Gideon let false revelation crest his face. “You know, you might be right. Huh. That would explain the salty Christmas card last year. Oh well, I’ll apologise next time I’m round. I think I owe my uncle’s brother an apology too.”

Holida glared him down, acid in those eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Don’t leave town, Mr Tailor. We’re currently looking into DNA evidence found at Mr Malik’s home, and if your name comes up, then your little jokes won’t save you.”

“Well, let’s hope it won’t match then,” Gideon countered. And he knew Holida was confident about the DNA. The officer had snuck a bottle from the trash years ago for a sample. Too bad it was actually a bottle belonging to one of Fey’s patrons.

“I’ll be seeing you, Mr Tailor,” Holida said and returned to his car.

Gideon watched him go. Someone had tipped him off, and he suspected that was making Holida nervous too. People usually only tipped off the authorities about brown people looking suspicious on their street, being suspicious being code for them existing. They didn’t anonymously tip off the police about massive art heists. Especially not by name. But beyond the name there wasn’t enough proof to link anyone to it, they’d been sure of that, so he wasn’t too worried.

“That was… odd,” Maddy considered. “And do you always need to flirt with him like that?”

“Yet another oddity,” Gideon agreed, as they went on their way. “And yes. It’s how we communicate.”

[veryace-ficrecs]

Gen Stranger Things Fanfic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)  

This list is only General Audience Fanfic! enjoy (*￣3￣)╭

He Can Love Three Things by Capriciously_Terminal

“I think you’re beautiful,” Steve tells Eddie when they’re standing on a basketball court in the middle of a day that’s so hot you could practically skin your knee against it. It’s a moment of stillness like a snapshot. Like freeze-tag, when you had to thunder to a stop at the slap of a hand and just do nothing with all that momentum you’d been in the middle of using.

(AKA Steve Harrington can love Eddie Munson AND basketball as a treat)

Dustin Henderson and the Lovebirds by pukner

"You look like you've been mauled, dude," says Lucas. Then, after a beat, "Oh, ew."

"What the fuck," says Dustin, cottoning on, "What the fuck. This is hell, you didn't."

"Oh, I did," says Eddie, with the air of someone who's won something. He looks like the proverbial cat who's got the canary, if the canary wore polos and listened to Blondie.

"Shut up," Steve mutters, flushing as he seems to register what's happening, "Guys, it's not what you--uh, this isn't what it looks like--"

Or, five times Dustin Henderson was subjected to Eddie Munson being gross and sappy and in love with Steve Harrington, and one time Steve didn't even have to be there.

truly the angel's best by unkreativstermensch

Because he is only human after all, a gay human, actually, with a huge, embarrassing gay crush on Steve Harrington (just a crush though, no real feelings, no because that…hahaha, that would be a real fucking problem and Eddie has enough of those, seriously) and now…

Now that exact Steve Harrington is standing there, in the middle of the living room, in front of the sofa all the gremlins are scrambled on together and- and he’s holding a baby.

Eddie feels like the breath got knocked right out of his lungs.

Or: Steve with babies is the cutest thing in the world and you cannot convince the author (or Eddie) otherwise.

Always Look on The Upside (of the Tip Jar) by Capriciously_Terminal

Steve, the new one who was distinctly crown-less except some pin on his apron with a French quote from Le Morte d’Arthur, which Robin read in actual French and had given him for Christmas even though they’d all been forced to provide a separate twenty-five dollar gift for the staff white elephant exchange, generally hid in the walk-in when people he’d generally been dickish to walked in.

But this time, the long-haired guy Steve had at one point terrorized, walks right up to Steve and has an incredibly odd request.

(AKA Steve Harrington, local barista, forgets a guy's name but does remember their past).

Make Me Look Good by Elle_dubs (avril_o)

A Life For Every Year (And One For After) by Kedreeva

Eddie works in a tuxedo rental shop.

Steve rents a tuxedo for prom, he's taking Robin.

Light shenanigans. 

Steve meets her when he is nine years old. She is skin and bones, and fits in the cup of his hands like a tiny, furry tennis ball and her purr rattles against the skin of his palms.

----

Or, the one where baby Steve adopts the same stray kitten as baby Jonathan.

come and rest your bones with me by MacksDramaticShenanigans

“We’re making a fort.”

Steve is barely even halfway through the door when he is accosted with the declaration. His slick raincoat is still zipped up, his wet umbrella still wide open and dripping onto the porch behind him.

“What?” He asks, fumbling to close the umbrella and shake it out before a stack of blankets are being shoved into his arms.

“We are making a fort,” Eddie repeats, grinning at Steve. He’s got his own heap of blankets bundled against his chest, and when Steve glances past his shoulder he can see that the bones of said fort are already mostly established — Wayne’s armchair has already been moved from its cozy corner of the room to now sit directly across from the couch, and the coffee table has been pushed to the side so as to not be a nuisance to the building process.

And, well, it sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

“Yeah, sure, alright,” Steve replies with a huff of a laugh.

hash brown, egg yolk (i will always love you) by MacksDramaticShenanigans

Six months is a long time to be apart. A long time to go without seeing Eddie in the flesh. Without hearing his laugh, low and melodic, right against the shell of his ear. Without hugging Eddie around the middle and hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder while he stands at the stove and pushes something delicious around a pan. Without kissing Eddie.

But so is the way of being married to a hotshot musician with a band that has more than made it big.

Because that's what Eddie is. And, god, Steve couldn’t be more proud.

Even if it does mean that sometimes he and Eddie have to go long stretches of time without seeing each other.

But that doesn’t matter anymore. Because Eddie is home now, and he’s going to be home for a while. Corroded Coffin just wrapped up the European leg of their tour (“Fucking Europe, Stevie! Can you believe it!”) and they’ve been given a month before their North American leg is set to start. A whole entire month that Eddie already promised he will be spending at home with Steve.

Starting today.

Hey, Jude by Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)

 The phone only gets a chance to trill once before Eddie snatches it up from the cradle.

 He’s been waiting for this all day.

 “You’ve got Eddie,” he says, even though only a handful of people know what hotel he’s staying in, his room number. Even fewer would risk calling him right before a show, but he’s got a car on standby to collect him once he’s done, and this is a very important phone call.

 “Is that how you’re greeting your husband now?”

To Get A Recipe by Catnerys

Seven months after the apocalypse literally tore through Hawkins and his miraculous not-death, Eddie does the second bravest thing he ever did and calls Steve.

I Don't Have to Leave Alone by Capriciously_Terminal

Eddie Munson's "European Tour" (i.e. running away to Germany) had hardly been glamorous and he'd expected the same from his homecoming.

Count on Steve Harrington to ruin that by picking him up from the airport.

(AKA There's nothing softer than someone getting you from the airport)

i’ll stop the world and freeze with you by wynnyfryd

Eddie promised he’d take Max ice skating, only… Only he doesn’t actually have a single solitary fucking clue what he’s doing, alright? Good thing there’s a very helpful Hot Guy who can assist. 

 Phantom Scent by CrystalDragonette

Nancy was only supposed to check on Steve since he wasn't answering the walkie-talkie. Instead she hears him giving Barb a life update

With surprise visitors

your Midas touch on the Chevy door by sarcasticassian

last night his fiancee had blurted out that she was a lesbian and Steve’s perfectly built up walls came crashing down and a tidal wave of feelings rushed in reminding him of his own not so straight sexuality as well and now he’s stood in a side room in the town church and his gay fiancee is waiting just outside the doors to walk down the aisle and he can’t do it

----

a sort of arranged marriage scenario but also some freedom fighting

eddie munson's foolproof test (to see if a guy is sticking around) by loverboysteve

Eddie has a test.

