#someone did this to me and it unfortunately worked

[satoblue]

“THE THINGS I DO FOR THE ONE I LOVE” — gojo satoru

it’s that time of month — you have to cut your husband’s toenails. | wc: 1.1k

f!reader, established relationship (the beautiful mr. and mrs. gojo), disgusting fluff, you clip satoru’s toenails monthly aka one of your wifely duties, his feet stink btw, banter upon banter, he is a gross man tbh, but guys . did you know? d-did you know that i LOVE him? 🥹 this fic seems fitting to release now as it is the first of the month which is when you snip them like a fresh haircut, based on this talk post of mine. | dividers made by me

it’s the day you dread the most every month.

not paying bills. not going to the dentist. not even the start of your period.

no — it’s toenail clipping day.

you sit cross legged on the couch, nail clippers in hand as if you’re preparing for battle. which you are… in a way.

and right on cue, satoru flops onto the couch — shirt half untucked, hair an adorable mess, and smugness dialed up to eleven. he leans back, arms folded behind his head, grunting with exaggerated satisfaction as he gets comfortable.

and with the casual entitlement of a man who’s never once been told “no” — he drops his feet into your lap.

you shoot him a glare. but as always, he’s completely unfazed.

“i don’t know how you haven’t fallen even more in love with me during these intimate bonding sessions,” he smiles as he wiggles his very large, very unwashed toes at you.

you stare at his feet. then at him. then back to his feet before sighing deeply.

“the things i do for you,” you mutter.

he flashes that lazy grin. “domestic bliss, baby. we’ve got it all.”

“you realize these things smell like they’ve been stewing in your shoes for over eight hours, right?”

which, unfortunately — they have. school lessons, missions — and who knows what else. he hasn’t had a moment to change or even breathe since this morning.

“yeah,” he shrugs, eyes closing like he’s settling in for a nap. “extra seasoning.”

“satoru.” you lean away slightly, nose wrinkling.

“yes, love of my life?”

“did you seriously come straight from work without even showering?”

“might’ve taken a detour to the fridge first. priorities, babe. gotta refuel before the spa treatment.” he replies with a grunt, scooting down further into the cushions with a satisfied little “ahhh” when he finds the sweet spot.

you click your tongue in disapproval and grab his ankle, yanking his foot closer as you resign yourself to your fate.

focus on the job. get it done.

“you left your socks on the kitchen table by the way.”

“oh. that was a love offering.” he admits casually with a shrug, not even a little bit sorry.

“they were wet, satoru.”

“extra heartfelt.”

you don’t even give that one a response.

but just as you start working, you feel it — the subtle shift in weight, the telltale movement. then suddenly his foot is right in your face, toes wiggling and nudging you.

you squeal and jerk back like he just threw a dirty dishcloth at you.

“you absolute animal!” you snap while he cackles. “do that again and i’ll cut you.” you hiss angrily through your teeth, holding the clippers up threateningly like a weapon.

satoru pauses just enough to keep still. “you’re really gonna threaten bodily harm on sweet, little ol’ me over a toe boop?”

“yes. yes, i am. and i promise — every time you take your socks off, you will remember this moment.”

“wahhh, i married such a violent woman,” he sighs fondly — batting his lashes like he finds it dreamy and romantic.

“you married someone willing to touch your nasty feet once a month.”

he gazes at you with a little smile that softens at the edges. “yeah… lucky me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sincerity for just a second. then you roll your eyes and go back to clipping with a huff.

you know his toes better than you’d like to admit by now — how much pressure he likes, which corners are sensitive, how he always relaxes fully after the second toe. there is something stupidly tender about the whole thing — even with him being a pain the entire time.

and maybe it’s in the way he allows himself to be vulnerable with you during even the gross parts. the domestic parts. the ridiculous parts that no one else gets to see but you — his wife.

“by the way,” you say flatly, not looking up. “i found one of your socks under my pillow yesterday.”

“i was scent marking your side of the bed.”

you pause, turning to look at him. “i am this close to filing for divorce.”

he beams like he knows exactly how much he’s testing you. “but who else is gonna trim my toes while whispering sweet nothings?”

“you mean threats?”

“tomato, tomahto.” he pokes at your thigh with one toe. “to be fair, you did say you missed me today.”

“i didn’t mean i missed your pungent scent,” you reply, clipping a nail with a sharp snap for emphasis.

“yet you still married me~,” he hums, eyes closed again, way too pleased with himself.

you pause for a second, looking at him — completely relaxed, trusting you with this like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“yeah,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. “i really did.”

“wait, what was that?” he asks, cracking one eye open.

“nothing,” you huff rather quickly, snipping another toenail.

satoru smiles knowingly. “you know, i love when you take care of me like this. so nurturing. so gentle.”

“you’re five seconds away from a stubby pinky toe.”

“okay, okay! i’ll behave,” he chuckles, hands up in surrender. “just… don’t stop.”

you shoot him a warning glance, but your hands are already moving again — steady and practiced like always. because this is satoru. your husband.

and oddly enough, you wouldn’t trade these little routines for anything.

finally, you snip the last nail and toss the clippers onto the coffee table. he lifts his feet and inspects them, wiggling his toes proudly before giving you an approving thumbs up.

“all done. now go burn those socks and take a shower.”

he groans, then scoots closer, head tilting toward you. “no kiss for your loyal client?”

“not until you wash off the foot stench.” you say, collecting his tiny nail clippings.

he pouts. “you’re heartless.”

still, he leans in anyway, puckering his lips dramatically like a cartoon duck. you dodge him with a scoff, barely hiding your smile.

“and you’re disgusting.”

but a few minutes later — with his feet marginally cleaner and his body curled into yours — he rests his head on your shoulder with a soft, content sigh — like he’s just been pampered at a five star spa instead of mildly threatened in his own home.

gross, loveable idiot.

the things you do for him.

still, you do toss his socks into the laundry basket with tongs later. just for your own peace of mind.

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

intro (you're here) - masterlist - next

a bubbly laugh came from your phone, followed by a sweet, dolce voice and cheers from an audience. "I appreciate the question, sizuku. actually, one of my favourite songs these days has been obsessed by olivia rodrigo! i resonate with the song a lot, especially since some people have really been keeping tabs on me." another carefree laugh.

that fucking bitch.

the twitter video came to an abrupt end, having over a thousand likes, with the caption being absolutely absurd.

'did pro hero dynamight's ex-girlfriend just confirm that y/n's stalking her...? oh, that crazy bitch.'

it took every fibre of your being to not reply to the tweet; you knew what she was doing. having been katsuki's ex two years prior, she was much loved by his fans. they were painted as 'Japan's sweethearts', and when the relationship ended, fans were in shambles.

people began posting conspiracies, claiming katsuki had cheated on her or that he'd been abusing her. despite the heinous claims from fans, his ex, amira, played into the role of a distressed woman, earning sympathies from the public.

sympathy she didn't even deserve.

however, when you came into the picture, the situation blew up even more. fans were livid; they hated you, claiming you were the reason for the split, ignoring the fact that you and katsuki began dating almost seven months after their relationship.

"you see it?" his voice was low, dangerous even.

lifting your head, you locked eyes with your now fiancé. "tch, it's quite hard to miss, given that everyone's slut-shaming me in my comments." you rolled your eyes at him, giving him a nasty attitude you know he hated.

"watch it," he said. "i hate it too, but don't give me any shit, doll."

"whatever, kats. she does this shit all the damn time, and your fans eat it up like shit. it's about time they accept you aren't getting back with her." you grumbled, clearly upset by the ordeal.

"i know sweets, it's not your fault. you know how many times i've spoken up about it. they don't give a fucking damn or respect me." he sighs, placing a hand over yours.

you hold on to him tightly, nails digging into his skin unintentionally. "you know, i really wish i could say something, but they don't care! they never will, and she just keeps egging it on."

the two of you sat in silence for a while. maybe if she weren't a bitch, you'd like her. unfortunately, she acts like a prissy princess, always making snide remarks and playing the victim.

selena gomez who? at least she knows how to keep it classy.

a few hours had passed, and your rage had settled into a fuzzy feeling in your stomach. katsuki had left to tend to some hero business while you were left alone with your thoughts, and that's where you came up with the plan.

the 'shove-my-happiness-in-their-faces-so-she-can-cry' plan.

you smirked to yourself, pleased with the idea and immediately getting to work on how to execute it.

