#whether i like it or not - it's in character

[holopossums]

happy anniversary to this silly post of mine that exploded and made lots of people big mad about a fictional character's age when i was merely the funny little messenger, and suddenly made way too many people on the internet aware of my existence for comfort

so about that twitter q&a...

[reiyaus]

fem reader intended | part two of this

fratboy! gojo who meets up with you after getting your contact info the other night, laptop prepared to explain the important of card trading.

fratboy! gojo who, for once, finds it fun to converse with someone other than his small circle of friends. he can't deny the fact he finds you cute when you get confused- not like he'll tell anyone. (more under cut!)

fratboy! gojo whose friends are starting to notice that he isn't partying as much as he did before, but instead, actually attending his classes. to say that they were surprised is an understatement.

fratboy! gojo who walks with you during breaks only to hear you talk, whether it be about pokémon or whatever. with you, he can escape the frat-party life and settle down into a mellow, drunk-free personality. sure he can do that with his friends, but it comes naturally when with you.

fratboy! gojo who sets up chill hangouts when he realizes you aren't as interested in loud environments as him. from walks in the parks, a 1-hour pottery session, or cafe hopping around town- you find yourself enjoying every second of it.

fratboy! gojo who introduces you to his friends, embarrassed when they mention how he'd turn off dnd just to check if you replied. you laugh, comparing him to a clingy dog (which he is) and he feels himself dying even more.

fratboy! gojo who decides that he wants to properly confess his feelings for you during the night of valentines. take you out like normal and bring out the gift he prepared in his trunk. simple, right?

fratboy! gojo who couldn't stop cheesing anytime you looked away, yet acting flustered whenever you noticed. in his mind, he was the greatest at hiding his emotions- but you knew right away that something was up. considering how he asked to match with you, on valentines day.

fratboy! gojo who brings you to a secluded part of the beach where you could see the stars clearly, and has to calm himself down before making a fool out of himself (like he hasn't already).

fratboy! gojo who starts off by bringing up the first day you met, chuckling at how he found quietude in the midst of a party.

fratboy! gojo who takes your hands in his so gently, smiling at how well yours molded together. with one hand holding yours, he reaches into the back of his car and brings out the small basket he made.

fratboy! gojo who filled the basket up with your favorite snacks, a box of high-quality trading cards, a bracelet, and most importantly, a multipage, hand-crafted letter. stuck onto the back, was a candid polaroid he took of you the first time you hung out. aka, the day he realized he loved you.

fratboy! gojo who stumbles across his words, unable to properly convey the script he had in mind. his worry took over him when you didn't respond to anything he said.

fratboy! gojo who pauses after hearing your laugh, and looks up to see the same eyes he fell in love with staring right at him with such adoration. you're smiling. and soon, he finds himself smiling even harder.

fratboy! gojo who has to stop himself from cheering when you formally accept his confession. going as far as to exit out the car to give you the warmest embrace. melting in your arms, he finally has all the reason to kiss you on the cheek.

boyfriend! gojo who slowly retires from the party-life (and possibly playboy), and while still remaining in his frat- he'd very much rather spend his nights with you in his arms.

restful and content, satoru couldn't have asked for a better way to meet you.

a/n: for that one person who wanted it to be platonic... im sorry [sweat]... NEXT TIME! i really want to write "intimacy with platonic!gojo" or any other jjk character. also ignore how i portrayed gojo as a playboy (kind of) in the first part, i lowk forgot abt that when writing pt 2

taglist (only tagged those that asked) @ourfinalisation @cheriiepies @megumisthirdog @leabyjulia @blessingdancing @seternic @gojoscumslut @backinmyphase @cutieminaaa @wandabillywrites @shycreatorreview @bypanana @ilovemyhusbandnanami @l1v1ngzomb1e @raendarkfaerie @hellogojofan @exclusiverinaa @just-lilita @satorushousewife @jaeminaur @mjsjshhd @kaybug88 @minascasket @sapphireillusions @ravenbc @psoycy @juicus

[wonderjanga]

Okay so I had an idea and my mind is blanking on what to do with it, so Captian Marvel does in fact have a secret identity outside Billy and it it literally Captain Marvel but with glasses and he is a professional Captian Marvel Impersonator, who also goes by Captain Marvel to stay in character.

Flash: “Marvel!”

Marvel: *indisguise* “No, no no no, I’m Calvin Marvin.”

Flash: “Yeah, right. You’re Captain Marvel but you’re wearing glasses.”

Marvel: “Nope, I’m a Captain Marvel impersonator who needs glasses.”

Flash: “Wha? There’s no way. You look exactly like Cap. Buddy, you’re not fooling me.”

Marvel: “But I’m not Cap. I’m just a really good impersonator. I’m so good Cap hires me whenever he doesn’t want to do anything.”

Flash: “What?” *doesn’t believe him* “When’s he done that?”

Marvel: “Well, there was the last weekly meeting.” *shrugs*

Flash: “What.”

Marvel: “Yeah. The one where Batman ended up showing a bunch of photos of Robin when he was younger.”

Flash: “WHAT?”

Marvel: “What?”

Flash: “Dude, you have to be lying.”

Marvel: “But I’m not-”

Flash: “But you are! There’s NO WAY I didn’t notice one of my best buds was being impersonated! There’s no way Bats didn’t notice! Or Supes!”

Marvel: “Well, maybe they didn’t know Marvel as well as you think?”

Flash: “Of course I do! I’ve known him for years!”

Marvel: “Oh really? Well, did you know it was actually me who is playing Mario kart with you the other day?”

Flash: “No way-”

Marvel: “You picked Wario and we played the rainbow road track.”

*silence*

Flash: “Cap could’ve told you-”

Marvel: “Why would he tell me about how you got a call from Iris asking about whether or not you could pick up some milk for her?”

*more silence*

Flash: *rethinking every encounter he’s had with Billy* “Jesus…”

Marvel: “Oh, I know him. He’s cool. Got to meet him through Cap too.”

Now, in case you couldn’t tell, to Billy this was a little jokey joke. Billy thought this would just be a little funny ha ha thing… but no. Flash ended up staring at him with the most betrayed expression for the next few weeks.

Marvel: “Hey, Flash!”

Flash: “Which one are you?”

Marvel: “Huh?”

Flash: “Which one are you? Cap or Calvin?”

Marvel: “Uh… Cap?”

Flash: *thousand yard stare* “Dude, is it bad I couldn’t even tell if you weren’t, Cap?” *honestly sounds slightly ashamed*

Marvel: “No??”

[empthy1]

✶⋆.˚ . the seer masterlist.

f!seer!reader x f!character(s).

cw; you work in a brothel. though you don't engage in sex work, you are surrounded by it. it’s in the periphery of everything, here. canon-typical violence, very briefly. age gap(s). grief and death explored and centered. unstable mental health. let me know if i missed anything triggering, and i will add it to the list.

characters; jinx, ambessa, vi, sevika, caitlyn, mel.

an; first arcane fic ! that i ended up spreading into five oneshots because it's making me crash out. all are in reader's perspective except for mel's. best viewed in light mode. layout inspired by @hcneymooners and her gorgeous vampire headcanons. wc:

Deep within the Lanes, past the bustling shops and dusty alleys, the lively bar and the seedy smugglers, sits an unassuming red door, illuminated only by a dim light. Moving even deeper still, past the locked door and the skeptical guard, beyond the music and flirtations orchestrated, sits a room that looks much like the others hidden behind a curtain, fine fabric dark as the midnight sky. Candles burn lowly, eternally, in this place. The flames dance and never sputter, even as pale wax pools heavy at their bases. 

Despite the room’s full, beautiful interior, that was not the draw of it. Patrons didn’t come for physical pleasures or rapturous conversation, no—instead to consult the woman who resided between the four walls. Spreading tales of her wiseness drew a number of patrons, whether they were brothel regulars or had scarcely stepped into the Lanes their whole lives, whether they purchased escorts or never knew of the place’s existence.

She brought them in with a deck of cards, usually toyed with and fanned over a clothed wrist, and a mounted glass ball, smooth and cool to the touch, whose insights were hardly decipherable by anyone but the graceful, ageless thing who consulted it. In turn, they consulted her. Bared thoughts and secrets always wafted through the air there, but not one escaped the silken entrance. It’s as if they were collected, skimmed from the perfumed surroundings and stored in bejeweled boxes, tucked on one of the high, unreachable shelves far away from any vile conspirators.

Yes, she was the secret keeper of Zaun, of Piltover, of Noxus. She heard things enemies would sacrifice hundreds for, and yet she never uttered a word. 

Why would she? There’s hardly business for the rats, down, deep in the Undercity. Nothing that will keep them alive.

jinx; telepathy.

ambessa; tarot.

vi; astral projection.

sevika; divination.

caitlyn; precognition.

mel; palmistry.

© empthy1 on tumblr. do not copy, translate, or repost without permission.

[cargopantsman]

I'm going to say that the critics do have to review the marvel movies the same way any of us should be reviewing the tomato pictures being hung in a subway restaurant.

And I'm going to put Duchamp's "Fountain" here to stall.

Marvel movies have become drivel. The initial rollout series had a level of honesty behind the writing that probably most of us could say we genuinely enjoyed the first Iron Man, the Ed Norton Hulk, or even the first Captain America.

The value of critiquing these films comes in seeing what happens when an overwhelmingly corporate agenda comes into play.

Like... you can't say Black Pather was a Bad Movie (as long as you kinda know what's going one [which is a critique in itself]), but with many themes and points in the MCU, a solid point is struck on a hollow anvil.

So any good story-telling is going to be overshadowed by this monolithic shadow of the studio trying to maximize gains, even when the heart of those stories (going back to the golden age comics) generally balk at the concept.

Is the MCU a good story-telling platform? No... Prachett's Discworld handled any given "nobody" wandering in and at least catching on to what is important better than Marvel ever, whether in movies or comics, could ever let someone wander in.

Does the MCU tell good stories?... yeah. They do. And there's a pivot where if you don't care (or aren't obsessively compelled) for context, the movies can kinda be one-offs.

But there's a critique right there...

Because the MCU relies on the US Department of Defense for so much of it's infrastructure, we have to criticize the films for bowing to the state in ways that the actual comic characters wouldn't.

We have to criticize the WWII era super-soldier as an allegory for the Greatest Generation and watch him support the next fascist power. (Winter Soldier fans calm down, I'm playing the Man out of Time angle here.)

But also Iron Man/Tony Stark being the billionaire playboy the Muskovites tried to pretend their boy wonder being a legitimate actor in global diplomacy. Part of critiquing the MCU is the fact that the amount of resources Tony spent in spiffying up his power armor probably could saved thousads of more lives in setting up supply chains and resource distribution that in making the next better Jarvis/Power Armor combo.

Now you're thinking "jesus cargo what the fuck are you going on about?"

but look at that tomato picture, look at that sharp chopped iceberg lettuce.

it's a wall decoration. but it's a wall decoration as you come into the subway. it's meant to make you feel like you're making a healthy decision.

there's a mcdonald's next door but you chose the subway. A BigMac with fries might just be another DC Batman movie. It's familiar, you bite in, knowing that you have to see Bruce's parents die, again. But it's a familar taste. It get's you through the day.

the subway... it's fresh. that's what it tells you at least. the pictures on the wall say so. (not, now that you think of it, that mcdonalds comes off as rotted) and you pick and choose the ingredients you want (i could see Black Panther but I'll choose to see Captain America again) [this is choosing the turkey and mayo on white bread option]

And the turkey with mayo on white bread miggt be tasty enough for you... but probably not for any one else...

but thinking you went with subway makes you better than the mcdonald's crowd is gonna bring up some issues (most likely by your general practitioner)

and neither is inherently better or worse then the other.

as long as you fucking think about what you are feeling and doing.

it's all just a urinal in an art gallery.