It took some time to formulate, a few too many times with guys careless with his heart, who leave behind more heartache than happiness littered in their memory. It’s fucking hard to tell.

More than once, there’s been a dude who promises between kisses 'i’m not going anywhere' and takes more than his fill during a night which Eddie desperately hopes is passion and not some misguided lust. Only to wake a familiar empty side of the bed, them gone — skipping town, back in the arms of their parent-approved girlfriend, or back to spitting his name out with the word freak.

It’s what the test is for.

Secret Sweater by Maybird315

Eddie learns how to knit so he can make Steve an ugly sweater

A Kiss in the Snow by Sparkle_Fiend

Eddie is going all out for Christmas - there's a lot to celebrate this year. He survived the Upside Down, he and Wayne have a new house, and Eddie has a boyfriend. Unfortunately, his plans are derailed when the weather turns foul and Steve doesn't show on time. 

 What the hell are you wearing? by thebridgetonarnia

Steve and Robin wear matching ugly christmas sweaters, Eddie is confounded by them. 

The Perfect Team by MixAddams

Steve doesn’t hate DnD, he just doesn’t get it. 

Harrington Family Reunion by damnwellworthit

Steve gets the chance to take a plus one to the family reunion so he takes the opportunity

[bllsbailey]

NEW: Internal Tensions Roil Kamala Harris Campaign Even As Press Declares Nothing but 'Joy'

The thing about putting lipstick on a pig is that underneath the lipstick, you've still got a pig. That's the Kamala Harris campaign right now, at least according to a new report on the internal tensions roiling her operation. 

There's no doubt the vice president turned presidential nominee without winning a single primary vote has some momentum. There is a sheer jubilance among Democrats simply because they have someone other than Joe Biden to vote for. Much of what is bolstering Harris isn't organic, though. It's the result of a relentless press campaign to redefine her as a talented, likable politician full of "joy." MSNBC even compared Harris to Taylor Swift.

But while the propaganda machine is hitting on all cylinders, Kamala Harris is still Kamala Harris, and that's apparent behind the scenes. 

Kamala Harris’ campaign is navigating internal tensions as a team of new senior strategists take hold of an operation largely staffed by people hired when Joe Biden was the Democratic nominee, according to six people, including aides familiar with the dynamics. Longtime Harris loyalists are also chafing at the continuing presence of some Biden aides known for disparaging the vice president, three of the people said. The unfolding friction is the result of an unprecedented overhaul of the Democratic ticket less than three months before the election, a daunting task that requires integrating two political worlds while at the same time selecting a vice presidential nominee and battling former President Donald Trump.

Keep in mind that we are talking about a person who had 92 percent staff turnover in the last four years. That wasn't by sheer chance. Harris is a deeply difficult person to work for, with reports painting her as borderline abusive to her underlings. 

In the case mentioned above, the situation is a bit more complicated. When Biden dropped out of the race, he left behind a fully staffed presidential operation. The last thing Harris wanted to do was start firing people because that would lead to dissent breaking out into the open. That's left the vice president desperately trying to hold a house of cards together that is chock-full of operatives who hate each other. 

The question is how long she can keep this charade going. She has the press on her side, and that's a big asset as far as tamping down leaks.

What Harris does have in her favor right now is time, not because there's so much left before election day but because there's so little left. Given enough time, she would self-destruct as she's always done. Harris has not suddenly become an excellent politician, but if she can stay away from the off-the-cuff situations that have historically haunted her, she may be able to run the clock out. 

Still, there is at least one debate coming up, and that is probably the best chance Donald Trump will get to knock Harris off her astroturfed sugar high. If her campaign begins to falter at all, you could start to see cracks form, given how weak the foundation is. 

[antianakin]

I realize I got so into this that I totally failed to address your questions on the prophecy, my bad.

So my feelings on the prophecy are this. Anakin brought balance when he killed Palpatine because he eliminated the Sith who, just through their sheer existence, cause the Force to become unbalanced through the sheer LEVEL of darkness they can cause.

There's a lot of darkness in the world as it is, so it takes CONSTANT work by the Jedi (and everybody else ideally) to keep things balanced and hold it at bay. But darkness is like a drug, it feels real good at first maybe and it's easy to slip into it, so if someone like a Sith comes along and pushes things in a certain direction, it doesn't take much for there to be a LOT more darkness in the world. It doesn't take that many Sith to cause that lack of balance, but also Palpatine (and Anakin) bring everyone ELSE along with them. The Sith have been working for YEARS to corrupt the Republic Senate, which has caused corruption and pain and fear and anger across literally the whole galaxy. Palpatine throws that galaxy into a three year galactic civil war which exacerbates the issue exponentially.

Anakin killing the Sith brings balance predominantly by just allowing the CHANCE for darkness to be pushed back. For people like Leia, and Luke, and the rest of the Rebellion, to finally actually be able to gain some momentum in restoring democracy and bringing the galaxy out of this constant war.

To keep using my metaphor from earlier, Anakin killing the Sith takes that boat closer to shore, away from rougher waters.

But Star Wars is also, so often, about CHOICE. Anakin's the Chosen One, he IS. That's just... authorial intent. Again, you can choose to disregard that intent, interpret the text differently if you don't like that, but that's Lucas's stated intent. Anakin was the Chosen One, and he fulfills the prophecy by killing Palpatine (which also kills himself).

But Anakin DEFIED his own prophecy for about 30 years before that. He defied it in Palpatine's office when he turns on Mace, and keeps defying it for 30 years, making himself a Sith, not accepting any of the numerous chances he's given to turn away from this path he's on, right up until Luke's life is no the line and finally makes a different choice. Star Wars seems to put forth the idea that people DO have destinies, but it's up to you how you choose to get there and whether you want to walk that path at all. Presumably, Anakin could've just... never fulfilled the prophecy. What would have happened then? Who knows. Maybe someone else becomes a new Chosen One. Maybe the galaxy's just super fucked forever.

And THAT'S why the Jedi are sitting there like "yeahhhh, we don't place a lot of stock in prophecies, because they can be pretty easily misleading and misunderstood." Qui-Gon is pretty much the only person who seems to truly stand by this prophecy, everyone else is constantly questioning it. Anakin was the Chosen One, sure, but he committed genocide against the Jedi and threw the world into complete darkness before he fulfilled it because he chose to defy it first. There was no way for the Jedi to have seen that one coming, and they know that, which is why they didn't exactly put a TON of belief behind the prophecy to begin with. The furthest they ever seem to go is "IF Anakin's the Chosen One, then he'll ultimately make the right choice, so all we can do is try to have faith in him NOW rather than try to force him onto a path that might not even be his to walk."

Just a reminder that the Force doesn't have a middle ground, you are either balanced or unbalanced and if you are unbalanced, you're pretty much in the Dark.

Anakin is unbalanced from effectively the beginning of AOTC because he's already someone who will let his anger lead him to kill children and believes in dictatorships/fascism, but he's CERTAINLY unbalanced from the moment he decides to commit the Tusken Massacre.

Which means that Anakin in TCW and ROTS?

Not a good person anymore. Not by the rules of the Force. Anakin is now unbalanced because not only has he committed mass child murder, he refuses to feel any remorse over it or make amends for it and then lies about it for the rest of his life and the impact of this choice leads him to make a lot of OTHER more violent choices throughout the next three years until he goes full Sith.

Anakin is not a good kind person, he's an unbalanced Force Sensitive person who is more controlled by the Dark than anything else. He is NEVER at balance, so he's never fully away from the Dark.

He has MOMENTS of kindness, moments that are there to show us that he knows better than to let anger control him and he knows he should BE balanced, but those moments are quite often overshadowed by the fact that he chooses otherwise and is a massive hypocrite about learning control and not letting his emotions cloud his judgment. He can be kind when it's easy, he can be kind when it's not a choice, but when push comes to shove, he usually doesn't choose kindness.