HOW TO GET BACK AT HER

make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state

hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

go on an interview show together

flaunt your proposal in her face.

recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.

heated and messy livestream on Instagram

do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound

even messier podcast

soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.

you let out a laugh, dark and spiteful, ready to see that witch melt.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[kxsagi]

my pookie bear's photo dump

“𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫”

a/n: if this is your way of asking me for a sae oneshot, it’s working

take this quick drabble (i had no idea where this was going)

influencer and model! reader, aka you, was supposed to go on a six-month “soft life sabbatical” in spain. drink wine. post bikini pics. maybe get over your situationship with that guy from LA who believed mercury being in retrograde was a valid excuse for cheating. 

but instead, you somehow ended up in a situationship with a different problem: pro soccer player! itoshi sae. 

it starts innocently. a brand trip. a runway walk. you’re at some madrid fashion charity gala you were coerced into attending for the free goodie bags and champagne. you’re seated next to a guy in an obnoxiously expensive suit with a jawline so sharp you could slice bread on it. 

“you’re the soccer guy, right?” you ask, sipping your prosecco. 

“football,” he corrects without looking up from his phone. 

“same thing.” 

he glances at you. raises an eyebrow. “… you’re the tik tok girl?” 

“influencer-slash-model,” you correct him back, sweetly. “but yeah. tik tok girl works, too, i guess.” 

somehow, that turns into a flirt. which turns into a dinner. which turns into a “we’re just hanging out.” which somehow escalates into “sae was seen leaving her hotel at 7 AM wearing last night’s clothes” headlines. 

and then the media explodes. 

you learn something very quickly: spanish paparazzi are ruthless. you post one photo of your hand holding a wine glass, and the internet matches the reflection of his elbow in the background to a press photo from his 2021 madrid uniform fitting. 

you make a tik tok of your morning routine and people slow it down to 0.5x speed and go, “IS THAT A MAN'S TOOTHBRUSH ON HER SINK??” 

(you have to turn off comments after someone makes a three-minute analysis video with red circles and arrows titled “itoshi sae is living in her apartment and here’s how i know.”) 

“you need to start denying things,” sae says flatly one morning, reading a headline on his phone. 

you shrug, sipping your matcha. “why would i deny being with you? i’m hot, you’re hot, it’s great PR for both of us.” 

he stares. “you think i need PR?” 

“no, but i do,” you chirp, pulling your phone out. “now kiss me. the camera’s rolling.” 

even despite your job titles and different personalities, your relationship works surprisingly well. sae’s not much of a yapper. you, unfortunately, are. it balances out. 

he doesn’t post you, but he lets you post him, usually with a hand in front of his face and a dry comment like, “don’t tag me. i don’t want your fanbase following me for my skincare routine.” (ironically, your followers now ask if your skin glows because of ‘post-sae aftercare.’) 

your fans call him grumpy soccer boyfriend. his fans call you the influencer menace corrupting their star midfielder. your best friend calls him the hot red flag that turned green because he met the right woman. and your mom calls every sunday just to ask, “has he proposed yet? tell him your eggs have an expiration date.” 

sae listens to all this with the same deadpan face he has on the field. except, when you make him laugh, which is rare and stupidly cute. like when you wore one of his jerseys to bed and said, “i'm starting to understand the appeal of athlete boyfriends. they double as oversized laundry.” 

he tried to hide his smile. he failed. 

you eventually do an accidental hard launch. emphasis on accidental. 

you’re on a yacht with friends in ibiza. you're recording a silly “get ready with me” tik tok. lipgloss. sunscreen. bikini. basically pinterest energy. 

and right as you pan the camera to the sea, there’s sae. shirtless. sun-kissed. sipping a piña colada. 

you post it without thinking. and the internet? loses its mind. 

“IS THAT SAE???” 

“OH SHE’S WINNING WINNING.” 

“i thought he hated people.” 

“now how did she pull the emotionally unavailable mf of the century???” 

“why is he literally boyfriend-coded in the most terrifying way.” 

you check your phone an hour later and realize it’s trending on twitter. sae walks by, glances at your screen, and mutters, “you’re lucky i like you.” 

you grin. “aww. do you like me? like, like-like?” 

he blinks slowly. “you want me to take it back?” (even if you said yes, he would never.)

but the funniest part of your relationship? you are the dramatic one. sae is just… there. existing. 

when paparazzi swarm your dinner date, you dramatically cover your face and yell “respect my privacy!” while sae just walks through the cameras like a divorced dad doing groceries. 

when a random girl flirts with him at a club, you go full telenovela villainess: hand on chest, gasp, clutch your wine like it’s a weapon. sae’s response? “she was asking if i worked here.” 

“oh.” 

“and you just told her i had chlamydia.” 

“actingggg, cariño. stay in character.” 

he does not understand your influencer world. one time he walked in on you crying and holding three PR boxes and was like, “are you okay?” 

you sniffled. “dior sent me the wrong blush shade.” 

“… you’re joking.” 

“do i look like i’m joking, itoshi sae.” 

but to his credit, he starts learning. he now understands that ‘collab’ means ‘free stuff,’ that ring lights are sacred, and that you will absolutely cancel a dinner date if you’re waiting for golden hour to shoot content. he complains. then buys you a new camera lens the next day. 

and when he finally does post you, it’s not even a soft launch. it’s a hard explosion. 

it’s a blurry photo of you asleep on his chest, hair everywhere, captioned: “she snores.” 

it gets 3 million likes in an hour. 

you reply: “only when i’m next to emotionally repressed men.” 

but you love him. 

not just because he’s hot and rich and confusingly good at folding laundry (???). but because behind all the dry comments and passive-aggressive text replies, he’s so soft. 

he reminds you to drink water. he calls your mom ma’am and lets her believe he’s fluent in your native language, even though he only knows five words (at least he thinks so). he sets your phone alarm when you forget. gives you forehead kisses before games. gets annoyed when you cry at titanic, but secretly watches it with you. 

so you marry him two years later. and yes, the internet explodes again. but this time, it’s all “MOTHER & FATHER 😭,” “he really said ‘she’s my endgame,’” and “i believe in love again.” 

you post a wedding photo with the caption: “goal secured 🥰⚽️” 

he replies: “you’re so embarrassing.” but he likes the post. and he changes his bio to: married to an idiot. 

and you? you couldn’t imagine a better forever. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kattahj]

Here’s the thing (one of the things) with AI slop.

I volunteer for a film festival, where part of my job is watching hundreds of short films and try to find some we could actually show. Many of them are good. (More than we have room for, sadly.) Most of them are bad. Some are very bad. And unfortunately, it’s possible to pour your heart and soul into something and for the end result to still be bad. Stiff acting, muddled storytelling, shoddy camera work, incomprehensible sound mix, and so on. Not to mention the tragicomic effect of directors assuring us that they have a brand new, innovative take on the medium, when you’ve seen three other films just like it in the past week.

But while the task can be tiresome and frustrating, and sometimes I postpone it for days or even weeks, I always try to approach it with respect. Because no matter how terrible the results, someone put a lot of work in, and most of the time they accomplished more than I could, so, you know, kudos for that.

Which is why AI slop annoys the living shit out of me. Coming off a slew of shitty but heartfelt films and being hit with those automated voices and mismatched visuals – how dare you? How dare you make me waste my time watching a film that you couldn’t even be bothered to make? It’s disrespectful to me, to the festival, and above all to those filmmakers who actually found some actors (no matter how bad), or painstakingly did the animation (no matter how ugly) and told their own story (no matter how clunky).

So, yeah. The dudes who send in homemade fetish porn (yup, that happens too) have more of my respect than AI ”filmmakers” do.

[womanofwords]

Darling Demon (Part 1)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

You weren't like your mother. She was an image of beauty, enchanting people with a glance and singing siren songs to lure them in. You . . . were plain. You didn't even look like she did. To look at you from the outside with no prior context, one would be forgiven for thinking that your mother had adopted you. Like mother, unlike son.

You didn't get much time with her, unfortunately. Your mother had lots of people to see. Her spiritual advisors, her agents, her beauty team. It ate through her time like termites through wood. But when she did spend time with you, it felt like no time had passed.

"My lucky chip," she called you, plucking you off the floor and spinning you in her arms. "You, my dear boy, are the foundation of my success. Where would I be without you?"

"Um . . . working?" you hesitantly replied, and your mother would just laugh at how silly you were.

The time you would have had with her was cut short one horrible day. That monster attacked your mother when you were only eight, ripping her away from you and then ripping you away from everything you'd ever known.

The monster was a jealous rival of your mother's, incensed at her for beating them out for a role in an upcoming movie. Well, now your mother would never be in a movie ever again. The monster got what they wanted, at your expense.

You were shuffled into the system without delay. Your mother had no family (they'd all 'mysteriously died' before you were born), so they'd have to find your biological father. Step 1 of that plan? Finding out who the hell he was.

Your DNA led them to Bruce Wayne, the billionaire. The revelation was . . . a shock, to say the least.

"You're my bi-o-log-i-cal father?" you said, staring up at Bruce Wayne.