[yourloveaton]

“Phew! I finally made it… Cut me some slack, okay? I’m still getting used to this whole Cupid thing!!!”

Seems like Cupid came a bit fashionably late… but for good reason! It’s a valentine’s emergency! He needs your help to spread the love!!!

So, how can you help? With a color palette challenge of course…

RULES:

1. You are to draw anything with the prompt and color palette that is provided every 3-5 days. Please try not to stray too far from it!

2. Since this is a valentine’s event, try to stick with that theme! We wanna see all the love and hearts!

3. You’re free to use any characters/set pieces you want! (trickster included)

4. As always, no AI, tracing, weird stuff, etc. We trust you know better than that…

5. Use #cupidsmission2025 and mention me so I can see your work! This is a fun art activity that you can have fun with, so no deadlines ! (Though I’m not sure how many prompts I’ll give in total before I stop ahahaha)

Unlike the tricksmas event, this isn’t competitive, so there’s so point system involved this time. You can ask any questions you have in mind to me.

Thank you @bloobluee for always helping me with writing the rules and everything !!! You’re the best Blue, love youuuu 💖💖

Remember, it’s all in good fun! So enjoy making your art and keep the rules in mind… Cupid is counting on all of you!!

I still don’t know whether to reblog the prompts or do I make a whole new post for each prompt AHAHAA oh well… Here’s your FIRST PROMPT and COLOUR PALETTE that you have to help Cupid spread love around !!!

1ST PROMPT: Giving chocolate

Cupid reference sheet below ⬇️ (yes I know it’s very vague and awful, good luck figuring it out on your own AHAHHAA) (you can tweak his design around)

Have fun everyone !!!

[yolkochan]

How @tigreblvnc Gains Engagement from Artists Without Proper Credit (19/2/25)

Helloo, it’s Yoko (@yolkochan), and I’m an artist in the bllkblr community. I believe in the importance of properly crediting creators, not just for ethical reasons but because artists deserve recognition for their work. 

Unfortunately, there are people who consistently repost artwork without giving artists proper credit, benefiting from the engagement while the original creators remain overlooked. This post highlights one such case—@tigreblvnc(Tetsuo/Suo)— who has repeatedly done this more times than I can count.

This problem has been recently brought to my attention by multiple people in this community. As a professional artist myself, I feel a responsibility to call out this pattern and raise awareness about why proper crediting matters. Despite knowing that I may lose some followers due to this post.

I do not condone the harassment of anyone mentioned within this post.

@tigreblvnc is a well-known blogger in the Blue Lock Tumblr community, frequently analyzing characters like Michael Kaiser and reposting fanart. However, his repeated failure to properly credit artists has raised serious concerns. Instead of clearly naming artists in the captions, he relies on small, greyed-out “source” links that are easy to miss. As a result, he continues to gain thousands of likes and reblogs from art that isn’t his—without giving artists the recognition they deserve.

Below are multiple examples demonstrating this pattern.

Evidence of Improper Crediting

Examples of what someone would see when scrolling:

Link to post

Art by ogata69 on X

(underneath this post is literally another art repost lol) 2. Link to post

Art by asamashi288753 on X

Original posts: 1 2

3. Link to post

Art by asamashi288753 on X

Original posts: 1 2

4. Link to post

Art by ttioo14 on X

Original posts: 1 2 3

5. Link to post

Art by eppaya_okoge on X

The original posts of these artworks have been deleted.

This specific case is even more egregious since this artist doesn’t even allow reposts without permission.

In all of these screenshots, he posts their artwork without naming them in the caption.

The only credit is a small “source” text (greyed out as well) that is easy to miss when scrolling. (The link only goes to the profile, not the original post). This shows that this isn’t a one-time mistake but a repeated behavior over multiple posts, these are just a few examples from over 20+ similar instances. His top posts are almost all art reposts.

With at least 20+ instances, it’s hard to believe it’s purely accidental. 

Whether intentional or not, this kind of crediting prioritizes his own engagement over actually giving artists the recognition they deserve. If he genuinely didn’t realize, now he knows- and if he keeps doing it, that’s a choice.

Common concerns:

1. “He’s not making money off it, what’s the harm??”

Engagement is a form of profit. If his top posts are all art reposts, he’s gaining a following, likes, and influence off other people's work.

Engagement stays on his post, not the artist’s — when a repost gets thousands of likes while the original post goes unnoticed, the artist loses visibility and recognition.

2. “He did credit the artist, see? The source is right there!”

A hidden, greyed-out link isn’t real credit and  people won’t click the source - the link is small, greyed-out, and easy to miss while scrolling. If the artist’s name isn’t visible in the caption, many won’t bother checking. Proper credit means making the artist’s name visible and easily accessible. 

If people need to dig through tiny text to find the source, it’s not actual recognition—just plausible deniability.

3.  “He’s just sharing art he likes! It’s not that deep.”

If he really liked and respected the art, he’d want people to find the artist.

Art reposting without proper credit is disrespectful because it reduces an artist’s work to engagement bait.

4. “Not everyone knows how to credit properly!”

Maybe once or twice, but after 20+ posts, he’s had plenty of time to learn.

5. “At least he’s not claiming the art as his own.”

That’s the bare minimum.

Also, multiple people have told me they thought that was his art due to the unclear credit, this can also be seen on the reblogs. And he doesn’t try to correct them.

Now you may be asking, how do I properly credit an artist then?

I will show you in the below examples, but on Tumblr (not cross-platform) I specifically encourage you to never repost someone’s work, just reblog the original post. Always check if the artists allow reposts in the first place in their bio and try to ask for permission before doing so.

Some basics are to mention the artist's name clearly in the caption and linking the original post.

Here’s 2 examples of how to properly credit an artist if you’re reposting them on a different platform.

1.

Art by @rokuii on Tumblr

(please support her!!💗💗)

2. Made by @sunriozz on (X/Tumblr)

also support her too! <3

End Note

This is not only a callout to him but also a callout to the many fanfic writers in this fandom who use fanart/fanedits in their fics (as a cover to grab attention, etc), and other art reposters in this fandom who use Pinterest without crediting the respective artists clearly in the post.

Suo’s repeated failure to credit artists properly is not just an oversight—it’s a pattern that prioritizes his own engagement over the visibility of the original creators. Whether intentional or not, this practice actively harms artists by preventing them from receiving the recognition and support they deserve. Please do not make the same mistakes as he did.

If he genuinely respects artists, he should:

Start clearly crediting artists in the captions, not just in hidden “source” links.

Retroactively update past posts with proper credit.

Refrain from reposting art unless he is willing to credit correctly or have permission from the artist.

There are other skeletons inside his closet and personal matters that I cannot publicly address, but they are worth considering. This post is also the reason why I haven’t been active in a while.

At the end of the day, artists deserve to be credited properly, not used for engagement. If you support artists, follow them directly, engage with their work, and avoid boosting repost accounts that don’t credit correctly.

[joeyalohadream]

💕☀️Joey's Masters of the Air Fanfiction Recommendations - Part 1 ☀️💕

Being part of a fandom that is small, yet so incredibly talented has been such a breath of fresh air for me. My reading list has been a mile long (and growing every day!) for far too long and I've recently been making more time for myself to simply read. And I wanted to take some time to shout out some of the wonderful stories and authors that I've really enjoyed lately.

All of these recommendations are Clegan stories because that is what I personally most enjoy reading. But there are other blogs and talented authors out there that write for all sorts of pairs in the fandom that I encourage people to engage with!

Adding a cut because it’s a looong post!

☀️ The Bucks in a Boat by magic_glow (not sure if the author has a tumblr!)

Explicit, Post-War, Falling in Love, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort

This is an AU based on the movie The Boys in the Boat (starring our lovely Callum). The plot follows John returning home from the war, where he still served as a B17 bomber pilot. But he enrolls in school and times are tough, so much like in the film, he tries out for the rowing team for the free room and board. Where he meets, and immediately forms a strong bond with, Gale Cleven. The author manages to keep the characterizations true, while still making them their own. They manage to incorporate almost every Mota character in a meaningful way and I especially love the sweet friendship between John and Brady in this one. It deals with the trauma of War and life and also displays a beautiful sense of camaraderie as they form as a team and learn to lean on one another. It’s wonderfully written and the world building is phenomenal. The pace is perfect and the story is compelling and John and Gale’s connection is explored with care. This is my current ‘comfort fic’ and I look forward to reading how it all develops. (And the title is so cute!)

☀️ He may be the Reason by c_goldthorn (@c-goldthorn)

Explicit, Mutual Pining, Romantic Comedy

This a modern au based on the movie Notting Hill and I recommend this one, whether or not you've seen the movie! As someone who has never seen the movie, this fic is my first experience with the plot and I'm loving every minute of it. The author infuses humor and care and love into her stories and you'll fall in love with all of the characters in this one. It's romantic and sweet and angsty and the longing is palpable. I am always patiently waiting for me. (And she has a couple of side stories in the universe posted as well that are very sweet!)

☀️ one way, or another by hart (@blixabargelds)

Explicit, Kidnapping, Strangers to Lovers, Getting Together

Okay, so literally everything that she writes is fantastic. No one quite hurts Gale like she does (lol) and it's done with care and reason and it's beautiful to read. This story though, it's hard to find words to describe it. It's a modern au where Gale orchestrates his own kidnapping (for reasons) and John is the kidnapper. A truly unique plot that is executed so perfectly that I read it twice in one weekend. It's angsty, especially as Gale's circumstances seem to get more and more bleak, yet there is this light, romantic air to it throughout because of the dynamic the author creates between John and Gale. It's FUN. And reading should be fun. It's truly a masterpiece and you'll be hooked from the first paragraph.

☀️ before you say 'cut', wait five more seconds by phlegmatic (@irregularcollapse)

Explicit, Actors AU, Workplace Relationship, Sharing a Bed

She is one of those gold standard creators in my opinion. Not just in the Mota fandom, but just in general. The way she tells a story is captivating and you get the sense that every word written is there for a specific reason. The care she puts into the craft is evident and appreciated and while I’m too shy to have ever really interacted with her, I’m such a huge fan. I could rave endlessly about her work, but onto the specific story I’m recommending! This story follows Gale, an up and coming actor that gets his 'big break' when he's cast as one of the leads in a big movie. He's starring alongside John, who is already an very established name in the industry. They fall into bed (and never really leave for long) and along the way, start to fall for each other. It is clear that this universe the author created means a lot to them. It is so authentic and focused on acting as a craft, as an artform and I learned a lot about the industry from reading this. The turmoil, buzzing under the surface, that Gale feels about his career and his future is so palpable and so vivid, I felt the anxiety along with him. Her version of John in this story is one of my favorites. He's sweet and raw and brash and caring. I really could gush forever about this one. The characterization is so impressive, they're them, but they're also hers and they're layered and real and beautiful. Honestly, just go read it. You'll understand why I rambled and still couldn't manage to say anything eloquent.

☀️ Packages and Pet Names by youllneverrecme (@recmeidareya)

Modern Setting, First Meetings, First Dates, PTSD

Any pet name you could possibly imagine John using for Gale, this author has already thought of them (and more!). In this one, Gale is a war veteran and John is his local UPS driver. I went into this one thinking it would be a silly, funny, sexy story (and it is!), but it also so much more than that. It's tender. And it's sweet and it's gentle. The way this author writes Gale is beautiful. He feels so real to me. The care and thoughtfulness that clearly went into his background as a Soldier is very important to me. And watching him open himself to new things, to John and to love? It's been a wonderful journey to be on. And John in this? Absolutely amazing. He's funny and sharp and soft and he cares about Gale so much. I am genuinely enjoying watching them fall in love in this and I can't wait to read more. Every one should be reading this.