And that says more to me than his sporadic moments of kindness do. He's unbalanced, that doesn't make him gray because the Force does not have a middle ground. He's already Dark.

[x3rrorx]

Carrying on from the anon who was saying about the momentum slowing down.

I know this will probably sound like criticism but I don't mean it that way.

For me, I think the TDOPOM cycle has just felt overly long, but I think part of that is because of the blow up in their popularity and them taking advantage of that which is understandable.

They released TDOPOM early 2022 and if you look at what they were doing around that time they were going on tour as support for Underoath followed by In This Moment, then spent the summer opening for A Day To Remember before announcing their headliner, A Tour of the Concrete Jungle. All of that was pretty standard for them at that time with where they were in their career and fanbase size.

Around that time is also when they started going viral on tiktok and entered a whole new world of craziness.

Start of 2023 they did A Tour of the Concrete Jungle Europe and went to Australia, but then when they came back to the US they announced Will We Both Go Home Alive? (Was it called that? Did that tour really have a name?) for May and then Concrete Forever for September/October.

Now we're into 2024, coming up to the two year anniversary of TDOPOM release, and we're on Concrete Forever Europe, still got a few Concrete Forever US dates that were rescheduled and added in, and we've not seen the TDOPOM Deluxe yet!

So for one album cycle we've had three headling North American tours, two headling European tours, a trip to Australia, a cycle of American festivals, upcoming American festivals and a summer of European festivals, and the supporting shows they've done with Underoath, In This Moment, A Day to Remember and Bring Me The Horizon. That's a lot!

They've made the most of their rapid growth by packing in tours and shows, but that's obviously not leaving a lot of time for creating, especially when part of their time will be taken up by creating the production for the next tour since their production has grown with every step.

Out of the tours and shows mentioned I think Australia and In This Moment are the only two I haven't been to (Concrete Forever EU is upcoming), so clearly I enjoy watching them perform but I'll admit it's definitely time for something new because the past two years hasn't seen a whole lot of variation in their set list, and I'm not someone who can get out of my mind excited over a few key changes.

Kudos to them for taking advantage of their new success, but there comes a point where you need to say 'enough, enough now' and move on to something new in order to keep enough people engaged with you, and to keep momentum. I know V.A.N is obviously something new, but I do wonder just what the Deluxe is going to give us because it's bold to be that confident that you've kept people waiting two years (possibly more) and that enough people will still buy into it. Obviously looking at their fanbase you know the complete die-hards are going to eat up whatever they get given, but they're not enough to sustain the success Bad Omens have achieved thus far, and I've seen a lot of people question the time frame on the Deluxe. There's also the question of whether we'd even be getting a Deluxe on this speculated scale if they hadn't enjoyed the success they have, or if it might have been more like FGBGFM, or if there would have even been a deluxe at all.

Personally, I'm more excited for the fourth studio album, and I think then we'll have a better idea of where Bad Omens could sit in history and how sustainable their current popularity is. Plus, I'm just looking forward to completely new music from them and a new performance cycle.

[dsmutp]

Learning Curve (C!Charlie Slimecicle x Reader)

Teaching Charlie was a delight.

When Quackity had put you up to the job, you hadn’t been too sure about it. Teaching someone how to be human (whatever that entailed) seemed like more than you had signed up for when you had become a resident of Las Nevadas - just imagining long hours of helping someone learn the intricacies of human life made your head ache. But Quackity had insisted, and you really had nothing better to do.

Three months into the job though, and you were quite attached to Charlie.

He was a wonderful student - eager to learn and bright enough that it never took him too long to grasp new concepts (though, as with any student, some things came more naturally than others) - and an even more wonderful friend. It was amazing how a sentient piece of goo (though it was really hard for you to think of him like that anymore) could be more kind and caring than half of the actual people you knew. 

You were pleased to say that Charlie had become quite fond of you as well. Though you were only supposed to spend six hours a day with him, oftentimes you wound up just spending your days together, wandering around the unfinished Las Nevadas after you had completed his schooling for the day, talking about whatever crossed your minds. Charlie was always eager to hear stories from your day to day life, and the amount of history he had seen just from being around for that many years never failed to make you gaze at him with wonder. 

It wouldn’t have been a stretch to say that he had become your best friend.

You certainly liked him enough - that goofy smile never failed to brighten your mood, even on the worst days, and though the slight fluidity of his skin had been off putting at first, through the amount of daps you shared, you had gotten used to it - come to enjoy it even, something that was uniquely Charlie.

For all his wonderful attributes though, there were still some times that you got a little exasperated with him. 

“Nope.” You sighed, watching as his arm bent the wrong way again. “You can’t just bend the joint that way, Charlie, that’s not how bones work.”

“But you said to hit the lever behind me..?” Charlie asked, righting his arm again. 

“Right, but with humans, remember, the joints don’t bend all the way around because of the bones.” You reminded him. “Just because your body can bend that way, doesn’t mean mine can.”

Charlie nodded slowly, but the confused look was still hovering in his eyes. 

“Do you want to go over joints and movement again?” You asked. 

Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Yes please.”

You stepped forward, extending your arms. You had done this exercise a few times before, just to help Charlie learn which body parts worked together and which joints moved in which directions. It was easy for him to forget though - his body didn’t really have limits to movement, being slime - and he had a bad habit of just throwing human joint movements away in exchange for what was the most easy at the time. 

Charlie placed his hands on your elbows, and you bent your arms, letting him feel how the joints moved and worked. “See? One way.”

“Right.” Charlie said, nodding now. His hands moved to your shoulders. “But these ones go all the way around?”

You rolled your shoulders, moving the ball joint in a circle. “Correct.”

His hands wandered down to your wrists. “Same as these?”

You rolled your wrists, nodding. 

From there, Charlie’s hands found your hips. “But these ones only go forward and backward.”

“For walking.” You said, nodding. “They can go out, a little - nothing too far though.” 

Charlie nodded, his eyes wandering over your body innocently. The first few times you had done this with him, you had been a little uncomfortable - it was strange, to be treated like a scientific model, slightly slimy hands running up and down your skin, asking what each of your joints and muscles did. But over time, you had gotten used to it - Charlie was only curious to learn, after all, and you were more than willing to help.

A hand over your crotch startled you, and you broke out of your train of thought, raising an eyebrow at Charlie. He only blinked at you though, saying, “You never said what this part’s for.”

You closed your eyes, steeling yourself. You had known this day would come, eventually - sex was a large part of human life, after all. You didn’t really want to be having ‘the talk’ with a sentient piece of goo that you had come to know and love, but you supposed it had had to come at some point. 

“It’s for sex, Charlie.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a stripper pole on you?”

The comment was so out of place that you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “What?”

“A stripper pole.” Charlie repeated. “Like the one in the casino? Quackity said it was for sex-”

“No, no.” You said, cutting him off, still laughing. “Sex organs Charles, for the actual act. They’re part of basic human anatomy - everyone’s got some.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and movement under his pants caught your eye - the fabric shifted and pulled until it filled out a little more - like his very skin was reshaping itself to include what you had just told him. 

It was then that you realized that Charlie might be the answer to every sexual fantasy you had ever had. 

---

It didn’t take much convincing to get Charlie into bed with you.

You had always known that he had had something of a puppy dog crush on you - just from the way that he hung on your every word, even when you weren’t teaching, and followed you around like a little duckling. You had stopped yourself from doing anything about it though, telling yourself that it would be wrong, that he was your student - but those sentiments had faded the more time you had spent together outside of the teaching. 