"Apparently, yes," Bruce Wayne said. "DNA doesn't lie."

"Does this mean I'll finally have a dad?"

"Yes, you will have a father."

"Oh, OK." There was a pause to allow you to process. "So, will you visit me while I live at home or something?"

Lots of explaining had to happen that day. No, you will not live alone in your home. You will live with Bruce. Yes, you can take your things with you. No, you cannot come back when you're eighteen. The house will have been sold to someone else by then, but if it's unoccupied, you can buy it.

Your tiny bag was packed and you went to live with billionaire Bruce Wayne. The only act of consideration your father ever showed you was to let you pick out your room from the hoard of rooms his home boasted. You picked out a room with a large east-facing window, and snuggled into your new bed. It was big, but you'd grow into it.

And you'd grow into this family, too.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia.

Next

[bonniesbluee]

𝜗𝜚 catching frat!art cheating pt2

notes: i love art but idk abt this one ... either way the people are getting what they want >.<

art leaves you alone for a week. but in that whole week he follows you around like a lost puppy without you knowing.

you were in the hallway? he was in the hallway. you were with your friends? he was across the room looking at you. he didnt leave you out of his sight. mostly because he was scared of leaving you alone after breaking your heart. but also because he was scared you might get closer with someone else.

replace him.

but everyone has their limits and god was he at the edge. he has also not seek you in lunch, or the dining room at all. if anything, he doesn't see you around other than in classes. that scares him, he doesn't want you hurting yourself because of him.

maybe that's why he's knocking on your dorm at 2am, his hands trembling. "baby please..." he whispers, pressing his forehead against the door.

you open the door after what seems an eternity. your eyes land on him and you're already shutting the door. "no please!" he puts his foot on the doorway, stopping the door from being fully closed. "please, let me talk, let me explain to you i-"

"go away art." you say, trying to keep tears of frustration and sadness from falling. "please dont make this harder than what it already is."

"im sorry.." he whispers before shoving the door open, making you stumble slightly. he looks wrecked, his eyesbags are prominent and his hair is messier than usual. "please i-" he frowns, lips trembling as tesrs brim his eyes.

you back up and he gets on his knees. his forehead touching the floor. "please baby. i cant live without you. i cant breathe, sleep, eat, function properly." he gasps and before you know it he's sobbing.

your own tears are falling down, but you conceal the sobs with your hands. "i- i know you hate me. but please, i love you. only you." he lifts his head up to look at you, his heart breaking once again as he sees how sad you look. how done you look.

he stands up, grabbing your waist and hoisting you up before settling you onto his lap on the bed. "hate me all you want. but i know you need me. maybe not as much as i need you but you need me." it sounds manipulative, but it isn't. atleast that's not what he intends to sound like.

he brushes his hair off your face, gently kissing your forehead. "ill leave in the morning, yeah?" you're so quiet. nonverbal. which usually happens when you're extremely upset. but right now you're not just upset. you're tired, exhausted.

and unfortunately, he's the only one that can quell the bad thoughts. "i have so much to make up for, if you let me." he whispers, slipping his hand under your shirt to rub your back. smiling faintly at the way you rest your cheek against his chest and arch your back against his touch.

"my baby..." he sighs, nuzzling his chin ontop of your head,breathing in your scent as if you're his only source of air. he wont let this moment slip from his fingers, he wont let you go.

you're already sleeping. maybe this is the most sleep you have gotten since what happened. he hates to imagine you alone, in your dorm. he knows how your mind works, how you probably blame yourself for what he did.

for what his drunk mind caused.

he doesn't care if you dont take him back, at the moment. this isnt about him. this is about you and your feelings. he has come to terms that you might never forgive him, might kick him out of your life.

but this moment, you nuzzling into him like a kitty, brings him hope. and thats a whole lot better than having you hate him.

[dreamweave01]

I need Raph being insecure about his Krang half and doubting Kendra’s love for him because of it. (”how could she love a monster like me? I dont deserve her…”)

I need Raph accidentally harming Kendra when he has a panic attack or something.

I need Raph being afraid and certain that Kendra os gonna be scared of him because of it; hate him, be mad at him, cut ties with him. (Donnie is ready to attack Kendra if she breaks Raph’s heart.)

But Kendra isn't mad. She's only worried (and a bit shaken).

Im a sucker for angst 😭

(no pressure, Do whatever you want; this is your au and I have no say in it)

- Paranormal Anon

.

.

And this is why the turtles have to be careful what they watch for movie night. Dang those triggers.

I'm completely unashamed to admit that I just spent several hours working on this instead of working on anything else I was supposed to. Who woulda thought Kendrael angst would hold me in a death-grip?

I think timeline-wise this would happen some time after the next arc. I like how I tell myself I'll stop jumping ahead of where I'm at in the story, and then ideas like this get thrown at me from out of the blue and suddenly I'm incapable of thinking about anything else /pos

Aaand now it's time for rambles ->

What I really liked about this thought was that it allows me to show a side of Raph that he absolutely hates about himself.

Everyone has this side to them that they bury deep inside, never to see the light of day, and for big Red over here, it's his natural tendency to lean towards 'fight' in a fight-or-flight response.

Really, it has nothing to do with the Kraang and everything to do with the ninja training as a kid. He and his brothers were born with the intent to be soldiers, and while yes, Splinter did everything in his power to give them a wonderful childhood - and did a darn good job too might I add - learning how to defend yourself led the turtles to trust their abilities to fight.

Now you could say, "But DW, what about in the movie when Raph told them to retreat blah blah blah-" That was a specific situation that called for specific actions. If there had been any chance they could've won that fight and if Splinter hadn't been injured, I'm willing to bet Raphael wouldn't have called for a retreat.

My point is, these boys are fighters. They take on a problem head-on, and unfortunately, that natural tendency is center stage of Raph's trauma.

The Kraang turned him into a soldier, their personal pet that didn't hesitate to follow orders.

None of it was Raph's doing, none of it was even close to being his fault, but the thing that terrifies him the most is that he'll lose control and hurt the people he loves. Again.

That 'again' makes it even worse, because he knows he's capable of it. He knows he could kill them because he has before, there's no doubt about it in his mind. Yes, he's the sweetest most gentlest giant in the world, but that doesn't take away the fact that he's a mountain of battle-trained muscle and has the power of a freight train, if not more. So he does everything he can to keep that fighter inside of him under wraps at all times, refuses to even risk letting that side of him see a glimmer of the light of day.

But he's not perfect, and there are moments like the one above where he's so heavily triggered into that fight-or-flight response, he goes into a tunnel-vision and doesn't even realize what he's doing because at this point, it's instinctual for him to defend himself. It always has been.

And when he snaps out of it, that's when the fear takes him, that overwhelming guilt that feels like it'll swallow him up whole.

And poor Kendra! She knows that Raph and his brothers have been through a lot - Mikey's mentioned things here and there to the rest of the friend group - but seeing in person just how hard it was? Exactly what Raph's experiences have done to him?

It's really hard to see someone you love and care so deeply about going through something so unbelievably horrible.

But she knows a thing or two about guilt, the fear of hurting people again, and you better believe she's going to do everything in her power to show Raph that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could ever push her away from him.

She will always love him, no matter what he looks like, what he's been through, what he does.

Guys, this is why I love them, agh, they're so precious-

[saturnsag3]

Study Buddy - will smith x macklin celebrini

summary: this isn’t in the same universe as my other nerd!mack x frat!will blurb but sort of the same vibe

wc: 3,367

The thing about college was—well, okay, there were a lot of things about college that Will Smith didn’t like. Early classes, walking uphill in the snow, overpriced textbooks he never cracked open. But right now, the biggest thing was Statistics 2104.

He didn’t care about z-scores or regression models. Didn’t care about T-tests or p-values or whatever fresh hell was on this week’s quiz. What he did care about was the fact that his coach had just benched him until his grade went up.

“You’re a leader on this team, Smith,” Coach had said, pacing his office like he was delivering a TED Talk on discipline. “You want to play Friday? Show me you can pass your damn class.”

So here he was, sitting in Professor Delaney’s office with an empty water bottle, an even emptier brain, and just enough charm left in the tank to try and convince her not to ruin his life.

She peered at him over her glasses. “Will, you’ve failed the last two quizzes. Your attendance is spotty. Your last submitted assignment—” she held up a stapled packet with what looked like red blood all over it, “—was missing three of the assigned pages and cited TikTok as a source.”

Will cleared his throat. “Technically, it was on the STEM tab so—“

“I’m assigning you a tutor,” she cut him off. “You don’t get a say in it.”

“I wasn’t gonna argue,” he said quickly. “Actually, I—yeah. No. A tutor sounds... great. Productive. Go team.”

She raised a brow. “Macklin Celebrini. Pre-med. One of my top students.”