☀️ just stay with me (baby stay with me) by bcoflove (@bcolfanfic)

Teen+, Modern Setting, NYC, First Kiss

This story is so sugary sweet. The author has created a 'Cornerstore AU', on tumblr and posted a fic on AO3 on Super Bowl Sunday and I'm a little obsessed. Gale moved to NYC and ended up in bad living situation. But he finds solace in visiting a corner store where John works. I'm in love with this version of Gale. He's unsure of himself and he's awkward and he's so sweet. And John is a force of nature. Funny and kind and in Gale's corner. I hope the author is inspired to write more for this au, because I'd read a 100,000 words of this.

☀️ Driving In Your Car (I've Never Felt Safer) by Thetrystingtree (@alienoresimagines)

GA, Mutual Pining, Boys in Love, Fluff

One of my favorite things about this authors writing is that it always feels a bit like I’m reading poetry when I read her stories. There’s a lightness, a beauty to the way she weaves words together. It’s vivid and authentic and I can clearly picture the settings and feel the emotions in her stories. This story in particular is such a sweet premise. Gale is tired and John drives him around base in the jeep to allow him to rest a bit. The other night, I was lying in bed and I wanted something calming and gentle to read before I fell asleep. So I went to this authors page and found this story to reread because I knew her words were what I was looking for in that moment. It's sweet and funny and, just like all of her stories, always the perfect bedtime story.

☀️ I Won't Go Where You Can't Follow by stars_remain2 (@stars-remain2)

Teen+, Whump, Violence, Protective John

If you know me, you know I have a weak spot for Gale whump and John being protective and this story has both in SPADES. It is a canon-divergence, looking a what if? scenario where Gale doesn't go over the wall and is punished for his escape attempt. He's beaten while John is forced to watch and it's brutal and painful, but so well written and so beautifully explored. The way the guys rally around Gale to help him get through the march, the way John cares for him, the way Gale is so self-sacrificing...it's all woven together into a fantastic story. The cliffhangers are killing me, but I'm hanging on because it's too good to stop. And I just know some supreme comfort is coming after all of the hurt.

☀️ Looking for Eight by VoluptuosPanic (@weimarweekly)

Explicit, Modern Setting, Rodeo AU, Repressed Feelings, Love

I'll embarrass myself if I go on to much about this fic because it brings me such joy. John is bronc rider and Gale is farrier. In this modern au, they met and spent a few days together on a road trip, years ago and then they reconnect at a rodeo. This story is so calming and so gentle and so tender it will melt you into goo. The authors style is so unique and beautiful. Her words flow together in a way that honestly reminds me of water running over river rocks in a stream. I swear I have a dopey smile on my face while I read each chapter (and then reread it). This fic is breathtaking and wonderful and just one of my favorites I've ever read. I've never read a sweeter version of Gale and John. They're so tender with each other I could melt into goo just thinking about them. Read it!

☀️ cicada season by Swify_Fox (@swifty-fox)

Explicit, Modern Setting, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Therapy

Oh, Swifty. A fandom staple and a masterclass talent. This fic is no exception. A modern au where Gale is a Phd student, working on an intense thesis breeding a rare breed of frogs and John is a contractor, hired to remodel the house Gale lives in with Crank and Marge. The research that went into this is evident and impressive and makes the story that much more compelling. Gale is practically made of barbed wire in this (for good reasons I dread to learn) and he's so three-dimensional. Each chapter begins with a therapy session for Gale as he works through trauma from his childhood. It's such a well crafted story in every aspect. John and Gale's dynamic is so fun and contentious and full of potential for something more. I'm in love with this one. You can feel the care that went into this one and every word you read means something special. Rachel's mind is truly a marvel and you are missing out if you haven't given this one a go yet.

This was fun! There is so much talent in this fandom and I have been having such a good time reading. As I was making this, I kept thinking of more and more, so I'm sure I'll be making another one of these at some point. 💕

For now though, I'm taking a little break from Tumblr. I'll still be writing and reading and posting on AO3, but I need some time off from social media for personal reasons.

Just wanted to spread some love before I disappear for a little while ❤️

[halfmouse]

I will admit to using the “chose not to use” on things that I wasn’t sure if anything would apply. An abundance of caution, if you will. But there are some things you’ll never see in my stories. I don’t write underage sex stories or rape/non-con stories. For that matter I don’t write sex stories at all. But there are some stories I have written (and will write) with violence, and sometimes it’s obvious whether it’s graphic or not but then sometimes I write something and then go, “Is that graphic? Hmmm…better put “chose not to use archive warnings” just in case. Major character death, sometimes, but so far the only story of mine that applies to is “A Place For Her Name” for obvious reasons. Basically if a character never died in canon they’re not gonna die in my stories (and of course you already know about “Life is Stronger” specifically avoiding an MCD that happened in canon because I DIDN’T LIKE THAT PART!!!)

This is a Moving Forward PSA for everyone using AO3. I am witnessing the results of a culture clash and communication failure. Not a lack of communication, but a misunderstanding caused by changes in fandom culture.

Before fic tagging was common, fics weren’t tagged. You had a pairing, if applicable, an author’s note about genre or general content, and if they were feeling charitable, a vague content warning. There are even a few genres of fic where even vaguely tagging literally spoils the plot and impact (such as horror, psyche thriller, in which the likely content is implicit to the genre). As a result, there is a basic category tag that permits this, as a courtesy to “old-fashioned” writers.

“No Archive Warnings Apply” means the fic is PG13 at worst, probably fluff, totally safe.

“Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings” is the polar opposite. It’s a glaring Enter at Your Own Risk billboard. It means: a shitload of warnings apply but I ain’t telling because this story requires shock value. It’s very important to read the author’s notes for those fics because they might be using that older format from above.

But without the context of fandom culture that generated AO3, it’s understandably easy to conflate the two categories, given their similar wording.

[albatris]

I totally understand the push back against therapy speak in novels when it's boring and shoehorned in and out of character and Every Character but like therapy speak itself isn't the problem, it's about whether it's Interesting, whether it's In Character, whether there's still conflict, etc etc etc n like

1) how many genre fiction books can you honestly name where a psychotic character speaks frankly about their psychosis

2) there is still a lot of interesting ground to explore with a character who HAS been in therapy and knows the lingo

3) there's really really funny potential for a character who speaks all the therapy speak and knows Why they're deranged but is still absolutely deranged

[weloveluigi]

Why are people canceling Luigi Mangione (and why you shouldn't believe it)

This is a forewarning of impending LM drama

Context: Luigi Mangione, notoriously vouched for—by everyone—as a good and kind person, was spiraling mentally before going missing and changing his identity in 2024. He was in a lot of severe pain, suffered a failed surgery to repair his broken back, and underwent a traumatic event in Japan that involved either seeing a man die, or nearly die, in spite of his best attempts to get him help. He spoke about this and his mental health struggles at the time with a man named Gurwinder.

During that time, Luigi began to become nihilistic and posted a lot of frankly cringe rants on Twitter/x where he was unsurprisingly immediately dog piled on by redpill edgelords who treated him like shit and essentially bullied him off of Twitter/x for not being cruel or edgy enough to appease them. Luigi then deleted his edgy tweets from that time and never spoke to any of them again.

What's happening:

One of those guys who bullied Luigi on Twitter/x, Max/Minordissent—a bigoted, transphobic, racist misogynist, who openly uses the R slur and other hateful rhetoric—who has since stated he hopes Luigi Mangione gets the death penalty, is back.

He is now waiting until Luigi's trial the 21st of February so he can "leak DMs" supposedly showing Luigi Mangione's desperate attempts to have a friend wherein he alleges Luigi had reached out to him for friendship and they engaged in a hate filled conversation. He is hoping to 'expose Luigi as a bigoted person' despite minordissent being literally the exact kind of person he's trying to get Luigi canceled for being. The troll in question—assuming he hasn't faked the screenshots because he's a troll and who mind you, hates Luigi for "not being bigoted enough"— is hoping to throw a wrench at Luigi Mangione's case while his life is on the line, mid trial. He literally wants Luigi to die. He's hoping when he "leaks the DMs" people will stop supporting Luigi and offset the jury's opinions of him.

Minordissent thinks that it would be funny if this caused Luigi to ultimately lose his trial and eventually be killed through Capitol punishment. Which due to unprecedented terrorism charges could be by firing squad.

I want to remind you all:

There is no reason to believe anything Max/Minordissent says or screenshots because he's a troll. He's an unreliable character witness at best, and he's also a person of extremely low moral character.

To date, we only have screenshots of him arguing with Luigi, it's possible that at no point did Luigi even want to be this guy's friend, but was instead being harassed by him.

Don't let whatever these upcoming real or fake screenshots do or don't show, dictate whether you want Luigi Mangione to live or die. I know that internet drama can be "juicy" but this is a young man whose life is in your hands. A most likely innocent man who is facing the death penalty, for an alleged act of heroism no less.

If you want to know if Luigi is actually a bigot, write him a letter. Tell him about what you go through as a minority. Ask Luigi if those screenshots are real, if they depict how he currently feels, ask him if those thoughts have changed. Let him know it means a lot to you if he promises to change those beliefs.

Let the poor man speak for himself for once instead of just sentencing him to his literal death over whatever some nutjob on Twitter says. It's very possible Luigi, as a white, possibly straight man, at some point did say or believe something that is hateful. Help him grow and do better if that's the case. He's a human being. He can't get better if you kill him.

[margonite-seer]

Hello, it's yappin' o'clock for me so I need to yell a little about one of the moments we as Hansry addicts sleep on a lot.

You know the war council meeting just before the romance scene? The one where they make up the suicide plan to get reinforcements and sabotage the Praguers' camp and where Henry and Samuel agree to go together?

What really gets me in this scene is Hans.

At first, he is willing to have the entire room draw straws on who will go. Which is very in character for him, because it is quirky, a bit childish, and reckless without any sense of logical thinking of choice with it but actually very objective and pushing for equality at the same time. He does not exclude himself from this list of people who would draw straws, but he does not put himself to the front either.

That all changes completely when Henry says he will go (whether alone or with Sam). The moment Hans hears this, he leaps at the opportunity to go with him.

No hesitation whatsoever.

He just does immediately because Henry is going.

I know Žižka commends Hans' bravery but, with all respect to Hans, I actually think it has less to do with his general bravery and more with this blind unquestionable loyalty and attachment that boils down to a very simple "wherever Henry goes, I go" and this intensifies if it's something serious and dangerous (as opposed to, let's say, a trivial event such as Henry doing chores for someone).

Hans just cannot comprehend the thought of staying behind when Henry is willingly putting himself in danger, double so now that this is late in the game and by now Hans is neck deep in love with Henry and fully knows it himself. He omits all planning, he talks before he thinks here. Before he declares he is going too, he doesn't stop for a second to even start pondering what Žižka replies with and what we all (and Hans should too) knows is true: that it would be unwise for Hans to go due to his political importance.

And then, finally, Hans realizes that he is not going to be joining Henry. That Henry will go without him on this mission that everyone in the room claims to be dangerous at best, clearly suicidal at worst. And he is so upset by this that he swears in Czech that angry frustrated "Fine.... Kurva." First of all, swearing like this under his breath is so unusual for Hans, as he usually lets the whole world know when he is pissed off. And this was the first and only time (correct me if I am wrong, I did not watch that much of English dub) that he swears in Czech in the English dub, bringing even more primal emotions to the situation. (Breaks the immersion a bit after the developers tried so hard to anglicize him by changing his name and all but whatever, that is for another post.)