They were completely gone now, as you tossed Charlie’s pants over the side of the bed. Though you were both naked as the day you were born, he was perfectly comfortable, sprawled out on the pillows like he owned the place. 

“So, again,” He started. “You want me to put my dick inside you? But not detach it? And thats sex?”

“The basics of it.” You said. “Simple stuff, really. You tell me if you don’t like it though - I don’t know exactly how it’ll feel for you.”

Charlie nodded, arranging his arms underneath his head with a smile. “I am ready to sex.”

You laughed as you straddled his hips, gently wrapping a hand around his cock and aligning it with your hole, just pressing his tip against your entrance. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if it feels bad, okay? Just because I wanted to try this doesn’t mean you have to suck it up for me.”

“Promise.” Charlie assured you. “I won’t pretend to like it just because you do- hhh.”

You sank down on his cock, reveling at the feeling - there was almost no stretch as he entered you, the slime of his body simply moving like a liquid, filling out your insides completely without having the painful stretch around your entrance. Every nerve ending in you lit up at the contact - the slime filled every space without pushing too far - Charlie’s cock had molded to you completely, hitting all your spots without even trying.

“Wow.” You breathed, placing the palms of your hands on Charlie’s chest. “This is- wow. How’re you feeling Charlie?”

Underneath you, Charlie was in a daze, eyes glazed over as he stared at some point past your shoulder. His mouth moved, but only a long string of syllables came out - more like a moan than any real words.

“Descriptors, love.” You prompted, shifting to place your hands on either side of his face. 

Charlie let out a breathy whimper, his hands finding purchase on your hips, squeezing the skin there. “Good.” He said. “Very very good, uh, sort of tingly? And warm? I-I don’t really know words for it…”

You smiled, caressing his hair. “Good.” You said. It was good to know that it felt pleasurable for him - you weren’t quite sure how slime anatomy worked, and if human sex was something that he would enjoy, but now that you knew it felt as good for him as it did for you, you had no intention of holding back.

You began to rock, slowly, rolling your hips over Charlie’s and letting his cock begin to rub against your walls. Charlie’s fingers dug into your hips more as his breathing canted upwards, instinct taking over as he bucked up into you a few times. You welcomed the movement, using the momentum to fuck yourself down on him harder, savoring the feeling of him running over your nerves, lighting you up from the inside. 

Charlie let out another whimper, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, still keeping your hands framed gently around his face. Charlie kissed back eagerly, releasing his little whimpers and moans into your mouth now, the hands at your hips moving up to your lower back, holding on for dear life.

“You’re doing so well.” You cooed, feeling that familiar coil begin to tighten in your gut. “You’re a natural, Charlie.”

“Really?” Charlie said, a grin overtaking his features. His slimy complexion really didn’t allow for a blush, but you could see the flushed pride just in his expression.

“Really.” You gasped out as a particularly good thrust made your head spin. Your hands fell from Charlie’s face as you instead buried your face into the crook of his neck with a groan, rolling your hips down with more intensity now, chasing your orgasm. Without the painful stretch in the beginning, you were reaching it so much more quickly now - though it probably also helped that Charlie’s cock had become a perfect fill for your insides too - leaving no nerve ending spared.

“Mmmm.” Charlie tipped his head back as he moaned, lips pressing together into a thin line. “It feels different now.” He said, voice shaky. “Bigger, I think?” He tried. 

“That’s supposed to happen.” You said, speeding up your thrusts, for both your sake and Charlie’s. You were getting to the brink of orgasm now, the pleasure making it’s way all the way down your legs and to your toes. It was only a moment more before you were shaking with it, the rolling of your hips slowing as you rode out your high. 

Charlie groaned underneath you, tipping his head back into the pillows as the slime inside you rippled, the sensation making you moan at the strangeness of it. You hadn’t really known what his orgasm was going to look (or feel) like, but you hadn’t been expecting that. 

For a moment, you just laid there, head still tucked under Charlie’s jaw as you both caught your breath, just feeling him breathe.

“That was pretty fun.” Charlie said. “It felt weird, but good weird.”

You sat up, rolling off him to sprawl out on the rest of the bed, his cock sliding out as easily as it had gone in. “Glad you liked it.” You said, letting yourself stretch out into a boneless heap. “For your first time ever, you were really good, Charlie.”

Charlie beamed at the praise, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were definitely going to be doing that again.

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

[honey-lemonz]

Kokushibou [Satisfied smut]

Xmale reader

3rd

Warning! Sexual Content!

Includes: stress sex, fight then fuck, koku being a bratty bottom, biting,blowjob, marking, multiple orgasms ,multiple rounds, over stimulation,  dirty talk, fighting during sex, degradation (heavly). Hiding, slapping, spitng, and a spite fuck. Goodness..Enjoy!

Kokushibou pushed the archer against the wall as both were fighting.

For almost 7 hours.

(M/n) or the archer was happily living on his land and was fine but. The dam fake Samurai had other plans to upset that. Like attacking him. Gods they hated each other..

To the point it was not comical.. no no.

Sexual almost.

Two strong men grunting and groaning, one with blood all over him..for being the one with more hits. Sweat on their bodies and one with his hair arrayed. Kokushibou was losing it.

Internally and externally.

Internally he could not understand why he was feeling slightly aroused in battle, especially with this fucker. The archer demon named Yasumebu (M/n). A demon he hates because he reminds him of his late twin.

Someone who is superior and most likely would be superior to him.

He felt his cock trying to poke in his hakama pants. His kimono was sticking to the sides on his body as he was forced on to the ground. Yasumebe was about to prepare an arrow until..

Kokushibou moved his leg to reveal he was aroused but no on purpose or on invitation. But (m/n) was the only other demon around who could have done this to him. To him it was weird. He froze the arrow and squinted at the Samurai.

He but his foot on Kokushibou's growing hard on and moved it without any sign of being gently. 

Kokushibou groaned and hissed at him. About half of his eyes, the three on the left pinched shut. It was not out of pain but only pleasure. This made Yasumebe..disgusted to say the least.

But also he wanted to kill the upper rank for what he had done...but torture is always a better cause.

"Look at you..you pervert. Getting aroused with me in a fight you picked..how promiscuous..really are that much of a bastard you need a dick in you to make you feel whole?"

He moved his foot more vigorously, it made the upper rank squeak but not moan. No! He will never get any sign of pleasure from him. "I-I am not, aany an c-can get aroused. Never for oor from you-"

"Oh cut the bullshit you bastard. You attack me in my home and demand I die so you an be the best? Or is it jealousy? Jealous of me to the point you want me to fuck you? Make you a proud man with my cock stuffed into all your slutty holes?"

Kokushibou's six eyes widen. He dropped his sword from the feeling. What feeling is this? He asked himself. Demons cannot blush or anything but he could feel his ears burn and his cock ache and throb.

He hated him to the point it turned him on? Is that possible? No.

He hated Yoriichi but they were brothers and that is just wrong...but this dam archer..

Before he realized his mistake of thinking to deep, he got an arrow into his wrist and an arrow shot his sword far away from him.

"Well took you too long to answer the question so it is a yes, isn't it? Gods, I hate you but I always give whores like you a chance. By now you'd probably be satisfied sucking a cock and dying. The great upper rank one? Such a fucking slut.."

The arrow glued his wrist together so he could not move em, he could make another sword but he had to concentrate to do that.  He needed his full energy to do it but his energy was focused on..him..the archer and how he needed t̶o̶ ̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ him.

The archer pulled Kokushibou by his hair next to a stool, he was gracious or caring about it.  He hated him and as did he.

But goodness did he remember how they fought. How strong he looked and how much strength it goes into an arrow. Not that he thought the sport was worth this time, oh never. But him...it made his condition worse. His cock was probably leaking streams of precum.