Will sat up straighter. The name sounded familiar—he was pretty sure they shared a row in lecture.

“The guy who sits across from me?” he asked. “Dark hair, kind of quiet?”

Delaney nodded. “That’s the one. He already agreed to help you.”

Will exhaled, half in relief, half in... something else. He didn’t know Macklin, not really, but he’d noticed him. Always early, always prepared, the kind of student who probably had color-coded notes and didn’t miss a single lecture. The kind of student Will needed if he was going to survive this class.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. I can work with that.”

Delaney didn’t smile. “Library. Four o’clock. Don’t waste his time.”

---

Will was late.

Not by much—five minutes, tops—but enough that he had to jog the last stretch to the library and burst through the glass doors like he was arriving at a frat party instead of a study session. His hoodie was half-zipped, one earbud still in, sunglasses perched cockily on his head like he hadn’t realized they were indoors now. The tail-end of someone’s coffee order announcement trailed behind him as he spotted the table near the back.

There he was.

Macklin Celebrini.

No laptop screen could hide the fact that he was objectively good-looking, and unfortunately for Will’s ability to focus, the kid looked way too composed for someone voluntarily hanging out with a failing jock. His brown, straight hair sat fluffy and light on his head, a single AirPod sat idle on the table next to his tea, and his notes were already spread out in neat rows—highlighters uncapped, stats textbook open, a few post-its stuck to the top margin.

One of them read: WILL, in sharp, all-caps pen.

Will pointed as he slid into the seat across from him. “You made me a place card? That’s kinda cute.”

Macklin didn’t look up right away. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up, so I figured I’d at least get something useful out of this and work on labeling things.”

Will grinned. “You label your friends?”

“We’re not friends.” Macklin replied flatly.

Ouch.

Will put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Damn. Cold start.”

“I’m not here to warm you up,” Macklin said, flipping a page in his notebook. “I’m here to help you not fail. So let’s focus.”

Will leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, eyes very much not on the textbook. “I’m focused.”

Macklin didn’t look up, but his pen paused mid-sentence. “Staring at me doesn’t count as focusing.”

“I disagree,” Will said smoothly. “You’re clearly the smartest guy in this room, so I figure if I just absorb your aura or whatever, I’ll magically learn the difference between a mode and a median.”

Macklin exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You’re literally going to fail.”

Will shrugged. “Not if I have you.”

That got him a look. Macklin finally glanced up, slow and measured, eyes scanning over Will like he was solving for X and the answer was deeply disappointing. “Flirting won’t fix your GPA.”

“Is it flirting if I’m just being honest?” Will shot back, smirking. “You’re kind of famous on campus, you know. Pre-med, full ride, on first-name basis with every professor. You walk like you’ve got somewhere more important to be.”

Macklin blinked once, then turned his laptop so the screen faced Will. “Do you know what a mean is?”

Will smiled, unbothered. “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”

Macklin didn’t so much as twitch. “Wow. A stats pun. That’s original.”

“You wound me, Mack.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“See, this is going well already,” Will said, propping his feet on the empty chair next to him. “I’ve learned your name and a boundary. Next time we might even get to standard deviation.”

Macklin closed his notebook, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been here seven minutes and you haven’t absorbed a single number.”

“I’ve absorbed plenty,” Will said, eyes very obviously dropping to Macklin’s hands. “Mostly visual.”

Macklin’s jaw flexed. “You know this isn’t a date, right?”

“Yet,” Will said, and winked.

It earned him silence. Not shocked silence—just the kind that came from someone who was very used to being hit on and very used to not caring.

Still, Will thought he saw it—just the slightest twitch at the corner of Macklin’s mouth. Not a smile. Definitely not. But something... almost amused. Almost.

“I’ll quiz you,” Macklin said finally, turning the notebook back to himself. “If you fail, we’re moving to the basement study rooms where there’s no one to perform for.”

Will’s smile widened. “So you are looking at me.”

Macklin didn’t look up. “One more word and I start charging you by the minute.”

“So, the mean,” Macklin began, tapping his pen against the textbook like he was trying to summon patience from its pages. “Is the average. You just add all the numbers and divide by how many there are.”

Will didn’t respond.

Macklin glanced up. “Will.”

Will was already looking at him—had been, actually, this whole time. Chin still in his hand, elbow on the table, eyes dragging unapologetically over Macklin’s face like it was more interesting than anything numbers had to offer.

“What?” Will asked, all faux-innocence.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am listening,” Will protested, straightening up a little. “Mean equals average. Add, divide, boom. Got it.”

Macklin narrowed his eyes. “Then give me the mean of these five numbers.”

He scribbled them down on a post-it and slid it across the table.

Will didn’t even glance at it. “I’ll calculate it if you smile.”

Macklin blinked. “Excuse me?”

“One smile,” Will said. “Just a little one. Then I’ll do the math.”

“I’m not a vending machine. You don’t insert charm and get expressions back.”

“Worth a try.”

Will leaned over the table, reaching for Macklin’s pen. His fingers brushed Macklin’s knuckles—on purpose—and lingered just a half-second too long before he pulled the pen back and uncapped it with his teeth.

Macklin stared at him. “You have your own pens.”

“But yours looks smarter.”

“That’s not how pens work.”

“It is when you use them,” Will said smoothly.

Macklin said nothing, just looked vaguely toward the ceiling like he was regretting every life choice that led him to this exact moment.

Will finally looked at the post-it. “Okay, so—five numbers. Add them. Divide. Easy.”

“Not if you take forever doing it.”

Will pretended to scribble something down, then paused and looked up again. “You smell good, by the way.”

Macklin’s pen froze mid-word. “What?”

“Didn’t think you’d be the type,” Will continued, leaning back and drumming his fingers against the table. “But it’s subtle. Clean. Like—you just did laundry and read for pleasure.”

Macklin blinked. “What does reading for pleasure even smell like?”

“Vanilla and rubbing alcohol.”

“...Are you high?”

Will grinned. “No, but you’re starting to sound like my type.”

Macklin huffed and looked back at his notes. “I’m not your type.”

Will tilted his head, genuinely curious. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

That gave Will pause.

Macklin didn’t look up when he said it—didn’t act like he’d dropped a bomb or anything—but the words hung there, heavy and real.

“You know of me,” Will said slowly.

“I know you,” Macklin said again, more evenly this time. “Will Smith. Greek life king. Wing night champion. Campus hockey god. Very good at pretending nothing matters until it suddenly does.”

Will stared at him, surprised.

“And now that your season’s on the line, here you are. Failing statistics, flirting with your tutor instead of learning the material.”

Will opened his mouth, closed it, then leaned forward again—this time more serious, less performative.

“Okay,” he said. “That was... a little hot.”

Macklin rolled his eyes, but there was definite color rising in his cheeks now, high and pink and fast.

“You’re exhausting,” Macklin muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Do you ever stop?” he asked, flipping a page aggressively.

Will tapped his pen against the table. “You could make me.”

Macklin gave him a long look. “How?”

Will leaned in again, close enough to make Macklin’s shoulders go stiff.

“Tell me to stop and mean it,” Will said, voice low.

Macklin didn’t answer right away. For a second, he just stared, expression unreadable.

“Do the math problem, Will.”

Will smirked. “What if I get it wrong on purpose so you’ll yell at me again?”

“I swear to God—”

“I like when you’re mean to me,” Will said, smug.

“Try me again and I’ll make you do flashcards,” Macklin threatened, standing his ground.

Will put both hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. No need for violence.”

He finally leaned back and actually looked at the numbers this time. Macklin watched him from the corner of his eye, like he didn’t trust him to even attempt the problem without saying something ridiculous.

Will scratched something down. “So the mean is... 12.6?”

Macklin blinked. “That’s actually correct.”

Will lit up like a kid who just got goldfish and a sticker. “Look at us! Learning and bonding.”

Macklin just shook his head, but his mouth twitched again—almost smiling, almost giving in.

Will leaned across the table again, sliding Macklin’s pen back toward him with two fingers. “You’re really good at this, by the way.”

“Tutoring?”

“No. Looking unimpressed. It’s hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Macklin muttered.

Will grinned. “You’re thinking about smiling, I know it.”

“I’m thinking about faking a medical emergency so I can leave.”

Will leaned in once more, voice dropped low, like a secret. “Just so you know... you already make stats my favorite subject.”

Macklin didn’t respond. But  when he looked up, there was a definite smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—and he didn’t even try to fight it.

---

By their third session, Will had stopped pretending he hated statistics.

Not because he liked it but because he liked the way Macklin’s expression twitched every time he said something just dumb enough to be funny. He liked how Macklin always showed up early, already halfway through a green tea and flipping through his meticulously highlighted notes like he hadn't spent the last two hours prepping for a tutoring session he claimed not to care about.