He does not even sulk like an angry spoiled child, he is scared and desperate. He deflates, protectively terrified of the fact that yet again he won't be there for Henry. And this is even more obvious shortly after during THE romance scene. The entire story about Lancelot and Galehaut was, as we know, obviously a way to tell Henry he loves him but also to tell him how absolutely terrified he is for him. We all heard the way his voice shook when he was not even able to finish his thought about what would happen if anything happened to Henry.

However, what chilled me a lot watching this scene was what happened right after. And right before Henry puts his hand on Hans'.

"I'll be back."

At that, Hans shakes his head.

In a way that he looks like he wants to shake that sentence out of his head, to forget that Henry even said it in the first place. Because it sounds too much like a goodbye. And Hans knows this is a suicide mission, so Henry saying he will be back is just empty words that will make Hans hurt even more if Henry does not come back, right?

Hearing Henry say this as such a rare occurrence just further proves to Hans that this truly is a suicide mission where Henry is in a very high danger of dying/getting captured and never returning. And that just sends him spiralling even further into the despair that he might lose Henry and he cannot do anything about it because he must stay behind for the greater good.

And then, only then, Henry puts his hand on Hans'. When he sees how upset he is. "I promise you." That alone could have sent Hans even deeper into panic, because hearing promises sounds too much like a goodbye yet again, but Henry grounds him and brings him back to earth by putting his hand on his reassuringly.

And the rest is history, as Hans completely folds under the weight of his feelings.

Anyway this was a yap and a half, but I just love this love story so much. It has soooo many little gradual things that I will cherish this so beautifully done slow burn romance forever.

[cei1ne]

—What the MHA men do for you on Valentine’s Day, aka the most romantic holiday! Pt.2

*♡∞:｡.Summary: Headcanons and Scenarios of a few MHA men on Valentine’s Day and what they’re doing and how they’re acting. Part 2!

✧༻Pairing: Shouta Aizawa (Erasurehead) ; Keigo Takami (Hawks) ; Enji Todoroki (Endeavor) ; Shoto Todoroki; Tenya Iida

❀°:.•Tags: Fluff ; Cute ; Love life ; Valentine’s Day ; Married ; Dating ; Tsundere ; Quiet lovers ; Gift giving ; Loving

•∘ɷ∘•°✿Wordcount: 13k

⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*A/N: Part two even if it isn’t Valentine’s Day anymore! And I hope I included everyone and if someone wants another character included, write it below and enjoy it! I tried my best and English isn’t my first language! I literally fell asleep while writing this so I didn’t post it yesterday I’m sorry!!! Anyways doing this omw home from school rn.

Part 1!

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Headcanons of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

1. Minimalist but Meaningful: Aizawa isn’t one for flashy displays of affection. He believes love is shown through actions rather than extravagant gifts, so his Valentine’s Day efforts are always subtle but deeply personal.

2. Quality Time Over Everything: He cherishes a quiet evening with you more than anything. A cozy night in, wrapped in blankets with a cup of tea and a good book (or cat videos playing in the background), is his ideal way to spend Valentine’s Day.

3. Handwritten Notes: He’s not one for grand speeches, but he’ll leave you little notes throughout the day. Some are simple reminders like “Don’t forget to eat” or “Be safe,” but on Valentine’s Day, they’re slightly softer—things like “Thank you for being my peace” or “I love coming home to you.”

4. Subtle Protectiveness: Aizawa shows his love in quiet ways, like keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk or placing a protective hand on your back in crowded areas. On Valentine’s Day, he might not say much, but the way he instinctively reaches for your hand when walking tells you everything you need to know.

5. Soft but Rare Romantic Gestures: Every once in a while, he’ll surprise you with something small but meaningful. Maybe it’s a gift card to your favorite café, or a book you mentioned weeks ago. He remembers every little detail about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright.

Teigo Takami

1. Over-the-Top Romantic: Hawks doesn’t do anything halfway, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. He’ll go all out—think extravagant gestures, surprise dates, and dramatic declarations of love. He wants to make sure you know just how much you mean to him.

2. Loves Giving and Receiving Affection: He thrives on physical touch, so expect lots of hugs, kisses, and playful touches throughout the day. He’ll tease you endlessly but will also drop unexpectedly heartfelt compliments that leave you flustered.

3. Sky-High Dates: If he could, he’d spend the entire day flying around with you in his arms, showing you breathtaking views. He loves the idea of sharing his world with you—literally. Sunset flights are his personal favorite way to celebrate.

4. Acts Like He’s Effortless (But He Secretly Plans Everything): He makes it seem like he threw the whole day together last minute, but in reality, he’s been planning for weeks. He wants everything to be perfect, even if he pretends he’s just winging it.

5. Loves Spoiling You: Expect a ridiculous number of gifts. From your favorite snacks to limited-edition merch of things you casually mentioned once, Hawks remembers every detail about you. He enjoys seeing your face light up when he surprises you with something special.

Enji Todoroki

1. Traditional but Awkward: Enji isn’t great with romance, but he tries. He’ll stick to classic Valentine’s traditions—dinner reservations, flowers, maybe a small gift—but there’s an underlying awkwardness to it because he’s still learning how to express affection properly.

2. Acts Stoic but Cares Deeply: He won’t openly gush about his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. Whether it’s making sure you’re safe, subtly adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, or paying attention to the little things you like, he shows love in his own quiet way.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Moments: He’s not a fan of public displays of affection, but in private, he’s surprisingly tender. He enjoys peaceful evenings at home where he can relax and just be with you without the weight of his hero persona.

4. Overprotective Without Realizing It: If he sees someone flirting with you, his mere presence alone is enough to scare them off. He doesn’t mean to be intimidating, but his intense aura makes it clear that you’re his and no one should overstep boundaries.

5. Struggles with Words but Means Well: He might not say “I love you” often, but when he does, it carries a lot of weight. Instead, he expresses his feelings through thoughtful gestures—cooking for you, making sure you’re taken care of, or pulling you into a firm yet warm embrace.

Shoto Todoroki

1. Understated but Thoughtful: Shoto isn’t one for grand gestures, but he makes sure whatever he does is deeply meaningful. He’ll remember little details—your favorite flowers, a book you mentioned wanting, or a place you’ve always wanted to visit—and incorporate them into his plans.

2. Still Learning About Romance: Since he didn’t grow up around affectionate relationships, he sometimes struggles with expressing his feelings. He might ask his friends (or even Google) for advice, but in the end, he always puts his own quiet, genuine effort into making you feel special.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Dates: He’d rather spend quality time with you in a peaceful setting than go somewhere loud or extravagant. A cozy evening at home, a walk through a snowy park, or a simple but meaningful outing is more his style.

4. Gives Sentimental Gifts: He doesn’t just buy random chocolates or flowers; whatever he gives you has personal significance. It might be a piece of jewelry with an engraving, a hand-written letter, or something that reminds him of a special moment you shared.

5. Subtle but Deeply Loving: Shoto isn’t the type to gush about his feelings, but he shows them in quiet ways—holding your hand just a little tighter, making sure you’re warm when it’s cold, or brushing your hair behind your ear when he thinks you’re not looking.

Tenya Iida

1. Extremely Organized and Thorough: Tenya treats Valentine’s Day like an important mission. He plans everything—the schedule, the restaurant, backup plans in case something goes wrong. He wants the day to go smoothly because he believes showing appreciation should be done properly.

2. A Perfect Gentleman: He insists on doing everything chivalrously—opening doors, pulling out chairs, walking on the side of the street closest to traffic. He sees it as his duty to make sure you feel cherished and respected.

3. Loves Meaningful Gestures: While he enjoys classic gifts like chocolates and flowers, he prefers giving things with significance. He’ll write you a heartfelt letter, compose a list of reasons why he admires you, or craft a personalized itinerary for a day that’s all about you.

4. Gets Flustered Easily but Tries His Best:He isn’t the smoothest when it comes to romance, and any teasing on your part will make him short-circuit a little. But he’s genuine—every nervous compliment, every overly enthusiastic gesture comes from the heart.

5. Believes in Long-Term Commitment: He doesn’t view love as something fleeting. If he’s with you, he’s serious about it. Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romance to him—it’s about reaffirming his dedication to you, now and in the future.

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Scenarios of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal for Aizawa.

He had always seen it as just another commercialized holiday—an excuse for florists to double their prices and for restaurants to be packed with couples forcing awkward, overly romantic gestures. But you? You had a way of making things different.

It wasn’t about the flowers or the chocolates. It wasn’t about expensive gifts or elaborate dates. It was about time—something Aizawa cherished more than anything. And if there was one thing he wanted to give you today, it was just that.

Which was why, instead of planning something extravagant, he left a simple note for you that morning.

“Meet me at home after work. Don’t be late.”

He didn’t need to say more. He knew you’d understand. Period we know our man

When you arrived that evening, the apartment was unusually quiet. The usual hum of the city was muffled through the closed windows, and the space was dimly lit by a few warm lamps.

You found Aizawa sitting on the couch, his hair still damp from a shower, dressed in his usual loungewear with his capture weapon loosely draped over his shoulders. The scent of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, and next to him on the table was a second cup—waiting for you.

“You’re late,” he murmured, though his tone held no real annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, setting your bag down. “By like, five minutes.”

He hummed in response, patting the empty space beside him. Without hesitation, you sank into his warmth, letting out a content sigh as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, taking the tea into your hands. It was your favorite blend—just the way you liked it.

Aizawa exhaled, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. “You work hard. You deserve a quiet night.”

A pause.

“And I wanted to spend today with you.”

Your heart swelled at the softness in his voice. You tilted your head up, pressing a small kiss to his jaw. “You’re kind of a romantic, you know that?”

He scoffed. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, settling deeper into his warmth. If this was his idea of Valentine’s Day, you wouldn’t change a thing.

_________________________________

He wasn’t one to make long, heartfelt declarations. He wouldn’t shower you in grand romantic speeches. But love, in its truest form, was woven into everything he did.

It was in the way he woke up earlier than usual to make sure you had coffee before work. The way he made sure you never skipped meals, even if it meant shoving a snack into your hands before you left the house. The way he always pulled you closer in his sleep, even if he swore he wasn’t a clingy sleeper.

And tonight, it was in the way he planned this—a simple, quiet night in, just the two of you.

“Did you eat today?” he asked after a while, his fingers still idly stroking your arm.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Uh… kind of?”

Aizawa sighed, already expecting that answer. Without a word, he reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a small takeout bag, handing it to you. “Figured as much. I ordered your favorite earlier.”

Your eyes widened as you peeked inside, finding neatly packed containers of your go-to comfort food. The warmth of the meal seeped through the bag, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

“You’re the best,” you mumbled, already opening the first container.

Aizawa smirked slightly. “I know.”

You nudged him with your elbow, and he let out a low chuckle before settling back into the couch.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with constant conversation. The occasional clink of utensils and the soft hum of the city outside were the only sounds that filled the space.

It was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfect.

And when you finished eating, Aizawa gently pulled you back into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you with quiet possessiveness.

“Comfy?” he murmured.

You nodded against his chest. “Very.”

Aizawa let out a content sigh, his chin resting atop your head. “Good.”

Because this? This was everything he needed.

_________________________________

At some point in the night, Aizawa shifted, reaching for something on the coffee table.

You blinked as he handed you a small envelope, the edges slightly creased from being in his pocket all day.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning it over curiously.

He shrugged, looking away as if he wasn’t mildly self-conscious about it. “Just open it.” We know damn well you got sweaty ass hands rn

You carefully tore the envelope open, pulling out a simple piece of paper. It wasn’t a store-bought Valentine’s card or anything fancy—just a plain sheet with his handwriting scrawled across it.