"Must you fight, I am helping you. Trust me I do not want a whore like you anyways, a good one can shut up and take it..you..most likely are a brat or bitch about it.."

Kokushibou hearing this moved his combined wrist up to scratch the shit out of his arms like a fucking cat.

"Goodness if you want to mark me already! Dam, such a needy bastard...beat how many times you sucked your masters cock all these years...most likely didn't make you choke or gag for the hell of it..but now worries like defeat and death.."

He brought his up to his face. Both were around the same height, so it worked. But Kokushibou was now on a bedding and he was looking up at him. So he felt smaller. He hated it. But it aroused him.

Hate what pleasures you. But between you and I..is not the first he gotten aroused at the thought..

"I make sure to be the one to make it your first.. now if you bite he I cut you cock off too. Got it?"

Hell to Yasumebe it was an excuse to just make him feel a better or worse pain.

"Tsk, as ever I would do as you ask yo-"

He got fucking bitched slapped in the face. "Now I'm going to say this again. You were the one who got to be a perv right? You can suck your masters cock for all of eternity then you can suck a real mans one and not a cowards. Something you need to do. Bite me and you can burn in the sun with my cum all over and inside you. Now be a good brat and suck."

He stood above him with a tight grip on his head and hair. (M/n)'s own cock was out and the marvel it was had the upper rank's mouth salivating.

He just stared at it, like it was something new to him. "What you never seen another mans dick before? Always ready to ride and suck one for you life, so be the slutty brat you are and do what you know best. Go one you need help is my cock to big for your mouth? The one you use to pledge and talk shit? "

In his head he muttered, probably eat it too.

Kokushibou opened his mouth to rebuttal..dumb move. A thick and long length was shoved down deep into his throat. Making his gag on spit and the length. H opened his lower eyes to see not even all of it was in his mouth. The hell?

(M/n) hissed and moved his hips back and forth, he was fucking his face. "Good little slut, do what you know best bastard. Then maybe I can fuck your other hole, maybe even be nice and let you cum.:

Kokushibou groaned on his cock and moved tied wrist to get a grip and move on his own accord, but no avail. His own cock was in need of help. His mind was erasing with how much pleasure would come if he would get fucked like a whore.

Which he is.

His tongue lapped at the lip and it moved in and out his throat. He was pumping his cock with his hands at the same momentum. So feverish and so tempting, it make slick warm between his thighs. His ass flexed at the homewreacking feeling.

His large cock pushing in and out of his made him close two sets of his eyes and let where his true ones stay open. (M/n) hissed and pushed his head all the way to the hilt of his cock and made his stay there. Groaning as Kokushibou's mouth filled with an ocean of cum he swallowed.

The taste wasn't as bad as he imagined. His cock spurted some ropes of cum but he knew with how his luck was playing it would not be the first time tonight. He was allowed to breathe and swallow the rest. 

(M/n) looked down at him, his eyes were glossy and he was gasping for air.."Goodness you really are that bad.."

Kokushibou didn't care about his pride or his will, or even the envy. He felt hatred and pleasure. He needed to feel more, it was so addicting. It was like a slow burn he loved. The fire in the pit of his stomach burned for more. To be full , imagining that amount of cum stuffing his tight entrance or making his abdomen bulge..

To be breeded like a mating whore for him..

(M/n) pushed the Samurai to the side of the bedding and for him to be on his front. Ass up, he pulled the rest of his clothing off him. He would often scratch him or put marks he knew he could heal over..if he was concentrated enough.

His plump ass had goosebumps as his breath glazed across it. No kissing rather biting. He bite down on his ass. "For such a plump ass, you and kiss a lot of it aye? Sluts like you can be so troublesome but in the end.."

H sat up and got close to Kokushibou's ear. He moved his already messy and disheveled hair. His lapped his ear lobe and bite down to make it bleed.

"All of you are just bratty whores who need to be taught their place..." Two fingers were pushed into his slicked up entrance and they clung onto (M/n)'s fingers like glue. Kokushibou moaned out curses as he slumped down. He turned his head to the side to he the rest of his.

It felt too dam good. His fingers were so close to his prostate and so close to making his mind wipe to pure ecstasy and pleasure, even if he wasn't at it already. He moaned out without a care in the world. Asking no begging for more. It made (m/n) want to torture him more..

They did hate each other, but to one it was just funny.

"M-more, please fuck me more gods..please..fu-fu~ck.." he cursed as he spread his legs wider to make his fingers go deeper to touch or even at least brush his prostate.

His eyes were closed except the true ones, the only one he could keep open. Upper rank one was glossy and also looked like a bunch of whores eyes. He bucked his hips when his own forgotten and needy cock was slowly getting pumped.

"Wait- WAI- no ahh~" As soon as he pumped his length and pushed deeper into his hole, feeling for his prostate. He came again onto the bedding. He gasped loudly and slumped over. Kokushibou's cock twitched but was still erect.

"Well, what was it you were saying bastard? Or were you too busy cumming like a little whore to even finish? Hmm well it guess my cock can satisfy your perverted self, disgusting."

He spat on his gasping hole and moved his fingers out. The amount of slick or cum on his fingers made him laugh at the pathetic state of the upper rank. "Wow, such a slut for all this? Wonder how easy it is to break your ass and see you go silly."

He yanked almost his hips back up to his waist, Kokushibou swallowed thickly at what was about to happen. (M/n) stroke himself and placed the tip of his cock on Kokushibou's gaping whole.

"One more thing pervert.."

He leaned forward to upper rank one, Kokushibou felt his chilling breath on his ear. All his eyes widen as his cock slowly pushed into him. 

He whispered:

"I win slut.."

He slammed his cock into him, pushing harshly onto his prostate and making the upper rank yelp and moan loudly. He almost screamed, (M/n) gave him no time to adjust. Rather he fucked him ruthlessly. He used his hair and yanked it, making him look at the ceiling and also to feel himself hit deeper and deeper.

Kokusibou was babbling about more and more. Or how he hated him. Just either 'fuck me' or 'i hate you'. The archer demon did not care. He was a slutty pervert who got what he wanted. A good cock with a good fuck.

"Such a tight- little slutty whole..gods, im going to loosen it up for you and make sure no one couuld fuck you like I- ah~could..you'd like that Kokushibou? To be a slut and ask others to fill you with their cocks like I do?"

He thrusted faster and harder, Kokushibo's prostate was abused and he felt himself cum again and again. Due to his unlimited stamina and would be fine. But he was feeling drained, he felt so fucking stupid. He was getting fucked stupid even more.

(M/n) hissed when Kokushibou tightened around him, he groaned and growled as he shot thick ropes of cum into his ass. Filling him over his opacity and making his abdomen stretch to accommodate to the amount. 

All his eyes, closed with tear stains. Kokushibo's head was let go and he fell straight into the bedding. (M/n) looked at him and didn't bat an eye to spit on his face. His lower half was with filled with cum or covered in it. He cleaned himself and took his arrow out of his wrist and gathered the rest.

He looked one more time at the upper rank. The most feared of them all, looking like a slut in heat. He pulled the hair that would have been a neat pony tail but now is just out and disheveled. He made him look him in his eye.

"See now upper rank? Such a pathetic fighter and warrior, you did do one thing. Your were a decent fuck, not the best but decent." he patted his head and walked out the destroyed house.

Soon it was lit on fire. To destroy what ever was left.

Kokushibou luckily got away and out of the suns fury. But he did hate the archer demon with all he had, and envy him so much. But fuck... he sighed as he stroked his cock from the memory.

"He was right.."

His licked away the cum from his ass as he pulled away his fingers and from his hand. His cock throbbed at the dull feeling. The lackluster feeling inside him only his enemy gave him.