Will noticed everything.

The way Macklin tapped his pen against the side of his mug when he was thinking. The way he curled his hand protectively over his notes when Will leaned too close. The way he tried very hard not to laugh whenever Will made some inappropriate joke about frequency distributions and one-night stands.

It was slow—painfully slow—but Macklin was cracking.

Just a little.

It started with the eye rolls. Then the muttered "You're impossible"’s. Then, the fifth session in, Will made some dumb pun about regression and Macklin actually laughed. Like, a real, startled huff of a laugh that caught both of them off guard.

Will had blinked at him. “Was that a giggle?”

Macklin had gone red instantly. “Shut up.”

So of course Will spent the rest of the session trying to make him do it again.

He started taking the tutoring slightly more seriously—not enough to stop flirting, obviously, but enough that Macklin stopped threatening to quit every ten minutes. Will showed up (mostly) on time. He answered practice questions with slightly less whining. He even—once—brought Macklin a green tea before he could get one himself.

Macklin stared at it like it was poison.

“You memorized my order?” he asked, flatly.

Will grinned. “What can I say? I’m observant. Also, the barista said you go there so often they thought you lived upstairs.”

Macklin tried not to smile, and failed.

“Don’t read into this,” he warned, taking the cup anyway.

Will just leaned back in his chair, laced his hands behind his head, and said, “Too late.”

Their sessions kept going like that: Will making jokes, Macklin pretending not to like them. Macklin explaining concepts, Will interrupting every five minutes to ask why he smelled like vanilla and pain suppression. Somehow, amidst all the chaos, Will’s test scores climbed. Not by much, but enough.

And Macklin... stopped acting like he hated being there.

He didn’t say it, of course. Would probably deny it if Will ever asked. But he didn’t flinch when Will leaned in close anymore. Didn’t move his hand when Will’s brushed his under the table. Didn’t sigh as loud when Will texted him outside of tutoring hours.

In fact, by week four, Macklin texted him first.

Just once.

Just a curt: bring your notes this time. and try not to smell like gym bag + cologne. see you at 4.

Will had smiled at his phone like an idiot for a full ten minutes after that.

---

Will practically burst into the library like he’d just scored the game-winner in double overtime. He didn’t even try to hide the shit-eating grin on his face, practically jogging over to their usual table with a paper clutched in his hand and his backwards cap hanging off one ear.

Macklin didn’t even look up. “If you’re about to show me a meme, I’m leaving.”

Will slapped the graded exam onto the table like it was a trophy. “Seventy-seven.”

That got Macklin’s attention.

He blinked. Then again. “Out of... a hundred?”

Will snorted. “No, Macklin, out of a thousand.”

Macklin’s brows shot up. He leaned forward, snatching the test and scanning it like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Wait—this is actually... wow.”

Will beamed, obnoxiously proud. “Say it.”

Macklin frowned. “Say what?”

“Say I’m a genius.”

“You got a C.”

“A strong C,” Will corrected. “A C with ambition.”

And then—just for a second—Macklin actually smiled.

It was quick, and it wasn’t cocky or sarcastic or tight-lipped. It was genuine. His whole face lit up, eyes crinkling, like he couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

Will saw it.

“You’re proud of me,” Will said, voice sing-songy.

“I’m—no.”

“You are.”

“It’s just—” Macklin floundered, pushing the paper back across the table like it had burned him. “I didn’t think you’d break 70, so... congratulations, I guess.”

Will leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head. “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Will smirked. “Too late.”

Macklin tried to recover, but his ears were pink, and he was avoiding eye contact like the test score had personally offended him.

Will, of course, couldn’t leave it there.

“So,” he said, stretching casually. “What happens if I get an 80 on the next one?”

Macklin raised an eyebrow, wary. “You get a slightly better grade.”

Will shook his head. “No, no. I mean, what happens between us.”

Macklin blinked, already regretting everything. “Nothing happens between us.”

Will gave him the look. “You smiled when I said ‘77.’ That was basically second base.”

Macklin rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Will leaned forward, grinning. “If I get an 80 on our next test, you have to let me take you out.”

Macklin stared.

Will held up a hand. “No games. Just one date. Could be coffee. Could be dinner. Could be that weird farmer’s market you pretend not to like even though I saw reusable tote bags in your car.”

“You went through my car?”

“I didn’t go through it. I walked past it. Noticed things. I’m observant.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet you keep tutoring me.”

Macklin hesitated. He was quiet for a second too long, and Will knew he was considering it. Like, actually weighing the pros and cons of Will asking him out.

Finally, Macklin sighed, slow and dramatic.

“Fine,” he said. “Deal.”

Will blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“If—and I mean if—you get an 80 or higher.”

“Oh, I will.”

“But—” Macklin added, holding up a finger. “Rules.”

Will grinned. “Lay ‘em on me.”

“One: no bragging to your friends. Two: it’s not a date, it’s a hang out. And three: if you’re late, I walk.”

Will laughed. “That’s... actually reasonable.”

Macklin shook his head, but he was smiling again—smaller this time, secretive. Like part of him really did want Will to get that 80.

Will sat back, already plotting flashcards and study sessions and possibly bribing the professor (kidding—kind of).

“Better clear your schedule, Macklin,” he said, eyes bright with promise. “I’ve never wanted an 80 more in my life.”

sages thoughts⋆˙⟡: i love this dynamic so much and if you guys want you can send me requests for them, i hope u enjoyed!!

[supremefloof]

tbhx episode 9 thoughts

the lucky cyan arc is FULL of theory bait. like wow. spoilers for the entire episode. chatted about this with @cedarwrought!

despite Cyan being the focus, her friend Luo is drawing my attention! there are weird moments centering him throughout the episode.

the dean gifts him a guitar for good behavior. the guitar GLOWS, why does it glow?? I thought it was just an audience view, but no. the glowing is canon

this shot: Luo is fragile, handle with care (!!!)

the escape scene rubs me the wrong way. besides the other reason, which I think is a very valid critique to raise about tbhx, why does it focus on the guitar? why does the dean focus on grabbing Luo after this instead of Cyan, when clearly his tentacle things have some good range? something's up with Luo.

the truck driver being sleepy is foreshadowed at the start of the episode! really not liking what Cyan's gonna feel like in the future though... she's gonna think it's her fault...

however, it's also really suspicious how it worked out.

I AM SO SORRY. HE IS SO HOT. this outfit??? slaying so hard. he also got on the tbhx equivalent of time magazine! this text is too blurry to translate unfortunately, what does it say my reading skill is not good

what's the deans name? it might have been said but idk

...why do his powers go from orange to clear weird glitchy?

lucky cyan I love you. we stan a reasonable normal person who does exactly what someone with luck powers would do first thing

the lottery ticket is gray, what if they end up cyan in the future

MY HUSBAND! HES HEREEEEE!!!! 2+ YEAR ISH WAIT AND HE'S FINALLY DEBUTED IN THE ANIME!!

im so normal about him AHHHHHHGH

he does the backwards wave thing like in the trailer.... but it succeeds here instead of a soda can exploding....

that's not strange at all...

where is lucky cyan sleeping. is she homeless? why no shoes?? girl broken roller blades have got to be better than no shoes

the ceo of DOS is def evil right. his face just looks evil

my timeline is weird. if LC escapes the orphanage and Luo gets hit by a car in Year 34, why is Luo still in bandages listening to Cyan's concert which is in year 36? maybe Luo is listening in a previous year and the cyan concert we see is in the future? maybe the dean is being really horrible to him 😭

what on EARTH did he say. what is Luo's power??? dean is def manipulating him

hey so what the fuck

...aether foundation Fear fuckery maybe??

zombies?? why does the dean have life in his eyes. what the hell are the tentacles

[threegoldfish]

"You should smile some more!"

...It just breaks free from Steven there, makes its way out of his lungs - and mouth - without him being able to even process the whole of it; That's why he himself appears to be a bit taken-aback there, immediately allows a sheepish chuckle to follow, a shrug, a clearing of his throat as he follows doctor Harrow down the long hallways to... well, the library, he guesses.

"---I-I mean, it... it makes you look a lot more... uhm." Oh boy. Struggling to find the right words without sounding like an arsehole of sorts, Steven brings his hands up in front of his stomach, fingers beginning to knead, stretch and pull on one another to relieve some of that nervosity that's beginning to collect within the center of his chest - eyes on the other all the while, glancing at him. "...Uhm, like... more... more, uhm, easily approachable? L-like... like, it's not that you look... bad or anything, otherwise! But... the smile, it's... it's, uh, it's taking some of the edge away, you know? ---Not that I think that it needs to be done, just... just a thought, yeah. Like... like me suggesting to add plants! Just... just an observation."