“You’re the best part of my days. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t overly poetic. But it was him. Straightforward. Honest.

And it meant everything.

Your chest tightened as you looked up at him. “Shouta…”

Aizawa cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s dumb, I know. But I figured you deserved more than just dinner and a quiet night.”

You smiled, carefully folding the note and holding it close to your heart. “It’s not dumb. It’s perfect.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if reassured by your reaction.

You set the note aside and leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Aizawa responded instantly, his grip tightening around your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was deep, unhurried—filled with unspoken words that neither of you needed to say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his jawline.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Aizawa hummed, his fingers tangling in your hair. “For what?”

“For loving me in your own way.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “You make it easy.”

You laughed softly, curling back into him as he pulled the blanket tighter around you both.

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and quiet love, you knew one thing for certain—Aizawa didn’t need grand gestures to show how much he cared.

Because love wasn’t just about words. It was in the little things. The quiet moments. The simple gestures that spoke louder than anything else.

And Aizawa Shouta loved you in every way that mattered.

Keigo Takami

You should have expected something extravagant from Hawks.

You’d barely woken up when a knock sounded at your door. Still groggy, you shuffled over, cracking it open to see a delivery worker holding an absurdly large bouquet—bright red roses with golden-tipped petals.

“Delivery for Y/N,” they said cheerfully.

You accepted the flowers, your sleepy brain still processing the fact that Hawks had gone this over the top already. Tucked between the roses was a small note with his signature scribbled across it.

“Get ready, babe. Your wings arrive in 10 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to question it before, true to his word, Keigo himself swooped down from the sky, landing on your balcony with a dazzling grin.

“Morning, beautiful!” he greeted, stretching his arms out as if waiting for you to run into them. “Ready for the best Valentine’s Day of your life?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Keigo, it’s barely 9 AM. How did you even—?”

He held up a finger. “Ah-ah, no questions! Just trust me.”

With a dramatic bow, he extended a hand toward you. “Your ride awaits, my love.”

You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips as you took his hand. “This better not get too crazy.”

Keigo laughed. “No promises, babe.

And with that, he wrapped his arms securely around you and took off, the wind rushing past as he carried you into the sky.

_________________________________

Keigo’s idea of a Valentine’s Day date was anything but ordinary.

He took you to a private rooftop garden—one you were pretty sure he technically wasn’t supposed to have access to, but when had that ever stopped him? The space was beautifully set up, a cozy little table adorned with your favorite breakfast pastries, fresh fruit, and, of course, more flowers.

“Keigo…” you breathed, taking in the scene.

He beamed, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Pretty sweet, huh? Thought we’d start the day off right—with the best view in town.”

He wasn’t wrong. The city stretched out beneath you, bathed in the golden hues of the morning sun. It was peaceful up here, away from the noise and chaos below.

As you both settled in, Keigo wasted no time in teasing you. “Sooo, on a scale of one to ‘I’m totally in love with you,’ how much do you adore me right now?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest made it impossible to deny how much effort he’d put into this. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “That’s not a no.”

You took a bite of your pastry, pretending to ignore him. “Mmm, this is good.”

Keigo pouted. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll take that as an ‘I’m swooning but too proud to admit it.’”

You snorted, and he laughed, reaching across the table to brush his fingers against yours. His playful energy softened for a moment, his golden eyes warm as they met yours.

“Seriously, though,” he murmured, “I know I joke a lot, but I really do mean it when I say you’re the best thing in my life, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Keigo might’ve been all about grand gestures, but moments like this? The quiet sincerity in his voice, the way his fingers lingered against yours—those were the things that truly made your heart soar.

_________________________________

The day had been a whirlwind—after breakfast, Keigo had taken you on a literal sky tour, swooping through the clouds, pointing out places below with a childlike excitement that was contagious. He’d surprised you with little gifts throughout the day, each one something personal and thoughtful.

Now, as the sun began to set, the two of you sat on a high-rise rooftop, watching the city lights flicker to life.

Keigo exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Man, today was perfect.

You laughed. “I think you just like showing off your flight skills.”

He smirked. “Guilty. But mostly, I just like making you smile.”

You turned to him, your heart full. “You do that every day, Keigo.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your breath hitched.

“Relax, it’s not that kind of ring,” he teased, flipping the box open to reveal a delicate golden band—a simple, beautiful design, engraved with tiny feathers along the inside.

He took your hand, slipping it onto your finger. “Just a little something to remind you that no matter where I am—whether I’m on duty, flying across the country, or caught up in hero work—you’re always with me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes stinging with emotion. “Keigo…”

He tilted his head. “Too much?”

You shook your head, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Keigo chuckled, wrapping his wings around you, cocooning you in warmth. “That’s my line, babe.” WHOAAWHOHOAAAA

As the city buzzed beneath you, as the stars blinked awake in the sky, you realized something—this wasn’t just another extravagant display of affection.

This was Keigo, in all his chaotic, loving, fiercely devoted glory.

And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Enji Todoroki

Enji wasn’t the kind of man who put much thought into holidays.

Or at least, he never used to.

Valentine’s Day had always seemed like an unnecessary, over-commercialized event—something flashy and superficial. But then you came into his life, and suddenly, things he never cared about before started to matter.

Which was why, despite his usual reluctance toward romantic gestures, he found himself standing in the middle of a flower shop, staring at a display of roses with an intensity that made the store clerk nervous.

“Do you… need help, sir?” the clerk asked hesitantly.

Enji exhaled through his nose. “What do people usually buy for… these occasions?”

The poor clerk stammered out a few suggestions, but Enji barely listened, his mind already preoccupied with something else. He wanted to get this right. He wanted to try.

By the time he left the shop, he had a bouquet in one hand and a small, neatly wrapped box in the other. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And for you, he was willing to learn.

_________________________________

When you arrived home thoat evening, you were surprised to find Enji already there, standing in the kitchen with an almost uncertain expression.

“You’re early,” you noted, setting your bag down.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I took the evening off.”

Your eyebrows raised. Endeavor? Taking a break on purpose? That was rare. But before you could comment, he stepped forward, handing you the bouquet without a word.

You blinked, looking between him and the flowers. “Are these… for me?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze flickering away as if embarrassed. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I figured…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair before exhaling. “I wanted to do something for you.”

Your heart softened at the effort.

You took the flowers carefully, brushing your fingers over the petals. “They’re beautiful, Enji. Thank you.”

There was a noticeable tension in his shoulders, like he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But at your gentle smile, he relaxed—just a little.

“There’s more,” he muttered, stepping aside to reveal a carefully set dining table. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was clear that he had gone out of his way to prepare a meal.

Your chest tightened with warmth. “You cooked?”

He grunted, crossing his arms. “I tried.”

It was such an Enji way to approach things—no grand declarations, no overly sentimental words. A quiet effort. A steady, unwavering presence.

And that meant more to you than any extravagant gesture ever could.

_________________________________

After dinner, the two of you found yourselves sitting together in the dim glow of the fireplace.

It was rare for Enji to have a moment like this—where he wasn’t burdened by work or his own self-imposed expectations. But tonight, he let himself relax, leaning back against the couch as you curled up beside him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.

His arm tightened around you slightly. “I wanted to.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room.

After a moment, Enji reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box he had bought earlier. Without a word, he handed it to you

Curious, you opened it, revealing a delicate pendant in the shape of a flame—elegant yet understated, just like him.

Your breath hitched. “Enji…”

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the moment. “It reminded me of you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers tightening around the chain. “It’s perfect.”

For a man who often struggled to express himself, this was his way of saying everything he couldn’t put into words.

You turned to him, reaching up to gently cup his face. “Thank you. For this. For tonight.”

His eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t look away. “You deserve it.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw before settling back into his embrace.

Enji Todoroki wasn’t a man of grand speeches or poetic words.

But his love was a slow-burning fire—steady, unwavering, and fiercely protective.

And as you sat there, wrapped in his warmth, you knew one thing for certain.

This was enough.

Because Enji didn’t need to say “I love you” for you to know that he did.

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto had never celebrated Valentine’s Day before.

Growing up, it was just another day—no warm memories, no traditions, no excitement. But now, with you, things were different. He wanted to make this day special for you, even if he wasn’t sure how.

Which was why, two weeks before Valentine’s, he found himself sitting in the dorm common room, quietly taking notes as his friends debated the best ways to celebrate.

“Chocolate is a must,” Kaminari declared. “Girls love chocolate!”

“Not just chocolate, though,” Kirishima chimed in. “It’s gotta be thoughtful. Something that means something to her.”

Shoto frowned slightly, tapping his pen against the notebook in front of him. He had already planned to get you chocolates, but clearly, that wasn’t enough.

“What are you writing?” Midoriya asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Shoto casually closed the notebook. “Nothing.”

Midoriya gave him a knowing smile but didn’t push.

By the time February 14th arrived, Shoto had everything planned. He wasn’t sure if it was perfect, but it was the best way he knew how to show you how much you meant to him.

_________________________________

The morning of Valentine’s Day, you woke up to find a neatly wrapped package waiting for you outside your door.

Curious, you picked it up, carefully unwrapping it to find a beautiful scarf inside—soft, thick, and woven with shades of deep red and icy blue. A small note was tucked inside.

“It reminded me of us. Meet me at the front gates at 5 PM. –Shoto”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness. It wasn’t just a random gift; it was something personal, something that reflected the two of you.

When the time came, you made your way to the front of UA, where Shoto was already waiting, his breath visible in the crisp winter air

“You’re wearing it,” he noted, his voice quiet but pleased.

“Of course,” you said, adjusting the scarf around your neck. “It’s perfect.”

His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “I’m glad.”

Without another word, he took your hand, leading you down a quiet path toward a secluded park. Snow had begun to fall gently around you, dusting the ground in a thin, glistening layer.

“I wanted to take you somewhere peaceful,” he admitted. “Just the two of us.”

You squeezed his hand, touched by his consideration. “This is perfect, Shoto.”

For a while, the two of you simply walked, the silence between you warm and comfortable. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, as if making sure you were enjoying yourself.

Eventually, he stopped near a small clearing, pulling out a thermos from his coat pocket.

“I made hot chocolate,” he said, a little hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if it would taste right, but… I wanted to try.”

Your heart melted at the sight of him—so earnest, so genuinely trying to make this day special for you.

Taking the cup from his hands, you took a sip and smiled. “It’s perfect, just like everything else today.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the snowfall around you.

“I never really understood what Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about,” he admitted. “But now… I think I do.”

You tilted your head. “And what do you think it’s about?”

His fingers tightened around yours, his gaze steady.

“Being with the person who makes everything feel warmer,” he said simply.

Your breath caught.

And then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

_________________________________

After your walk, Shoto took you back to his dorm room, where he had one last surprise waiting.

On his desk sat a small wooden box, carved with delicate patterns along the edges. He picked it up, holding it out to you.

“I made this,” he said, a little shyly. “I’m still learning, so it’s not perfect, but…”

You opened the box, your eyes widening at what was inside.

It was a collection of small, folded notes—each one carefully written, each one meant just for you.

You picked up the first one, unfolding it to read.

“I admire you more than I know how to say.”

Swallowing thickly, you reached for another.

“I want to be someone who makes you as happy as you make me.”

Your hands trembled as you looked back up at him. “Shoto, this is…”

He shifted, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I’m not good at saying how I feel sometimes,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to know. So… whenever you need to hear it, you can read one of these.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet but powerful way he showed his love.

Setting the box down carefully, you stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He stiffened slightly at first, then melted into your embrace, his arms coming around you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You don’t need to say anything,” you murmured against his chest. “I already know.”