"I am such a whore for yasumebe.."

[teklarn]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 (𝓹𝓽. 2)

 character(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader 

a/n: ok so i just started writing on tumblr and honestly in my opinion for my first time posting smth on this the first part did really well thank u for all the likes :) (told from second pov; e.g you, your) reblogs are greatly appreciated :))

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention. 

genre: a lil bit angsty 

warnings: cursing, jealousy, mutual pining, slow burn romance, aged-up to third year, love triangle (square?), physical injuries, kirishima gets a little toxic, also shirtless bakugou (awooga), a crap ton of time skips bc i can’t write action scenes for shit, bakugou is a flirt (lowkey but yeah), mentions of blood 

word count: 2112

pt 1 , pt 3

- - - 

kirishima had broken the skin on his lower lip with how hard he was biting it. he stood in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth, ignoring the slight sting the water brought. 

y/n was currently being blasted by bakugou, and they were fighting back. 

jealousy panged in his chest. 

bakugou had never let him know about how he felt about you, however kirishima was sure he felt something for them. you and bakugou were both a jumble of prideful and longing stares towards each other from across every room. the tension was thick enough to slice through. and while kirishima would never make a move in fear of ruining the friendship between him and bakugou, as well as him and y/n, gosh it didn’t stop him from wanting to. 

he’d stood on the side, cheering you on to no end. the sports festival last year, the year before that, training exercises, he was always there. kirishima was always there. 

whenever you needed him, whenever you wanted his company. so what did bakugou have over him? sure, the blond was strong and had bigger goals than kirishima, but why should that matter? 

what did bakugou have? why would you want him more when he was never near you? never made an effort to see you to be there when you asked for help. 

it was popular belief that bakugou was a noisy idiot, but he was actually quite a quiet boy. he didn’t bother to raise his hand in class, however he always knew the answer. he spoke rarely and only made conversation with those he was close with if they were the ones to make the effort to converse with him first. 

jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. kirishima despised it. 

whenever did he begin wanting to beat bakugou at something? 

the cloud of guilt welling up in his chest was going to become unbearable, and soon everything he ever wanted to say was going to come up like word vomit at the worst possible time. 

- 

you swiped at your cheek, brushing off the crumbling dirt. your timing had been off, and their flip backwards had landed you in an awkward position. a vulnerable one. 

honestly, though, it wasn’t like it really mattered. bakugou was a bit transparent himself. he wore a smug look like a golden medal, and held back his power just enough to keep you on your feet. 

his cocky attitude was irritating and it drew you in like a moth drawn to a lamp. 

sweat was beading down your temple. the day was exceptionally hot, the sun beaming down on your back like a proud child. 

you and bakugou had been at it for a while. with anyone else, you would have quit by now. it’s not that you gave up easily. no, not ever. but fights could get boring, especially if you were just smashing away at them with your quirk and they were acting like they could take it. 

perhaps you were being cocky. 

this fight, though. this was interesting. not only because it was bakugou; also because you knew so little about him. 

it was likely he never shared anything important to anyone. he was quite introverted. 

it was interesting for another reason. 

it was hot, bakugou sweats a lot. gosh, he looked delicious without a shirt on. he had a built figure accompanied by strong arms and a broad chest. 

he’d filled out quite nicely the past few years. you hadn’t noticed until now how much he’d grown. 

“don’t get distracted.” 

your eyes snapped up from his chest to his eyes. bakugou became a blur, shooting himself off the ground and flipping once in the air before propelling himself back down. 

before you could do anything, bakugou had you pinned, one leg pinning yours, both his hands wrapped around your wrists. he’d ditched his gauntlets, leaving the metal assistants in the sweltering heat, claiming he wanted to give you an equal fight. 

he panted atop you, hands tightening. 

tokage didn’t bother to leave her dorm today, thank goodness. it had just been the three of you. you, bakugou, and kirishima. 

the red head had suspiciously vanished halfway through the fight, though.

bakugou’s crimson eyes bored into yours. neither of you blinked for a moment. perhaps just a small eternity each of you silently reveled in. 

his erratic breaths slowed, and so did yours, although you stayed the same. unmoving, faces neutral but eyes giving away long-held secrets. 

your ears flushed, and butterflies came rising up uncontrollably. you should have pushed him off. instead you gave him a wicked grin, which earned a look from him and you couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed. 

“your big ass forehead is blocking the bright-as-hell sun. stay like this,” you mocked, wrenching your wrists from his grasp and snaking your arms around his neck. 

his cheeks burned red. “w-what?” 

“you heard me.” 

he scoffed, tugging you off his neck and standing. “shut up, shitface. we aren’t even done yet.” he readied himself in a fighting stance once more. 

“i thought you said you wanted to stop when you won?” you brushed yourself off as you stood. 

“i know what i said. you probably weren’t even giving it your all.” 

“’course i was.” you cocked your head. “why wouldn’t i?” 

“you’re strong, damn idiot.” 

you feigned surprise, pressed a hand to your fluttering chest. “the bakugou, dynamight himself, complimenting a humble soul like me? oh, i really must be good, then.” 

“not as good as me.” his face dropped from a smile. bakugou never got enough training no matter how early or late he stayed up, or how many hours on the weekends were spent kicking a bag or sparring with friends. hard workers did all of the work there was a still wondered if they were doing enough. the number one spot wasn’t empty, but it was still reserved for dynamight. 

- 

y/n had collapsed on their bed. kirishima was itching to tell them how he felt, however he was stuck at the doorway. 

they weren’t even dressed for bed, nor were they showered. 

he settled with leaving his friend alone, and shut the door softly to find bakugou standing right behind him. 

kirishima jumped back, closing his eyes in relief. “bakugou. what the heck man?” 

“you’re creepy as shit.” 

“i- what? you were the one staring at me while i-” 

“while you peeped in on y/n?” 

“i wasn’t peeping. i walked them back after the fight and they just collapsed. you were off doing something else and you worked them too hard.” 

it wasn’t a shock that bakugou was still riled up from the duel. this boy had the energy of a mad man. 

when bakugou didn’t say anything, kirishima said once again, “you overworked them.” 

bakugou swat away the comment. “only because they’re not working hard enough.” 

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “they work hard. they’re perfectly fine.” 

“fine?” 

“they’re amazing.”

“i know that, shitty hair. you think i’m blind?” 

“everyone can make improvements at their own pace.” kirishima’s voice dropped. 

“you train with me.” 

“it’s an hour before curfew.” 

bakugou jut a thumb in the direction of the door. “so? maybe you need some more practice, too,” he joked. 

“you’re an ass, bakugou,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle. 

the two wandered off to one of the training grounds. it was open, a wide court where they’d both kicked someone else’s ass. 

the sun was just setting, a new cool breeze coming to fill the spot of the violent sun rays. 

it was routine to fight each other out of nowhere. kirishima was usually quite playful, spewing jokes once in a while and taunting his friend. 

this fight was different. his face was stone-cold. kirishima often took the defensive role, as his quirk didn’t allow him to project any direct attacks to bakugou.

it wasn’t like kirishima was angry at bakugou, but as soon as they started charging towards one another, he couldn’t hold back. his chest tightened, arms hardening and joints becoming strong and stiff. 

with one clean sweep of his arm, bakugou was backing away from kirishima, propelling himself to the edge of the arena with a small blast. he’d always been up for a challenge. kirishima was willing to give him one. 

his sudden competitive demeanor seemed to be egging on bakugou’s. the blond tongued the inside of his cheek, grunting as he shot forth, hair flying wildly. 

swiftly, kirishima dodged, just barely missing a blast. his torso wasn’t hardened, so if he’d dodged any later, his stomach would have been scorched. 

bakugou always took their fights seriously. he knew better than to underestimate the boy who had put together his very own rescue mission. 

kirishima’s opponent stumbled from the momentum. he took his chance and brought a hardened elbow down on bakugou’s back, hearing a satisfying crack. 

bakugou was crushed to the ground with the hit. his face smashed into the sandy ground. he coughed, turning over and spitting dirt to the side. 

it took a moment for him to register what he did, but kirishima was at bakugou’s side within seconds. the sun was nearly gone, a pale blue sky flickering with the first sights of stars. 

it was hard to make it out at first, but not impossible. kirishima saw the blood dripping and smeared just above bakugou’s lip. he groaned, cupping his face in both hands as he sat upright. 