Blinking profusely, finally turning his head away and around to look at what's in front of them instead - white walls, white floors - Steven bites his bottom lip to keep quiet, scolds himself for being such an idiot, sometimes. Carries his heart on his sleeve, that kind of thing. Yeah, well, might as well be carrying his tongue on his... on his tongue? No, wait, one cannot carry a tongue on a tongue---

Bloody hell! Inhaling deeply, followed by a a long, slow exhale, he focuses on that question the other had spoken out mere seconds ago instead - trying to sweep the other stuff under the rug, so to say, bringing a bit of his chipper personality back up as he peeks back at the doctor, then nods with a smile of his own on his lips.

"---I did take a look around, yeah! One of those very lovely caretakers actually allowed me to visit the garden; She stayed with me, as you said that someone would, and ... it was very nice, really. The air smelled great, must've been a nice day, nice weather... lots of blooming flowers and bushes you got, lots of big trees! Very pretty, enjoyed it immensely!"

Another nod, more determined, as dark irises flick away again to look at their surroundings. It's peaceful and quiet in here right now, which allows Steven to feel a bit more at ease; He loves people, but he's awkward with them, most of the time... unfortunately so.

"Besides that, I, uh... I watched some people draw, watched others work on their puzzle. I didn't participate, though - I like to just... observe, sometimes, you know? Easier for me to figure stuff out this way..." A chuckle, another shrug.

Arthur couldn’t stop himself from smiling around Steven, it seemed, already doing so as the man made his way closer to the door. It was so strikingly different from the brief times he had with Marc; but it suited him rather nicely, Arthur liked to think. The boyish smile, the joy, the way he looked so happy to be getting something so small; he couldn’t help the brief thought that Steven might have some kind of a relationship with one of Marc’s parents, if only because of how often Steven asked permission for things. 

Steven was comfortable around a caretaker, perhaps? It was easy to file that thought away as a possibility. 

“You’re absolutely allowed to take books with you, yes,” he answered, with a nod. “There’s a checkout system, though you might find it to be a bit old-fashioned. Every book has a card you write your name on, and the librarian will keep that - we do ask that you keep it to just two or three at a time. Not that I don’t trust you, but some patients are known to hoard them.” 

He gave yet another smile, walking just a bit out of the door so that he could lead Steven off toward the library. It was a bit of a walk, just slightly, and just because most of the patients that spent time in there were the same; all of them hoping for silence, for a place away from everyone else. 

He began the walk all the same, steps muffled against the plastic flooring. The hallway was mostly empty at this time of day, with only a few people choosing to not return to their rooms at later hours - it was peaceful, which Arthur appreciated. 

“Were you able to look around any?” he asked, his voice polite and calm as he began leading the man down the hallway. “I know it can be intimidating, when you’re in a new place. But most of the people here are very open to meeting new people, I’m sure you’d be able to make some friends.” 

[velocitross]

One new thing I did this playthrough is kill the druids, and yay, there's also special tiefling dialogue for that! (sorry for deleting and re-posting, iykyk)

Here's Dammon's:

(please enjoy Rolan's "you're an idiot," | didn't have the heart to cut it out. You can see Rolan’s line here)

This really just shows how much responsibility Dammon feels for the safety of the other refugees, he's so stressed and concerned 😭

His dialogue here is also interesting to me, since it seems something about killing the druids makes him trust you with his history sooner—as his line is a modified version of what he tells you in act 2. (And no, unfortunately getting this line in act 1 doesn't affect his dialogue in act 2)

(More Dammon thoughts below, now featuring even more Dammon Thoughts!)

In fact, the main reason I killed the druids this time was because I was trying to get a line I’d seen (maybe a bug/holdover, or patched out since it doesn't seem like you can trigger it anymore) where he does actually admit here straight out that he enjoyed his time in Avernus

Dammon's slightly darker side, the part of him that did get something out of or even enjoyed* his time in the hells, is one of my favorite parts of his character, especially since you get most of it from subtext.

*I use the word “enjoy” here because it shows up in that line I’d mentioned, and it also shows up in the devnotes (implying that he did secretly enjoy his time in the hells). I don’t use “enjoy” to imply he was happy—I think it’s very possible to be in your element, to be satisfied with the work and find elements of it enjoyable or edifying, within the scope of an ultimately traumatic experience, and I do believe that’s the case here.

In my opinion we see enough hints (Dammon’s “it [Avernus] should have been awful,” saying in the flawed Helldusk flavor text that he considers the experience “worth it,” plus the clear gratification he feels working with infernal materials) that I’m not out of line saying that working beneath Carixim was an experience Dammon ultimately ended up taking to. Of course there are also elements he’d rather forget—I don’t think it could be any other way when you put an essentially good person in literal hell.

But, I do think there’s more nuance here, and I think it gives us an interesting angle to explore regarding the guilt and alienation an essentially good person would feel around getting something out of his time in the hells, especially when it was such a traumatizing experience across the board for so many others.

I personally love this keen streak of ambition we catch flashes of in him—“Anyway, it was worth it. Worth it to be the best.”

I have to say, it feels very frustrating that the one time I dare to have an opinion or take a stance on my favorite character, I had someone coming in to publicly “umm Actually” me. I love Dammon and have spent lots of time thinking about and writing him. I’m allowed to have thoughts and hcs about him without being patronized or spoken over.

Anyway. I love the deep complexity Larian has given so many of their minor NPCs, it really opens up so much for us to explore 💚

[need-him-pregnant-poll]

Hello, Pregatron Fanfic Anon here! With next part ready:> Just a warning, it is quite long

PART 4

==================

Previously:

Despite the quite intense solar cycle, and and an impressive range of mood swings Megatron went through, he was unnaturally calm now, his servo automatically landed on his belly, rubbing slow circles on it.

It’s going to be alright.

====================

It was not alright. It was awful actually. Megatron was sitting in the throne room, with a datapad, listening to Starscream’s bitching about unfair work treatment…Primus, just shut up. All Megatron did was tell Starscream to cover the windows, because light was to bright, but the light paled in comparison to the helmache the seeker was giving him now.

„Hey, by the way, have you thought about name yet, Lord Megatron?”

Name? What name- ah.

„No.”

„Oh that’s great, because I was thinking and-”- and he’s yapping again. Should have said yes, maybe then he would have nothing to talk about…not likely.

„Starlight, Starbright, Starmarvel, eventually something like Strikescream or Sweetscream-”

„Those are all variations of your name.” And they were all shit.

„Duh! I thought you would want your sparkling to have a beautiful name that anyone could recognize the moment they heard it.” The seeker went back to swaying around windows, closing the blinds. Unfortunately still talking.

„You know you can always just go for the safest, classiest option and just name them Starscream!” Megatron’s helm jerked towards the other bot. The audacity, to think that he would ever name his sparkling after his traitorous second in command. He put the datapad down and got up.

„You want me to name my sparkling after your sorry aft?!” The seeker seemed to realise his mistake, if his wide optics were any indication. Pregnancy was not an illness, just because Megatron was sparked, didn’t mean he wouldn’t beat the shit out of anyone that somehow angered him. The opposite actually, the need to hunt someone (Starscream) for sport seemed to only be growing… Megatron ignited his fusion cannon.

„Tell you what Starscream, I’ll give you 4 kliks. After that- it’s free rein.” -Starscream wasted no time and bolted out of the room with Megatron on his tail.

--------------------------------------------------

Shockwave was working in his lab when he heard screaming and explosions that shook his vials. Not a klik later Megatron appeared in the doorway, panting heavily. Shockwave was by no means an expert on emotions, but the fury and need for gore in Megatron’s optics were hard to miss.

„Is he here.” – that barely sounded like a question, unspecified at that.

„Who.”

„Starscream, I need to shoot him.”- Hm. That’s sounds excessive. Why would Megatron decide to deactivate his second in command, that’s a strategically incorrect course of action. Contradiction: He did try to do that yesterday, without hesitation. So this might become an occuring behaviour now- need to collect more data to confirm the hypothesis. There must be a cause linked to this more agressive than usual behaviour. Recently acquired information: Megatron's pregnancy. Correlation beetween Megatron’s physical state and emotional disruption: High.

Shockwave moved his finials. „No, Starscream is not in here. Although if I may, I would advice against terminating him as of now.”

„I didn’t ask about your opinion.”- snarled Megatron, turning to make his way out of the lab. Purple bot decided that it would be wiser to keep everyone, including Megatron, out of trouble than letting him roam free, ready to shoot anything that moves.