He sighed softly, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it.

Your heart clenched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I love you too, Shoto.”

His lips twitched, and then, for the first time that night, a full, genuine smile broke across his face.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, as his warmth surrounded you, you knew that this—this—was what love truly felt like.

Tenya Iida

Valentine’s Day was not a day Tenya Iida took lightly.

If he was going to celebrate love, he was going to do it right.

Which was why, the night before, he had mapped out everything. The perfect date, the best restaurant, even the precise timing of each event. His notebook was filled with color-coded plans and contingency strategies—because if there was one thing Iida disliked, it was unforeseen obstacles.

So when February 14th arrived, he was ready.

Or at least, he thought he was.

Because the moment he saw you walking toward him, dressed beautifully with a bright smile just for him, every ounce of structure in his brain short-circuited.

“Tenya?” you tilted your head, amused at his frozen stance.

He quickly snapped out of it, adjusting his glasses. “A-Ah! Yes! You look absolutely stunning! I—I mean, I knew you always looked lovely, but today you look particularly—uh—let us begin our scheduled itinerary!”

You giggled, slipping your arm through his. “Lead the way, Mr. Class President.”

And just like that, his carefully crafted plan began.

_________________________________

The first stop on his itinerary was a highly-rated restaurant, one he had called weeks in advance to secure the best table.

Except when you arrived, a flustered hostess greeted you with an apologetic bow.

“We’re so sorry, but there was a mix-up in the reservations, and we’re currently at full capacity.”

Tenya stiffened. “Impossible! I confirmed my reservation three times!”

“I—I know, sir! But unfortunately, the system—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand on Tenya’s arm, soothing him instantly. “It’s okay, we can go somewhere else,” you reassured him.

Tenya inhaled sharply, composing himself before turning to you. “I refuse to let this minor inconvenience ruin our evening. Allow me to activate Plan B!”

You bit back a smile. “Plan B?”

“Yes! I anticipated the possibility of restaurant complications and have prepared an alternate location!” He straightened proudly, adjusting his tie. “Come, my love, we shall proceed to the next venue!”

Your heart melted a little at the title—he rarely called you that out loud.

Plan B turned out to be a charming little café with a rooftop garden. Though it wasn’t his original plan, the cozy atmosphere and twinkling fairy lights made it feel even more special.

As you sat across from him, sipping your drinks, he exhaled in relief. “I apologize for the mishap earlier. I wanted today to be flawless.”

You reached over, taking his hand. “It already is, Tenya. Because it’s with you.”

The redness that spread across his face was immediate.

_________________________________

After dinner, Tenya’s itinerary included a peaceful evening walk, but the universe seemed determined to test him once more.

It started raining.

Not just a light drizzle—a downpour.

Tenya groaned, gripping his umbrella tightly. “This was not in the forecast!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, absolutely delighted by the turn of events. “Maybe we should just go with the flow, Tenya.”

“But—but our plans—”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “We don’t need plans. As long as we’re together, that’s enough.”

His blue eyes searched yours, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “You’re right,” he murmured, covering your hands with his own.

Then, in a rare moment of spontaneity, he tugged you close and pressed a firm, passionate kiss to your lips.

The rain poured around you, but neither of you cared.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was each other.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

I don't know why I bite (Dean Winchester x female reader)

You and Dean can’t stop fighting, so Sam locks you in a room together, literally, to hash it out.

Read it on AO3

Rated E, 18+. 6.9k words. Violence. Rough sex. Everyone's pretty dysfunctional. General hurt. Biting. Dean + dog metaphors because it just makes sense.

I don't really know how I feel about posting long fics like this here - it seems a little awkward to read, but I'm gonna let y'all decide whether you like this format.

My friends think I like to fight, but it's just not true. Sometimes I lose my temper and blow off a little steam, but I've never enjoyed it.

I'm not a violent dog.

I don't know why I bite.

- Isle of Dogs

Dean Winchester is driving you crazy.

From the first moment you mouth off to him when you first meet you know you found a good sparring partner.

He’s quick, you’re quicker. You’re clever, he’s more clever. He grins at your teasing and you laugh at some of the jabs he gets in.

It works, because you’re both intensely aware of your own roles, your own pitfalls – you can’t hurt him by making fun of something that’s part of the character he’s created, because it’s not really him you’re making fun of. It’s the same the other way around.

You make fun of how much sex he has with strangers, because it’s part of his bad boy glamour, just another coping mechanism.

He makes fun of your excessive violence towards the less humanoid monsters you fight, because he knows you don’t actually enjoy it, that you do it to look tough in this boy’s club that is hunting, that your hands shake when you wash them later.

You make fun of his love for his car, but never of the fact that it’s one of the few kindnesses his father’s ever given him, because the first is fair game but the second would be like pushing a knife between his ribs.

He makes fun of how jumpy and irritable you are sometimes, but never of how often you wake up screaming, because one has been weaved as a silly trait into your personality and the other he knows too well himself.

How well you have to know each other, how intimate the understanding of that line you don’t cross is, is something neither of you is willing to look at. It’s like surgery, sometimes, how close you have to cut to the line, to give the other one that thrill of being known, of being seen, but never of being known too well, of being watched. That would go too far.

If Dean or you were able to take that, you wouldn’t need those intrinsic personas to shield you from everything that could be painful.

You’ve known each other for about a year when it takes a turn. It doesn’t happen on purpose and, looking back, it’s no one’s fault.

You’re attracted to Dean because, well, you have two eyes and a sex drive. You know he is attracted to you because he checks you out, which, well, Dean would probably check out a wall if it had a nice pair, but he does it with a look in his eyes that’s different, that’s not the mask he uses to bang waitresses and co-eds and unhappy wives, all non-descript shadow people passing through his life.

Potentially something could have come of it. Maybe, if one of you would have been lonely enough or horny enough, you could have let your personas, your life-long starring roles, play with each other. It probably would have been hot, but performative, both of you too busy to prove how much you don’t need to be there.

It doesn’t happen that way, though, because this happens:

Dean and you are hurt, which isn’t unusual. You can’t open your right eye so well and you hear a whistle every time you exhale. Dean’s got blood running down his face from a cut somewhere in his hair and the thing you were hunting speared him with a pen, a pen, because that’s what was in reach when Dean was standing over it, getting ready to beat its head in. It wanted to live, and you can’t think about that too much because if you do you think you’ll be sick.

Essentially, you both look like you’re on death’s door, so you don’t go back to Sam, because you know it will terrify him. Instead, you stop at a gas station, get everything you need to imitate a visit to the emergency room. The guy working at the gas station looks at you two and you must look like Natural Born Killers but neither of you cares. You get a bottle of shitty whiskey as well.

Then you hunker down, in the cheapest pay-by-the-hour motel you’ve ever seen. There’s red neon everywhere and you don’t even want to know what the room would look like under a black light.

“You first,” you say to Dean, and he complains, but you push him down on the chair you’ve moved to the middle of the room. “Stabbed beats carved-in lung,” you say, and Dean scoffs, which makes him cough.

“Anything to get to put your hands on me, huh?” he jokes when he’s recovered. You sort of chuckle, trying to find the cut on his head first. “Been a long time, has it?” he asks, flinching when you find it.

“Winchester,” you say, laying a cotton bud soaked in alcohol against the cut, making Dean buck under you, a deep groan leaving him. “You could be the last man on earth and I’d still prefer celibacy.” Dean chuckles.

“Don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he says. The cut’s mostly stopped bleeding, so you decide to leave it for now.

“Yeah, a bunch of STDs,” you mumble as you kneel down, suppressing a whine at something hurting, you don’t even know what.

The stab wound is next. Dean, in his infinite wisdom, pulled out the pen. It’s a natural instinct, to want something that is hurting you out of your body, but he still should know better.

You push up his shirt, look at the wound, ignore all that skin around it.

Cotton bud. Alcohol.

Dean hisses. “Whiskey?” he says, and you stop what you’re doing for a second to grab the bottle off the table near you, pass it to him. He opens it, takes a deep gulp, while you watch his throat work, swallowing. He drops his head, the bottle leaving his mouth, some of it running down his chin. It shouldn’t make you feel what it makes you feel. He’s a mess, and so are you, but getting to watch him like this is a privilege you know not many are afforded.

Stripped down, broken, fresh off a kill. It’s him at his best, in a way.

He passes the bottle to you, and you don’t wipe the rim. You set it down when you’re done.

“This is gonna need stitches,” you say, motioning to the wound. He nods. “What are you waiting for then?”

He barely makes any sounds while you do it, while you sew him back together. It’s over soon, since you’re quick and practiced and it’s not a huge wound. He sighs when he’s done.

“Good?” you ask.

“Magnificent,” he says, panting a little. You give him a second to recover, then push his arm for him to move. He gets up, and you take his place.

You’re not sure how much he can do for you but you’re not going to skip the chance to have him touch you, to have him try to fix you. He looks at your eye first, cleans it but it’s just a shiner, there’s not much to do. While he does it, his thumb rests on your cheek. You’re intensely aware of it, but you just look ahead.

“Saw you miss that one shot,” he says, when he’s done, and his hands leave your face. “The first one? At the big guy?” He shakes his head as he takes the whiskey and drinks again. “I’ve seen some bad shooting from you, but that was sad. Such a big target, too.”

You chuckle, but something pulls in you. No, you think, but you don’t know why. This should be save terrain.

You flinch when Dean lays his hand on your chest, above your breasts but the inside of his wrist is brushing against you. You think for a second that you can feel his heartbeat through it but then you’re not sure.

“Breathe in”, he says, and you do, while he concentrates on where the wheezing sound you make is coming from. “Throat?” he asks, then frowns. “You got choked? When?”

No, you think again, and this time you know why. You swallow, and it hurts.

“While you were hiding out downstairs,” you say, but your voice is missing the apathy required to deliver the jab, so it falls extra flat. Dean picks it up, though, but he misunderstands.

“Oh, you mean when the big guy decided to chase you after you didn’t shoot him?” He chuckles, his hand not leaving you, but then he stops, thinking. “No, no, he was already dead.”

You need him to stop. You need him to stop trying to figure this out. He’s doing it so he can make fun of you. If he knows which of the freaks hurt you, he can pick out specifically why that one getting to you is embarrassing. It’s fine, normally, but you don’t want him to know.

“Let’s see,” he says, his hand slipping off you. “There was the big guy, the squirrely asshole that stabbed me, and those two in the basement,” he counts off while he reaches for the whiskey again. He shakes his head, concentrating. “Who was upstairs?” he wonders.

He can never shut up. It’s like he was born without the skill, without the knowledge of how to ever just shut the fuck up.

He lowers the bottle, then holds it out for you but you don’t grab it. “Be honest,” he says. “Did you just run into a door at a funny angle and now you’re pretending there was a fifth?” He shakes the bottle a little, because he thinks you didn’t notice it.

You can’t reach for it. You don’t feel your hands.

“It was a child,” you say.

It wasn’t a child, of course, at least not a human one, for whatever that’s worth. It was something that was wearing a child, the kid itself burned out long ago. But it looked like one. It sounded like one. Not when it launched itself at you across the room or when it gave that godawful screech. But later, when it was lying there. That’s when.

You swallow again, and your throat hurts. Little chubby hands did that, the ones with the dimples. You feel a tear roll down your cheek. No no no. This isn’t supposed to happen.

You wipe at it, immediately, but you know Dean’s seen it. Seen you.

He lowers the bottle, slowly, like the strength is going out of his arm. He says your name, and you say: “Don’t.”

He says it again and before you know it you are standing up so quickly that the chair goes flying.