“argh” bakugou gasped. “shit, kirishima. what the hell?” 

“i...i’m sorry dude, i didn’t mean to.” i wanted to, but i didn’t mean to. 

bakugou raised an eyebrow and let a smile seep through his pain. “you’re improving, though.” 

“are you alright?” kirishima traced the small cut on his lip from earlier with the tip of his tongue. 

“i’m fine, i’m fine.” bakugou swatted his hand away. he struggled to get up, refusing kirishima’s help. 

“we should head back before this gets any worse.” 

bakugou kept his large hands hovering under his chin to catch the dripping and occasional chunks of blood.  

although he wanted the duel to continue (it was finally interesting) bakugou wasn’t stubborn enough to keep going. so he nodded, once again denying kirishima’s efforts to help him out. 

- 

you were in the common area, fiddling with a rubik’s cube. it was just you, as everyone else was spending the night among each other. ashido had invited you to her dorm a while ago, but you’d denied, wanting to spend a few more giddy moments to yourself. 

the door rattled, and in came your two friends, one with furrowed brows and the other with blood drenching the front of his shirt. 

bakugou’s head was tilted up in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing down. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the blood trailing down the back of his throat. 

“oh my gosh,” you gasped out, racing to the bathroom. you came back with sanitary wipes in one hand and tissue in the other. “what happened?” 

“we were training,” kirishima started, taking a few tissues from the box and handing them to his friend, “and i accidentally hit him too hard.” 

“you didn’t hit me that hard. you barely did any damage!” bakugou objected. you approached him, and through his fingers, bakugou peered down at you. 

you asked him with your eyes, and he gave you silent permission to pry his arms away from his face. “are you okay?” 

“i’m just dandy,” he scoffed. 

“dude, i’m really sorry—” 

“shut the hell up kirishima. i don’t want your pity. i swear this is the only time i’ll surrender to you, you asswipe.”

you didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle. “bakugou, you need to see recovery girl.” 

“what the hell? no way. all she’s gonna do is give me one of those shitty slobbery kisses and scold me for being careless.” 

“your nose is broken,” you said gently. 

“so? can’t you fix it?” 

you raised a questioning brow. “you want me to help you?” 

“can you or can you not?” 

“i can try to set it but you’re better off going to recovery girl instead of settling with―” 

“all i need is possible. i don’t want to deal with that old lady’s shit right now.” using the tissues kirishima had stuffed into his hand, he caught the remaining blood dripping down his nose. “let’s go.” 

you were more than unsure. he would end up with a crooked nose if you made any small mistake, but he didn’t think twice as he grabbed your shoulder and led you in the direction of your dorm. 

- 

kirishima wished he hadn’t broken bakugou’s nose. not because he felt bad, though. 

[minahoeshi]

you were loved the most the most of all.

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader | breakup angst

Summary: You should've known that when Ushijima Wakatoshi found it easy to fall in love with you, it might be even easier for him to fall out of it. But who expects the worst when it comes to loving someone as seemingly perfect as him, anyway?

Chapter 1 of 2

Chapter 2 of 2

Middle schooler Ushijima Wakatoshi was already more special than the kids around him. This, he was made to believe. It’s not exactly like it was wrong either. When a child is raised the way he was, with so much support that it’s suffocating, one can only grow to be good at what they were told they were meant to be doing. Volleyball as a toddler was meant for the happier times, a memory locked away as nothing but a feeling of nostalgia, never to be completely remembered again. Volleyball as a middle school player was an endless beginning, the very first point of a journey with no real possible end. Volleyball as one of the best among kids of his age, proven by the strength his high school team was known for and the fact that he was already on the world stage as well, could only ever spur him on to keep the momentum. Keep climbing, he would be reminded. Never stop. That’s how you reach the peak. Whether he would break after all that or rise to the very top was never even a matter of discussion. The way to the top was the only one there was. Looking back down and allowing himself to just freefall until the top becomes a distance almost crossed but never reached wasn’t ever an option. Wakatoshi could only ever aim for the very peak.

So, Wakatoshi, how’s volleyball as a pro?

The feeling of a dream-come-true that never was a dream, he might say. But him and sentimental descriptions simply didn’t really mix much. You were the one filled to the brim with those kinds of words. Maybe flowers laced the walls of your chest, maybe when God kicked Adam and Eve out of Eden, he left the garden to grow and flourish within your lungs, maybe you unknowingly raised every single Godly creation and so you were blessed with the power to create as well. You were full of flowery words, that’s what he knows. He would listen to every single one of them, count every petal, water every plant, kiss every one of them in their full bloom, and watch as sunlight filtered orange sets on all that you are. He’s always liked plants. But yours were his favourite.

So he wonders why the point where he could no longer listen to your words had to come. Why he looked at you and only felt the kind of fondness that comes with familiarity but not exactly love. Why the way your hands entwined with his no longer fills his chest with warmth. Why the abyss he spent trying to fill before you arrived (and made him realise maybe empty spaces were never meant to be filled to feel full but instead filled to feel warm) now feels extremely cold again. So maybe things like love do end. And maybe he made promises too soon.

So maybe when you told him about your mother and father and about how they made promises too but couldn’t come through, and when Wakatoshi thought you won’t ever be the same, he was wrong. Maybe one of them realised letting go when love no longer feels the same is better than letting their hands stay entwined when there’s only numbing coldness left to be felt. So maybe it’d do you better for him to let things end. From this point onwards, whatever he does will only ever hurt you. Because you crave the kind of affection that won’t ever end, and how he wish he could keep giving that to you, but he just no longer can. And staying with him who, for whatever fucked up reason the cosmos came up with, can no longer find the love he spent years sharing with you, is something he would never wish upon you.

This fucking hurts. How he fucking wants to keep loving you. What the hell happened?

After you left, Wakatoshi skipped training. He felt bad for eating the omelette when you cooked it to wish him luck. But he ate it anyway, wondering if he will ever see you again. And if so, will he feel find himself feeling the way he used to? And if yes, would you want that?

How do feelings work anyway?

--

You get to work right away. Still feeling heavy and hurt, sobbing at times, you keep collecting Wakatoshi’s things from your apartment. There were a lot. You were both comfortable with sharing your spaces with each other anytime you both wanted. Sometimes leaving things behind caused problems like that time Wakatoshi left his jersey in your apartment and only realized on the day of a game. You had to head to the gym earlier than you usually do, thankfully having washed the clothing a few days before. It’s actually there again, you find. His Schweiden Adler jersey in your closet among the pile of his other shirts and pyjamas. You put all that and other things into a box and close it up. For now, you’ll clean your place and get some sleep. You slept late last night and you woke up too early. Dealing with lack of sleep and the taxing feelings of ache after a breakup was too much. You were exhausted.

The moment you lie on your bed, you feel yourself falling asleep. And then you do. World gone.