„My lord. The state of your health is of our highest concern right now. Please remember what Soundwave told you yesterday about prolonged physical activity.” Megatron actually stopped. Soundwave… he could really use his company right now, the telepath always knew how to calm him and ease his mind. Unfortunately he had other business to attend to. Silver bot looked at Shockwave- expressionless, collected, calm- he and Soundwave were similar in that regard. Logical..maybe he’ll stay with the cyclop for a moment. Without any word Megatron made his way toward chair closest to Shockwave and sat down. Scientist observed him for a moment before returning to his previous activities, Megatron watched him, his work, the slow, calculated movements, quite relaxing.

Strange, because all the anger suddenly disappeared, replaced by sorrow. Why did Soundwave’s absence affect him so much? It never happened before, not to that extension at least. He realized now that he missed his third in command’s eerie voice, he liked it and his warm red visor and his calm, soothing demeanor and of course the outlier ability to understand him without any words spoken.

…He also misses Optimus. Despite everything, Megatron likes being held by him, he enjoyed it the last time, but Prime is far away now, too far away. Warlord didn’t even notice as he started leaning against Shockwave, slowly wrapping his arms around the purples bot’s waist. Scientist froze in his tracks.

Affection. Illogical.

Or perhaps not, considering Megatron’s latest tendency to experience rapid mood changes. Now he’s trembling. Shockwave risks looking down and oh no.

His leader is crying. Crying. He never cries. How to act in a situation like this. That is an unexpected turn of events that Shockwaves desides is too confusing for him to process properly. He hesitates for a moment: „Lord Megatron.”

Said bot snapped from his reminiscences and looked up at the singular, red optic of his companion. What the fuck. He released Shockwave and stood up.  That’s- What. Why is he thinking about Prime?  He’s not even here, he can’t be here, Soundwave will come back, but Prime?? Why is he in his head for affection time?? It’s all his fault in the first place, fucking idiot! He’s the reason Megatron is having a terrible time now and crying and hugging Shockwave. And holy shit I actually hugged Shockwave.

No, fuck it, fuck those stupid emotions, and mood swings, fuck those creeping thoughts, Fuck all of it! Fuck everything from here to Luna 1 and above all: Fuck Optimus Prime! (not literally this time).

„My apologies.”- Megatron murmured before storming out of the lab, he didn’t even bother with the door, he just broke them down and made his way across the many corridors. I need a distraction.

After some time, Soundwave found him sulking in the dark corner of the dining room, eating an unhealthy amount of energon goodies.

======================

To be continued...

OOF, if there are any mistakes, forgive me, lot's of difficult words and I'm not even English. (Also, I think there will be 2 more parts, eventually 3)

-Pregatron Fanfic Anon

Aww poor Megs :( Mood swings are the worst. Thank you for writing!!

[whumperless-whump-event]

Hi, the whumperless whump event sounds really cool, it’s my favourite kind of whump to read and write! and the prompts look really interesting. I’d really like to take part in the event and I just wondered if it would be ok to use AI as a spell checker or to help with background research for a story? (It would still be me writing the story). I have a personal AI use disclaimer on my AO3 profile and now I share in the author’s notes of each fic how I’ve used AI in the story, for example those reasons above, just for transparency and to show how AI can be used as a tool to support writing rather than replacing the writer. I saw on your rules that you’d put no AI so I wanted to check. Thanks for organising the event.

Hey! Thank you for submitting this ask.

AI can be useful as a tool. However, we're talking about generative artificial intelligence, specifically OpenAI, ChatGPT and similar models, which have a specific host of issues:

It's consistently proven to be untrustworthy, including misinforming users;

"Training" a generative AI model commonly steals from artists, scrapes online works, and compiles creations without consent, which is copyright infringement and theft;

GenAI replaces actions that foster community, such as beta reading and group research.

The reason I ban AI in this event isn't to deprive someone from a tool that can assist them with things they struggle on, or saving time.

I ban it because GenAI's required training scrapes the internet for art and writing without permission, and because its answers cannot be guaranteed trustworthy, regardless of the training. As for the third point, I'd be the last person to say editing or revising is an enjoyable way to spend my time, but I do think GenAI is a replacement, not an invention, and alternatives without these issues existed before GenAI did.

This is, unfortunately, a soapbox. I understand why GenAI is used in these situations. I also see that you did not ask for me to try and convince you not to use AI, so I apologize for restating what you've probably heard a thousand times.

However, for the spirit of the event, and for the sake of fostering community and human connection in creative spaces, I will not allow GenAI to be used.

Thank you for asking kindly, and I hope this doesn't deter you from participating.

[nice-and-accurate-fictions]

Strangers to lovers and meet cute

It could be a chance meeting, a blind date or business that bring them together, but we all know that once they set eyes for each other they'll end up together. But, oh, the fun of reading the path they'll take to get there! Most of the fics I read are very low in angst, and the ones in this list are no different, so just relax and enjoy!

There's No Algorithm For The Ineffable, by Thinkinginscripts. Rated T, 12k. P. Sep 24.

Aziraphale runs a matchmaking agency for queer professionals, and he's very successful at his job. Crowley has come to accept that he might need help to find a lifelong partner; unfortunately there seems to be something quite wrong with all three candidates Aziraphale introduces him to. Zero angst, this fic is heartwarming and adorable. 

My own fiction, Deluded, rated M, 27k. P. Apr 25.

Human AU rated M for Misunderstandings and Miscommunication (yeah, ok, and mature). Crowley agrees to go on a blind date with Aziraphale, but he doesn't really do dates. He tells as much to Aziraphale and leav... lea... leeeeeeavmmm... All right, stays, OK? I started off lighthearted, added a pinch of angst, skipped the smut, clumsily attempted some humour, and landed safely on fluff. These are literally the five themes of the five chapters.

Infernal Escapes, by journeytogallifrey. Rated T, 37 k. P. Jan 22.

Human AU where Crowley works at an escape room company. Aziraphale has always wanted to try escape rooms and finally does. You will have to read it to know the rest but this was such a lovely story, very low angst and a happy ending. I believed I did squeal in excitement at the nod to the whovians in the Roman room chapter.

My own  Only Ever Meant For Someone Else, rated T, 9k. P. Dec 24.

mas morning of 2023 he was ready to go home and rest with a cup of tea, a mince pie, and a book after a long night.

Guess who?

This my very first attempt at human AU, and it was great fun to write it without being bound by anything canon. It gave me a chance to play with some feelings and characterisations that I just don’t see in canon, but I like in fiction. I tried to throw in the mix a bit of humour, a tiny bit of short lived angst and, of course a happy ending!

Postcards From Paris, by ghostrat. Rated G, 12k. P. Oct. 23.

I very seldom reread whole fictions, but I'm so glad I reread this one! (Thank you and shoutout to the Good Omens Fanfiction Club Community on Tumblr!)

Human AU. Crowley has recently moved to a new flat and he receives postcards meant for the previous owner.

Ghostrat managed to tell us the building of a lovely bond only through short messages.

I love Crowley's quiet and relatable vulnerability in this story, and I absolutely love Aziraphale’s mask of confidence shining through Crowley's POV.

The gentle jokes, teasing and feelings: all felt very well balanced, but not less emotional because of it. A classic.

The Art Of Being Seen, by cheeseplants. Rated G, 3k. P. Aug 24.

Lovely and sweet strangers to lovers human AU. Aziraphale asks Anathema for advice on how to know whether he’s in love with someone, and Anathema tells him to stare into their eyes for two minutes and he will know. Such a shame that handsome, clever, funny date just won’t take his sunglasses off. Obliviousness in action!

[beekneelsformommy]

Parent Trapped

Emma Swan x Regina Mills

Summary: When Henry tricks his moms into a surprise picnic to finally push them towards each other, Emma and Regina are forced to confront long-buried feelings, missteps, and a bear claw to the head.

CW: 18+, Unestablish Swanqueen moving into established, Mild language, Emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, Light angst with happy ending, Soft romantic themes, Brief physical intimacy (kissing), Humor, No explicit sexual content (but tagged 18+ due to account content)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Essay is finsihed. Submitted. Finally completed university and have a history degree?? What the heck. Now to get my masters in Genealogy and Family History. Until then enjoy some love confessions from SwanQueen.

“Henry, she’s not going to go for this, nor will Regina, she hates picnics.” David said, crossing his arms as he watched Henry carefully packing the picnic basket clumsily, very Emma David thought to himself, eyes not leaving his grandson as he packed, Henry’s focus on the food like someone who trying to diffuse a bomb—and in some ways he was.

“She will.” Henry replied stuffing in his favourite snacks, David noticed he hadn’t seemed to pack any of his mothers favourite food. Both of them will. They both think they’re meeting me.”

David raised an eyebrow. “So you lied to them?”

“No, I just, stretched the truth,” Henry said, feeling proud of himself, grinning. “It’s not lying if it works.”

“No, I suppose not, but maybe you should pack some food they will like.”