“I said fucking don’t!” you snap at him, because you just need him to stop. You need him to stop sounding like that and you need him to stop looking at you like that, his eyes all soft and his mouth in a straight line. This is worse than anything.

No, you need to get out. Your chest is constricting and you just need to not be here.

You stride towards the door and Dean is stupid enough to come after you, and he’s grabbing you, his hand like a vice around your upper arm. You turn so suddenly that he has to let go, the turning making pain flash through you, and you think good.

“Don’t ever touch me,” you grunt and Dean takes a step back. Then you’re out the door, no idea where you’re going.

You don’t come back for three days.

You left your phone at the motel with Dean so there’s no way for him to contact you. You barely remember the days. You have your wallet on you, so there’s that.

You drink, you know that. You drink and you don’t stop drinking because it’s the only way you can sleep.

You pick someone up, at some point, hoping you can be fucked senseless but it’s disappointing, doesn’t get you anywhere, so you leave. You don’t dare touch yourself, your body and what it can do horrifying and disgusting to you.

It doesn’t feel like three days, but apparently that’s what it is.

When you return to the motel, the one you were originally staying at, not the one you and Dean went to, you expect the brothers to be gone.

You get a room, get cleaned up, sitting in the bath water while it goes from boiling hot to lukewarm. You walked past a second hand shop earlier, picked out some clothes, just jeans and a shirt, carrying them with you in a plastic bag. You also bought some other essentials, and you clean yourself as much as you can, make yourself as presentable as possible.

Not to look good. Just to look not broken. Just so you can pretend nothing happened.

Then you go to the room you shared with Sam and Dean. You knock. They’re probably long gone, but then you hear foot steps behind the door, familiar murmuring and the door opens and Sam’s there, all puppy dog eyes and awkward posture.

He looks immensely relieved when he sees you, and you think for a second that he’s about to pull you in for a hug but something on your face stops him.

“Jesus”, he says, as the door swings open to reveal Dean, farther back in the room, his phone in his hands. “We called every hospital around, we thought you were—”

“I’m fine,” you say, tearing your eyes from Dean. “Your brother didn’t tell you I was going out?”

“Going out?” Sam says, unbelieving and a little bit angry as you push your way past him into the room. “You were gone for three days!”

You ignore him, look at Dean, your eyes daring him. He’s looking at you like he’s expecting your head to explode, but then he says: “She said she was going out, Sammy, leave it alone.” Sam looks bewildered as you turn to him.

“But you said—” Sam starts, but Dean must throw him a look that shuts him up. You don’t turn back in time to see it.

That is how the balance is thrown off. Once it is gone, you cannot reestablish it, no matter how hard you try.

The jokes you make at Dean’s expanse are all missed shots. They don’t cross that invisible line, but they’re… they’re mean. They’re nasty. They’re no fun. They come out of you that way and it makes you cringe at yourself, but you can’t stop.

Dean, on the other hand, overcompensates the other way. His jokes are soft, way too soft, and every single one of them makes your blood almost boil over. Reminds you that he thinks you’re something that needs to be spared, needs to be put in bubble wrap.

That you’re something he can look at the way he looked at you that night.

You two become unbearable to be around, so you don’t really blame Sam for putting his foot down.

It’s another no-name town in another no-name county and you know, and Dean knows and Sam knows that the evening will drag on the way every other evening has dragged on in the last weeks – with tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. With you being mean to Dean and Dean barely defending himself, barely hitting back.

You get to the room, put your bags down and Sam is already by the door again. You and Dean both look at him, wondering where he’s going.

“I’m getting another room,” he says, face serious. “And you two,” he continues, “you two will stay here and figure out what the hell it is that’s going on, because I’m not dealing with it anymore.”

You open your mouth to speak but Sam turns to you and says: “No, figure it out.” Your mouth closes. Who knew. The little guy could actually be imposing.

“Sammy, this is stupid,” Dean says, because of course Dean’s allowed to say something. “You’re grounding us?” Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Or what?” you ask, before Sam can stop you. He looks at you both, then shrugs, and then he’s pulling the door closed behind him.

There’s silence, and then Dean says: “Well, that was ominous.” He looks at you, maybe hoping you��ll laugh or agree, maybe you can dogpile on Sam for a little while, but you don’t.

You feel terror sitting in your jaw and in your hands. You don’t want to talk to Dean. You don’t want to figure anything out. You want to shed your skin and start your life over and go to sleep and never wake up, but none of these seem to be realistic options.

So you sigh, instead, sitting on the bed nearest to you. There’s not even any alcohol in the room, since you’re in a dry county, and of course Dean’s thinking the same thing.

“He couldn’t have done this when we were in Vegas?” he mumbles. Still no reaction from you as you hear him sit down on the other bed behind you. You hate this. You feel like an animal in a cage. You feel itchy.

“Okay, should we do this?” you hear Dean behind you, and you think you hear him slap his thighs.

You finally turn around to him, slowly, your face unbelieving. He’s sitting there, looking prettier than ever.

“What?” he says.

“Just... you,” you reply. “I can’t believe you’re being so gung-ho about this.” Dean inclines his head. “If Sam thinks—”

“No offense,” you say, fully intending offense, “but screw your brother, okay? I’m not a child. I’m not getting sent to my room without dinner.”

And of course, at that you see it, that child, that child-thing, sprawled out, little eyes looking at the ceiling but seeing nothing. You almost shake yourself.

Unsure if Dean notices, you stand up, but instead of walking outside, you pace.

“He’s not wrong, you know?” Dean finally says, but you don’t stop moving.

“About what?” you ask, without looking at him.

“You’ve been a real asshole the last couple of weeks,” Dean answers.

And God, why does it feel so good that he calls you that?

You stop pacing, turn to him, a grin that’s probably a little psychotic-looking forming on your face.

“Now was that so hard?” you ask.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Not treating me like a little porcelain figure?” you say. “Calling me an asshole?” Dean shrugs. “Well, don’t act like one if you don’t wanna be called it.”

He doesn’t get it, doesn’t get that this is exactly what you want, but it doesn’t matter because even that little bit of disrespect makes the itch in your flesh feel a little less overwhelming.

“I know I have,” you say. You nod at him. “And you’ve been acting like a wuss.” Distantly you realize that you are actually doing what Sam told you to do. You’re talking about it, or at least you’re acknowledging that there is something to talk about, which is more than you’ve done in this whole time. So, good for Sam, you think. And you keep going.

“What happened, Dean?” you ask, your arms going wide. “You saw me upset once and now you’re too much of a bitch to joke around?” You feel yourself teetering at the edge. This could go so horribly wrong but you can’t stop tap-dancing at the edge of that volcano.

“You’re gonna protect my feelings?” you ask in a mocking tone, and you think your voice sounds shrill. “Dean Winchester always saving everyone but himself, huh?”

Dean’s looking down, his face tense and you can’t help but keep pushing.

“I’m an asshole?” you say, and for some reason there are tears burning in your eyes and you don’t know why. “Well, you’re a pussy,” you spit.

“That’s enough,” Dean says, and his voice is cold as steel. He looks up at you, still sitting on he bed, and he terrifies you for a second. But the terror is a thrill.

You scoff at him. “Fuck you if you think you can tell me what to do.”

He gets up faster than you can react. You gasp in fear when he’s suddenly in front of you and then he’s pushing you against the wall behind you. It’s only a foot or two, but the impact hurts beautifully, making clearness and focus rush through you for a second, but it’s over before you can even really enjoy it.

You want to whine at the loss of it, at the sudden lack, everything turmoil again, like a family of rats has nested in your chest. You need it back, that focus.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you say, too joyous by half about your words. “Gonna show me what a man you are? You’re pathetic.”

You see his hand raise and form a fist out of the corner of your eye, and something goes through you, something horrible and you think he’s going to hit you.

You look at his hand and something like a yes comes out of you. It sounds almost sexual, and maybe it is.

Dean’s threatening demeanor drops immediately. It takes him a second to understand what caused your outburst, and he looks at his own hand and then he looks at you.

He wasn’t going to hit you, you suddenly realize. He’s balling his fist because he’s mad, and you see it from the angle he’s holding it. You’ve seen Dean throw a million punches, and this isn’t how he would do it, even if he was mad with anger.

But Dean understands, understands that that’s what you thought he was doing and that that’s what you wanted him to do.

He takes a step away from you immediately and your stomach drops. His face is as open as it’s ever been. He finds your gaze and you’re not sure what he sees in yours but you know what you see in his.

You’ve gone too far, you can feel it in your blood. You can see it on his pretty features. This is his weak spot. The holy part you’re not allowed to touch just like there’s parts of you he’s not supposed to touch. His own fear of himself, of his clever and precise violence. The one that’s been cultivated in him from the time he was four to however old he is now. The one he keeps at bay, no matter what, for those he loves and wreaks on those he doesn’t.

There’s that clear line that neither you and Dean are supposed to cross, and everything beyond that is below the belt. And you just went for it.

He’s fought so hard to bury that part of himself, so that the people he cares about never need to be scared of him like he was scared of the people that were supposed to care about him. It’s cost him everything.  And you just came for his throat.

This is so far beyond your usual arguing. This just hurts.

“I’m—” you start, but Dean’s never been good at listening, so you falter immediately. You feel tears burning in your eyes. God, he looks so sad. You blink, run the back of your hand over your nose. It’s deadly silent in the room.

Dean looks, and you don’t know how else to describe it, like a dog whose owner is holding a news paper. He knows what’s coming and he can’t stop it. He’s fear and shame and disgust in himself. You don’t want to give a shit. He’s not your mess to clean up.

But you do. Of course you do. Just like he did. He cared enough to let you verbally pummel him for weeks, barely keeping his fists up to deflect.

You say his name, or you think you do, and then suddenly he’s moving. He’s walking towards the door and you don’t know why and you don’t know how but you know you need to stop him. If he walks out that door you don’t think you’ll ever see him again.

So you rush forward, manage to get yourself between him and the door.

“Dean, don’t,” you say and he says: “Get out of my way.” His voice is deep and he's not yelling and in a way that is way scarier. But you can’t move. You can’t let him leave.

“Please don’t go,” you say, hoping you can simply convince him. You lean your back against the door, and you’re pretty sure he won’t grab you and simply pull you out of the way, because you can see his hands are trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you say, because your stupid pride has been stopping you, but now it’s the least important thing in the world. “I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you say, but you’re not sure he can hear you. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I just wanted to make you mad.” His head shoots up.

“Why?” he pushes out through gritted teeth.

“Because I couldn’t stand that you pitied me,” you say. God, Sam would love this. A real heart-to-heart. How precious.

Dean frowns. “I don’t pity you,” he says, disdain in his voice.

“Yes, you do,” you insist. “You’ve been pulling your punches for weeks. And it made me… it just made me so angry.” Dean shakes his head.

“You’re insane,” he says, and then he goes for the door, reaching around you to open it.

“No!” you say, and you push him back. He stumbles, just a little bit, but it makes him look so angry that you press yourself harder against the door. Just like you thought, he’s not going to move you out of the way, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to get around you.

“Move,” he says, and then: “Get out of the fucking way.”

“Make me,” you bark back. Dean stands there for a second, and you think he will. You think you have completely misjudged the situation and he will make you move. But he just goes for the door knob again, reaching around you. You push your arms against him. Now that he knows you’ll try to shove him, he plants his feet and there is no way you can move him.

He’s so close to you and so angry and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know how to get yourself back and you don’t know how to get him back.

Your mouth lands on his before you even know you’re going to do it. Dean flinches and immediately moves back. He looks shocked, and you try to congratulate yourself because it worked. Even though that wasn’t what you were doing. You weren’t trying to stop him, you were just trying to kiss him.