You wake up at around lunch and take a short shower. You dress up, carry the box of Wakatoshi’s stuff, head out, lock your door, and go on your away to Tendou’s chocolate shop. You weren’t friends with him before you met Wakatoshi. So, you guess, maybe this will be the last you see him too. When people lose others, they either prefer to keep remembering or completely forget. For your sake, you’d rather be the latter.

Tendou’s shop isn’t close enough to the train station. You have to walk a few more minutes before you reach it. The box you’re carrying isn’t exactly heavy but you still feel sluggish even after that nap. You stop by a café to gather your wits and rest a bit. When you meet Tendou, you know he’ll greet you brightly. Toshi wouldn’t have told him that you broke up just yet. You realised long ago that unless asked by people, Toshi would rather not say anything most of the time. His silence was one you grew used to. Now you have to get used to not being around it anymore.

When you enter the chocolate shop, you see his red hair behind the counter right away. Quite the opposite of Wakatoshi, he’s lively and loud when he wants to be. Like right now, as he’s talking to a costumer, excitedly helping them choose one of the products they’re looking for. You wait until he’s done, just sending him a wave when he sees you, smiling. When the costumer leaves, you head for the counter and place the box you’ve been holding on top pf it.

Loudly, as you expected, he says, “hello! What brings you here? Haven’t seen you in like, three days, I think? You need anything? Where’s Wakatoshi-san? He’s not with you? Why?”

His barrage of questions won’t be left unanswered. But first, you nudge the box toward him. “Uhm, yeah, haven’t seen you in days. I… uhm, I’m here to ask you to do something. Related to Toshi-kun, of course, and well, why he’s… not, uhm, here…? With me?”

You stutter a lot mainly because you don’t exactly feel like announcing that Wakatoshi broke up with you. Tendou simply seems extremely excited to see you and even hopeful to see his best friend too but right now, you just feel like crying all over again It’s like you just can’t run out of tears. You just know that after this, you’ll go home and sob the rest of the day away. Breaking up with Wakatoshi hurt you a lot.

The redhead urges you on, concern beginning to appear on his face. What with the way you’re stuttering and fidgeting when you’re usually so comfortable around him and other people, it’s easy to tell that you’re not feeling too well. Clearly, something must have happened between you and Wakatoshi.

“So… we… kind of broke up…?” the lack of certainty in your voice makes it seem as though you’re still unsure if things really did end between you and the pro-athlete you’ve spent years with. But with the way Wakatoshi told you his reasons for breaking up last night, and how he didn’t want to keep hurting you because you’ve already talked to him about two other people who met and fell in love and did many things and yet still fell out of it but tried to hold on for too long that they ended up tearing each other down until even their daughter started to break with them until it’s just one tiny family with sharp shards for hearts, only capable of hurting each other and nothing more (some daughters grow up wanting to be anything but their mothers and fathers). Of course, Wakatoshi never mentioned that story, but you both knew that when he said he knows he can only really hurt you even more if he lets things run as they always did, he meant, we’re not your parents. We won’t tear each other down. If you go now, you’ll be okay enough to not be the person you’ll come to hate.

The only thing you allow Tendou to know is that you and Wakatoshi are no longer dating and that you’re both okay with it. You leave it at that, and when Tendou gives you a hug, the pain in your chest runs up your throat and you start crying again but that’s alright because Tendou reminds you that you’re sad and hurt and crying makes sense and crying helps and crying is fine and maybe crying makes it hurt a little bit less. He pats your back and says nothing after that, simply letting you calm down.

Before you leave, you purchase a few sweets because Tendou told u it’ll help. Chocolates and sadness work too well with each other.

–

The last time Wakatoshi remembers talking to you was around a year after your breakup. He and his team known to be one of the bests of Japan lost against the bests of Argentina in the Olympics. The world stage wasn't a strange new world to him and neither was loss, but for the first time in many years, the man found himself burdened by the weight of too many regrets.

He knew then that maybe it wasn't exactly losing against Argentina that made him feel this way. Maybe the emptiness he so desperately filled by pouring too much of his days into training and playing was finally there to break him. Maybe the whole time he was thinking he was getting there, not knowing where, only hoping to keep going because he just doesn't know where he can stop to lay his pieces down, he was only distracted enough to not miss the warmth you brought with you which you took with you when he broke your heart. And so when he lost that game, he questioned what could possibly keep him going. When does this journey end? Until when must he keep going? His parents never told him when he was younger. All this time, he only knew to keep forward. Now that he has won one too many games and finally lost one of the most important games he could play, he finds himself wondering if he should stop here now.

And because you knew him too much, you just had to, you know, be that rock that kept him steady even after he hurt you. He went and broke your heart for reasons he himself still cannot really explain, like how the fuck he knew he was no longer in love with you, and why the fuck is he still missing you, and is God playing with him right fucking now? So you just had to call him when he was all alone in his hotel room, mind messed up in so many ways. Your voice just to had to be there. To tell him, you did so well today. To be honest, I haven't watched much of your games recently but I felt like I just had to watch this one. And it was so awesome. It makes me wanna start watching you play again. You're amazing, Wakatoshi-kun. I'm so proud of you.

And then a year later, Wakatoshi finds out that you finally published the novel you’ve been working on since way before he met you. In the first message you sent him, you attached a picture of your book, saying, look at the name on the cover. are you proud of me yet? I am too<3. Better grab yourself a copy before there's none left, right? He couldn't say for sure why you decided to message him about it. It wasn't like you stayed in contact, both of you aware of how much you preferred not facing the past if you had the choice. That time after he lost against Tooru Oikawa's team in the Olympics and you gave him a call was because you're just that kind. You're just that amazing.

But like many things he'll never understand, he just lets this one be. So what if you told him about your book? He should be thankful enough that you even decided to tell him about it. So he goes and buys a copy and reads it as soon as he gets home. It's not like he's big on reading. But he just really likes your words.

Epilogue

...and if someday we find ourselves in a universe where soulmates are filled to the brim with not only stardust but also pure serendipity, I wonder what kind of mark we would have. I kinda wish it'd be that one where ink on my skin gets inked on yours too. Then maybe it'd be so much easier to tell you all the secrets I've been trying to keep. Like how I spent too many years regretting not succumbing in that green lake back home or how sometimes I bleed all over in red angry lines running down like red angry tears, and how much you made me just want to live because you just made me feel loved the most of all. Because maybe you were my finallyfinallyfinallyfinally before you were my whywhywhywhywhywhy.

The End

A/N

Hello. I deeply feel how flawed this fic is but that's fine. I'm still learning how to write stories because I've been writing prose more than anything else. So stories like this do kinda scare me. But I still hope you liked it and thank you so much for reading it!!!!

also, not proofread. it's p hard for me to reread my own works so im v sorry for any mistakes and stuff. if u find any mistakes and whatnot pls pls pls tell me. thats all i hope u enjoyed this v much shouldve stayed in the drafts fic. mwa!

taglist:

@lordmypantsaresocool

@annoyingpessimist

@ushijimacentral

[abundanceofnots]

a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.

“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.

Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”

It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.

“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”

Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.

This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.

The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.

In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.

He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.

It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.

This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.

Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.

Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”

“For us. Definitely.”

They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.

How the fuck did they get here?

“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”

“Okay!”

With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.

“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.

“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”

“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.

Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”

“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”

“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”

“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”

Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.

“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.

“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”

Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”

“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”

That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.

“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.

“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.

“Hah. No.”

“You told Mickey yet?”

Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”

From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.

“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”

“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”

The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.

“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.

“Polite,” Lip appraises.

Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”

“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”

They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.

“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”

Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”

“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”

Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.

“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.

Ian gives his brother a pointed look.

“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”

“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”

“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.

“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”

“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.

“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”

“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.

“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.

“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.

“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Told you he was.”

“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”

“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.

Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”

Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”

Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”

Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”

Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”

“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.

Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.

“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”

Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.

Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?