“Oh, this basket isn’t for them.” Henry pushed the last of the snacks and some how closed the basket lid with effort.

“No?” David frowned “Then who?”

“Us.” Henry stood proud, arms folded, in a very Regina like way.

“Henry, why have we got a basket of our own.”

Henry grinned, holding back a small laugh, and plucking the binoculars from behind his back and holding them up like he had won a prize “Because we’re going to spy on them. They better kiss.”

“Maybe a bit over ambitious kid, but lets do this. Operation SwanQueen here we come.”

——

Emma arrived at the lake, at 1.20pm. Late. She always was, Henry had told her to meet her at 1pm, for a picnic lunch. It was the middle of summer, so the sun was out and it would be nice to spend sometime together, little did Emma know but he sent the same exact text to Regina, who of course was right on time, and had been waiting for over half an hour, and by the look on her wasn’t too happy.

Emma stood in her jeans, tank top, red leather boots, holding two bags of chips and two sodas. Regina on the other hand had already laid out the Cameron tartan blanket, basket on the ground, she was stood tall arms folded, finger tapping on her biceps and heels sinking into the grass, looking hot and uncomfortable in her pant suit.

Emma pressed her lips together, the crinkle of the chips packet sounding as she walked towards the women she had been yearning for since she arrived in Storybrooke, and despite Regina’s sometimes hostile. cold demeanor, the truth was the same for her. Unfortunately, they were both as stubborn as each other, so neither was willing to make the first move, hence the parent trap picnic.

Emma stepped forward, Regina’s death glare coming into focus, and then she was stood in front of her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nice to see you too.” Emma sighed, rolling her eyes “let me guess, Henry sent you a text, telling you he wanted to have a picnic lunch?”

The look on Regina’s face was a picture “Yes, but I—”

“Just sit down, you’ve put a lot of effort in, unlike me, so lets eat…I’m hungry.”

“Emma you’re always hungry, Regina muttered, huffing a little as she reluctantly sat down on the blanket, her eyes on Emma, her heart practically jumping out her chest as she began bringing everything out the picnic basket.

Behind the trees Henry was munching on a bear claw, binoculours on his eyes watching his moms finally sit, and begin their set up date. “Told you it’d work.” Henry muttered to David.

“Yeah, yeah alright, you did well. Why don’t we leave them to it?”

“No way, I wanna watch this, make sure this happens.”

David simply laughed, he squeezed Henry shoulder “Alright, but your on your own. See you later.”

Back by the lake away from their spying son, Emma was laughing, after she had begun eating the food a little too fast and Regina had responded by saying “If I had known you were going to inhale the prawn cocktail sandwich dear, I’d have bought you a straw.” Emma snorted, and was now trying to breath again after laughter took over her whole body.

Regina raised an eyebrow “Oh come on, it wasn’t that funny.”

“Yes it was! God Regina, you don’t know how funny you are sometimes.”

Regina frowned, taking a bite of her own food, and taking a sip of the lemonade can Emma had picked up by accident from the store. Regina still took it, because Emma’s effort may not look like much compared to Regina’s but it was still effort she made, which Regina always loved and appreciated.

Henry kept watching, and when he realised after an hour that they were almost done, having laughed and smiled, and consistently talked through their ‘date’, but with deceleration of love or even a god damn kiss in sight, Henry knew what he had to do.

He grab a piece of paper, and pen scribbled on it “You fought a dragon once. You can tell one woman you like her. P.S Check your jean pocket for gum, just in case you kiss.” Henry put the pen down and wrapped the paper round the bear claw, sellotaping it down and then launching it Emma’s head. Good aim too.

“OW!” Emma groaned feeling the attack on her skull, her eyes found the bear claw and picked it up, pulling the note free.

“You okay?” Regina smiled, wiping her mouth with a cloth and seeing the crinkle on Emma’s forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, totally fine, totally, umm, well, I—” The panic clearly rising in her voice.

The moment Regina’s hand touched Emma’s arm, she felt like she was going to melt into the grass.

“Emma, take a breath, it’s just me.” Regina smiled softly, worrying about how fast Emma was talking and not making sense.

“Yes, that’s the problem though.” Emma said, voice low and nervous.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Regina’s voice sank, removing her hand, her body weight shifting.

“No, wait, no that’s not what I meant Regina, I didn’t mean—god damn it, what the hell is wrong with me? How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Every time I’m near you, I feel fourteen years old with the a crush on the most beautiful, hottest girl there is and I can’t do anything about it because she would never give me a second glance, and I would never be what she wanted and I—”

“Whoa, Emma, slow down.” Regina pushed herself onto her knees, bum sitting on her heels “Are you…are you telling me that you, have a—that you like me? As…well, as more than a friend?”

“Yes,” Emma could barely get the words out, they were so unusually quiet that Regina only just managed to hear them with Emma’s head bowed.

“Emma Swan. Look at me.” Regina curled her fingers, her knuckle reaching under Emma’s chin and tilting her head up until she was looking at her again. “You know if anyone else had turned up instead of Henry, I would have left, but I didn’t, why do you think you are?”

“Pity?”

“Oh god, Emma, do you really think that of me? No, I stayed because I care about you, not just as Henry’s other mother, not just as the Sheriff, or Savior,” Regina pulled her hand away and watched as Emma picked up the bear claw wrapping her mouth round it, teeth biting down, still listening to Regina, her own heart fluttering inside her chest “no, it’s because you’re you, and I let you get away with eating a bear claw that has just been launched at your head,” they both chuckled “and because you make me laugh. I see you and I want to run towards you not away, I don’t want to be closed of with you Emma. God damn it—I want you to see every part of me, even the darkness, which we both know is a lot, and I want to see every part of you too, even the dorky side. Emma, you never have to be anyone but yourself with me. Not for one single second.”

Emma’s heart was in her throat, eyes still on Regina, her face kind and soft, not the usual companding, cold, icy Mayor the the town knew her as, in fact Emma realised, she hadn’t been that with her at all. But with Emma’s mind racing, the next thing she says wasn’t mean to slip out, it was meant to stay in her brain—but in usual Emma Swan style her mouth opened before her brain was able to catch up.

“You’re just saying that because Henry set us up Regina. You don’t mean it.”

Regina’s face dropped, her body shifting back onto the ground crossing her legs, the hurt very clear. “Wow. Okay. I mean that’s not the case what so ever, Emma, but thank you so very much for reminding me why I keep walls up. God, maybe this was a bad—”

“NO! Wait, no I’m sorry, Regina, I panicked, I just sometimes I get in my own head, and instead of trusting, which by the way I do trust you, my brain sort of convinces me that no one would be that good to me and—oh you know what I’m done talking.” and before Regina even had a second to react, Emma’s hands where pressed tight on her cheeks, Emma’s lips pressed hard against hers, mouths both moving in a messy, heated rhythm, neither one wanted to pull away, but in the end the had to if they want to actually breath again.

Regina’s icy exterior melted away.

Emma’s overthinking gone.

And a pack of gum unused still in Emma’s pocket, knowing she would definitely be using them properly next time.

Now just two women, who knew they loved each other, and would certainly be kissing, and so much more again.

They had been well and truly parent trapped.

[c0exiist]

“Unfortunately, some people assume their lifestyle is the norm.” It did cost her some of her relationships, but she was someone who valued her career and would want others to understand and respect that. “Why thank you, it was an uphill battle, but I can confidently say it was worth it.” Being her own boss took a lot of hours and hard work, but she would rather be in that predicament than working for someone who could potentially hold her back. “I feel like I’d be every bosses’ worst nightmare if I were to submit myself to Corporate America.” Tati’s grateful that she could work for herself rather than the latter as she couldn’t imagine what it would be like having to work for someone. She had quite the strong personality after all and so, she knew that she would be difficult if she didn't get her way or an opportunity to showcase her skills. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Sterling. This was quite an insightful conversation and I honestly didn’t think I’d ever meet someone at random who share the same sentiments as me.” 

Sterling grins at her take on nine-to-fivers; she's nailed it perfectly. "Bloody brilliant point about work-life balance. My mates keep banging on about their precious weekends while I'm here living in a completely different timezone." He's lost count of how many times he's had to explain why he can't do Sunday roasts or bank holiday parties. "Mad respect for being self-made. Takes proper guts to run your own show instead of hiding behind someone else's schedule." The mention of cushy office jobs makes him snort. "Christ, imagine having the luxury of switching off at five on the dot. I'd lose my mind sitting in those fluorescent-lit cubicles all day." It is unusual to meet someone who understands empathy, so her statement hits close to home. "Sterling Phillips," he offers, reaching out to shake her hand. "The feeling's mutual, mate. Nice meeting someone who understands that some of us actually enjoy the chaos of irregular hours."