It’s fucked up to do it like this, in the situation you’re in. But then you’re both pretty fucked up.

Dean swallows, and looks unsure. Both of you are breathing hard and for a second he seems to just listen to that, so you do too. It’s erotic, and you don’t know how but you feel it do something to you. Dean’s gaze meets yours. He’s either about to kill you or fuck you.

He moves forward and presses you against the door. You think for a second that he’ll try for the door again, but he doesn’t. His lips find yours, but what you do can barely be called kissing. It’s a battle, like everything between you is, but you manage to get your hands into his hair, grabbing it, making him grunt. He pushes you harder against the door and you find it difficult to breathe and it’s perfect.

You lean your head back at the feeling of containment, and Dean goes for your throat. He runs his teeth over a sensitive spot, making you buck and then he’s sucking against the skin so much it hurts. Your grip tightens in his hair and he makes a noise.

Before you know it you’re pushing his jacket off his shoulders, his hands barely leaving you to let you, and then his flannel goes next. When he’s free of it, he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, attacking your neck again. You moan, you can’t help it and he ruts himself against you.

You move your head to catch something of him, anything, and you manage to get at his jaw, nipping at him. Dean flinches, but he lets you do it. Then his hands let go of your wrists and travel down your arms, down and down, until they are at your chest and he roughly squeezes your breasts. Another moan escapes you and then you’re dropping your hands and he’s dropping your tits, moving on to your hips instead.

You find his crotch first, press your hand against it, agitating what you find there. Dean hisses, and his mouth slams against yours again, but this time you force your tongue past his lips, keeping him there as you battle again, open-mouthed and breathing hard.

Dean’s hands wander from your hips to your ass, squeezing and then he’s pushing one of his legs between yours. You grind yourself down on him, but it’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough to dispel any of the energy you need to dispel. He’s pushing you against his leg by grabbing your ass but again, it’s not enough.

You tear one of his hands from your ass and maneuver it to your front, push it between the waistband of your jeans and your skin, shove him down. Dean doesn’t stop mouthing at you when you do it, except to groan into your mouth when he fingers make contact with your underwear.

He takes control, shoving his hand deeper until he finds you there. Both you and him are surprised by how wet you are. You’re not sure when that started but neither of you cares for much longer, when you feel Dean push two fingers into you.

You almost sob and with just enough wherewithal you unbutton your jeans to give him room to move, before you grab his hair again and lean your head back against the door. He feels good, and even though his thrusts are rough, they hit the right spots within you, forcing you to close your eyes at what feels like electricity running through your body.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you pant and feel Dean’s plush lips against your jaw. He’s not kissing you, not exactly, just making contact, just getting as close to you as he can. You pull his hair a little and feel the air come out of him when he moans.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but he's getting you to the edge fast, and you have high-pitched, desperate moans leaving you soon. Then you’re pushing him away.

His head snaps up, and he looks worried for a second, but all you want is more of him. His hands leaves you, and you’re pulling at his t-shirt, trying to get it off him. You manage, and then he’s tugging at your shirt.

“Get that off,” he says, and his voice is rough and deep, the timber of it running through you. You do, pull it over your head and he goes for your bra before you have even pulled it off your arms. He nearly tears it off you, and then he reaches around you, bringing you close, as he pushes his hands into the back of your pants to push them down.

You use the closeness to open his jeans but then you have to step out of your pants and underwear and shoes as Dean makes them fall to the ground, to avoid stumbling.

Dean manages to turn the two of you, so that you are with your back to the bed and he pushes you towards it. When you get close you let go of him and crawl onto the bed, but you kneel on it, facing Dean. The two seconds it takes you are enough for him to unbuckle his jeans the rest of the way and drop them, along with his underwear, step out of them and his shoes and socks and kick them to the side.

He’s there in front of you, all glorious nakedness, but neither of you wants to lose a second to thinking, to wondering what it is you’re doing, so instead you collect some spit in your mouth, then run your hand along your tongue to collect the moisture and a moment later you have him in your hand.

Dean inhales sharply but you don’t hurt him, only stroke him until he’s fully standing. He’s beautiful, all of him, and if you took a second to admire him, you would see just how beautiful, but you can’t. You don’t want to break the spell.

He grabs you by the ass again, pulls you close to him, and you can hear him breathing hard, grunting at what you’re doing to him. One hand goes to the back of your head and he kisses you, really kisses you this time, roughly, yes, desperately, yes, but it’s still a kiss.

You stroke him faster until he grabs your shoulders and shoves you down on the bed. You land on your back, hair flying into your face and an insane chuckle leaves you. Maybe you’re losing your mind. Or maybe this is what you’ve been craving all along.

Then Dean’s over you, and he’s kissing you again, his hand running from your breast to your neck where he holds you tight, pulls you roughly against him. His erection is pressing against your stomach and you want him.

You get your mouth off his, and then you’re turning around under him. Dean barely leaves you room to do it, but you manage, and then you’re pushing your ass against him. He grabs your hip, strokes it.

And then he kisses your back and you freeze. He does it again, leaning over you, kisses, and then bites you there, but gently.

You gasp and you need him suddenly, need him so bad. Need him to make you feel anything else.

You push your ass up again and this time he does it, does what you want him to do. He lines himself up and then he’s pushing into you. A whine leaves you as you work yourself down on him and his hands are grabbing you everywhere, touching you everywhere and it makes you almost believe that you can be free of all this anger if only Dean keeps touching you.

He starts driving into you and for a second it’s overwhelming, so much, too much and too fast. Your breathing stutters and you need to concentrate on regulating it. But then Dean finds a rhythm and suddenly you can breathe. One hand of yours wanders back, grabs his underarm where he’s holding you and he grabs your elbow, holding onto you.

“Dean—” is all you can say, and his thumb strokes your arm.

“It’s okay,” he says and he’s driving into you, making you gasp again, which quickly turns into a moan.

“Yes,” you pant, “yes, don’t stop.” He doesn’t. He keeps up the pace, his thighs meeting the backs of yours with loud slaps until you think you're going to pass out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then suddenly he’s pulling out of you. You turn around to see what’s wrong but then he’s turning you around and your back meets the mattress again. Dean leans over you, pushing your leg higher.

“I want to see you,” he says, and your next inhale lets you feel the spiral again, brings tears into your eyes. Don’t be kind to me, you think, but at the same time you crave it. You want to see him gentle, want him to see his own gentleness.

He kisses you again, and you return it, wrap your arms around him and pull him close. He sighs against you, and then he’s pushing into you again. Your head falls back, you almost whimper and as Dean enters you, pushing your leg up against your torso, his hand cupping your cheek and his thumb running over your lips, you wonder when this turned from a hate fuck into whatever it is now. You find his thumb with your mouth, kiss it.

Dean leans closer to you and your hands go into his hair again. You still pull it, still make him grunt, but in response he lays his face against yours. What is this? you just have time to wonder when the movement of his hips makes you see starts.

He keeps going and going and going and you whimper and come and he holds you through it while tears run down the side of your face from the intensity, but still he keeps going.

“Fuck, I—” he mutters and you feel him throb inside of you, so you pull him close, bring your mouth to his shoulder and bite. Dean grunts, and then you kiss the place you just bit and he comes inside of you.

For a second you’re terrified he’ll roll off you immediately, so you wrap your arms around him. Dean moves into you once or twice more, but it’s just a reflex. His forehead is against your shoulder.

You find you’re stroking his back and just as you wonder if you should stop, Dean flexes his back, his shoulder blades moving under your fingers and he says: “Keep doing that.” So you do. Because you’re not ready to look at his face yet. You don’t know if you ever will be. But eventually you have to.

Eventually Dean needs to move, pulls out of you and rolls himself to the side. Your breathing has quieted down. For a moment, he’s not looking at you, but staring up at the ceiling.

Little eyes staring up at the ceiling.

A sob goes through you and Dean turns to you. He rolls himself towards you and then, after a moment of hesitation, pets your cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No,” you say, your voice quiet. “You made it not hurt for a while though.”

He nods, and you’re pretty sure he understands exactly what you mean.

“I’m sorry,” you say then.

“You don’t have to—” Dean starts, but you interrupt him.

“I know what I made you feel. What I made you think. I’m sorry.” He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. “I will never do it again,” you add. He runs his thumb over your chin.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to be pitied,” he says. “I’m sorry I…” he sighs. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

You nod. “I know,” and then: “I knew you weren’t going to hurt me. I knew but I wanted you to.” He nods again.

“Why? I mean why did you want me to?” You shake your head. “You know, Dean.”

And you see it in his eyes, because of course he knows. It’s the reason he sometimes drinks until he passes out. The reason he takes more punches than he needs to. Because it’s better than feeling the other thing.

He tugs some hair behind your ear and you lean into the touch. Suddenly the gentleness doesn’t hurt. Suddenly it’s everything you want.

You both lie like that for a while, just touching, just looking at each other.

“So what now?” you say. “We just go back to how it was before?” Dean thinks for a second.

“I don’t think that would work,” he says finally, and you have to agree. “Maybe,” he says, “we can both turn it down a few notches?”

You nod. “Probably a good idea.”

“And this,” he says motioning to nothing, but you know he’s talking about what you just did. “We can see where this leads?”

That one you have to think about for a moment. You feel that old thing roar its head in you, the one that wants to destroy any possibility of anything good possibly coming out of something gentle, something sweet. You fight it, and nod.

“That sounds good,” you say. Then you take a deep breath. “Do you think this is what Sam imagined when he told us to sort things out”

Dean huffs. “I really hope not.”

You smile a little, and then you do something daring.

Moving your shoulders, you scoot closer to Dean. He wraps his arm around you, holds you close.

You still look at each other, like two skittish animals but eventually, the warmth and comfort of another body so close overtakes you.

You can’t fight the need to be close so you stop, stop fighting it.

Dean’s hand rests on your chest and this time you’re sure you can feel his heartbeat. You listen to it, try to focus on it.

Ba-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum.

You’re too tired to fight. You always thought you’d need to be strong to stop, but it turns out tired works too.

Ba-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum.

You’ve never enjoyed it anyway.

[burst-of-iridescent]

I mean i like your interpretation a lot but sometimes I think that’s just how Zuko is with a goal. He hyperfixates, he must capture the avatar, restore his honor, join and train the avatar, get Katara to forgive him. He is very one track mind but that track goes hard. Basically what I’m saying is, I think Zuko staying up all night in front of her tent says more about him than it does about their relationship.

i see what you’re saying, but i don’t view those two things (what his actions reflect about his character vs his relationship with katara) as mutually exclusive. zuko can certainly be single-minded with his goals, but the examples you listed show that his determination is only ever fuelled into things that he cares about deeply, or a means to obtain something he really wants (capturing the avatar would let him go home, training aang would help defeat his father, and so on). he isn’t, for instance, interested in the goal of settling down in ba sing se so he becomes fairly listless and apathetic over the course of his life there (pre fever at least).

so the fact that his goal in this case is to help katara seek closure already speaks volumes about their relationship and his feelings for her. whether viewed as romantic or platonic, his drive to earn her forgiveness and care for her is proof that she already matters to him a great deal; staying up outside her tent all night is simply a manifestation of that.

[saleensundria9]

Omg this is like the beginning of that movie where people are judged by whether they were genetically engineered or not wtf

I don't remember what it was called though, they were called either valid (engineered) or in-valid (not engineered) and the main character was born just before the bioengineering stuff became more popular. Idk we had to watch it in biology class and even though it was really interesting I hated my biology teacher so I never asked

Elon’s latest baby mama says she used genetic engineering (CRISPR is not ethically approved by the scientific community for use on humans) to create the perfect human with “enhancements from other organisms”