#why is this verse tag not saving....... excuse me

[quietlyblooms-gone]

i wanna talk about chiyo's familiar being a dog in her witch au bc her loyalty is such a defining trait, but my brain can't flesh it out more than that statement. so we're doing some bullet point headcanons tonight <3

chiyo gave her familiar the name jun, named after her childhood dog. though instead of a german shepherd, this jun is a tosa inu or japanese mastiff. large, daunting, and often dozing at her side while she works, jun protects chiyo from harm.

in fact, jun appeared in front of chiyo during middle school, chasing away a group of her classmates and following her home. her father explained he came because he was needed; he stayed because he must have seen something in her that he trusted.

chiyo 100% has a bunch of photos on her phone of spells from her family's book so that she doesn't have to flip through the pages every time she needs an incantation, ingredients, or directions. she'd like to use sticky tabs to make it easier to find certain spells, but her father and grandmother threaten to hit her hands if she does.

the paintings hung up in the shop are all chiyo's, and if you find yourself inexplicably drawn towards one of them, that probably means something. those paintings are sometimes just a reflection of her creativity, but sometimes they are a reflection of the future, too.

[apples4wce]

right chord. ☆ myg

first of all i dedicate this oneshot to @kithtaehyung who reminded me of this wip in this ask and inspired me to finish it up so tysm ryen 💜

cross-posted to ao3 here

tags: yoongi x gender-neutral reader, fluff, set in the genius lab, i was trying to channel all the cozy energy for this fic and i hope it shows

word count: 1.1k

“Alright, now put your ring finger on this string.” Yoongi gently directs your fingers to the right places.

You strum the note a bit harsh and the sound comes out strange. Yoongi flinches, but doesn’t raise his voice. “Maybe try strumming it a bit softer.”

When you texted him saying you were on your way to his studio with some food, you didn’t expect him to ask you to stay.

But here you are, two hours later, curled up in a chair sitting next to him, with his favorite guitar in your hands, learning chords from songs he’s still working on, months after having come up with their melodies.

He takes his time when he writes music. You can tell he respects and appreciates his craft. It’s partly why you wanted to learn the guitar.

Also, you wanted an excuse to see him more.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Okay. Softer.”

It’s quite dim in the studio, the only real bright light coming from his computer, that’s currently playing the screensaver animation. The whirr of the computers serves as ambient sound as you try strumming again, with less force this time.

“You got it. Do you want to try a few more chords?”

You nod rapidly. “Yes, please. Only if you want me to stay longer, though. I’m not the fastest learner.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I wanted you to leave. Besides, no matter what speed you progress at, you’re still progressing. Take as much time to learn as you want.”

You can hear the rain start to patter outside while Yoongi teaches you some more chords. Your eyes dart from the neck of the guitar, making sure your fingers are on the right frets, to the body of the guitar, where your other hand waits to strum all the strings.

“You’re getting a lot quicker with your chord transitions, maybe I’ll have you do the lead guitar on my next album.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. He can almost see the big cartoon tears welling at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not ready yet!”

“I was just kidding, love. I wouldn’t put that much stress on you all of a sudden. That’s why I have my guitarist.” He chuckles, his hand rubbing slow circles on your kneecap.

You try a chord progression you heard him strum last night, so focused on getting your fingers on the right strings that you don’t notice Yoongi smiling at your effort.

It’s the little moments like these that he cherishes the most, quiet times spent together.

“Did I do it right? I think I got it right.”

He hums, gazing fondly at you. “You remember chords well.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thanks. I try my best.”

You feel content sitting with him tonight. It’s a nice contrast to the busy lives you both lead.

Then Yoongi’s phone buzzes. He picks it up and swipes the notification away.

“Is everything alright?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s just work. I have some songs to finish for my album and one of the guys on the production team just sent me a little melody.”

“Cool,” you grin, “are you allowed to share details about the album, or… do I have to wait for the release date like everyone else?”

“Uhh…” he scratches his head, clicking through files on his computer at an insanely rapid pace. “Well, I could show you this song. It’s almost done, there’s just a few little things I need to perfect on it.”

You sit up, intrigued, and watch as he clicks open a file. “What’s the song called?”

“It’s called AMYGDALA.”

The audio starts up, the guitar and melody smoothly melding into Yoongi’s verse. You listen attentively, eyes glued to the screen. Your head bops slightly to the beat while you process the lyrics, and when the final notes fade out and the last Save me out of here, please get me out of here echo into silence, you gasp. “Wow, that was- that was really good.”

“Yeah? You like the song?”

“It’s fantastic. It’s really… open. Deep. Vulnerable, in a sense. It’s- I really like it.”

Yoongi’s smile grows when you share your feelings on the melody and the lyrics. He appreciates all the nice things you have to say about his music, he always has.

You take his hand in yours and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’m happy that you’re happy, you know. It’s nice to see you like this. Sometimes, when you’d come home from the studio, you looked sad and angry, but you don’t look like that anymore. You look… satisfied, I guess. Like you’re free.”

“I am, in a way,” he squeezes your hand back, “I’ve said everything I needed to say. I used this persona to get all my rage out, but I don’t have that rage in me anymore. Now I can move on to another side of me.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence, the feel of his warm hand holding yours tightly, the sound of the computer fan whirring quietly and its dim light as it goes back into its screensaver animation, the smell of the lit vanilla candle on the desk.

“Did you want me to show you a sample from another song on the album?”

Your eyes widen. “You would?”

“Yeah. I think you’ll like this one. I wrote it and I thought of you.”

Yoongi opens another file. “This one comes before the pre-release single on the album. It’s called SDL.”

You listen attentively to the drum beat and the smooth synth, and when he presses pause, you give him a thumbs-up with your free hand, the one he isn’t currently holding. He hasn’t let go of your hand the entire time, and you doubt he will.

“I like it, it sounds a bit more romantic than your usual style. I just know when you add the lyrics it’s going to sound even better.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, sounding a little flustered.

You love showering him with praise, because his reactions are always silly. You recall the day you announced your feelings for him and he simply started yelling.

Also, he deserves every single compliment in the world.

He clicks at the screen for a bit, distracted, still holding your hand.

“Have I told you that you look really handsome with longer hair?”You watch with amusement as he avoids the statement entirely, his eyes darting to the wall.

“‘Cause you look really handsome with longer hair,” you continue with a playful grin.

He still doesn’t reply and instead squeezes your hand again.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” you chuckle, “but you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

by the way i was originally planning on posting this for yoongi's bday so this is my belated bday gift for my yoongi 🎉

[aziraphales-library]

Hey :) thanks for all you do for the fandom!

I was wondering, can you recommend any good (canon-verse) fics that have Crowley and/or Aziraphale being temporarily human or loosing their powers (and having to deal with what that entails)? I'm asking specifically for temporarily because I've found plenty that have them turn human for good but somehow couldn't figure out a way to search for ones where it's temporary.

Thank you already and I hope you have a lovely day!

We have a #turned human tag, and some of the summaries specify "temporarily", so look for those. There's not really a way to search for fics where there's not permanently human, other than skipping to the end to check. So that's what I spent ages doing...

Damned to Humanity by Justanothernerdsstuff (T)

“I thought,” Aziraphale said, his smile starting to shift. “That I was already excused from heavenly duties. Seeing how my last visit upstairs went,” He noted, silently thanking Crowley for stepping into that fire for him. “You were. But this,” He flicked the card towards Aziraphale and it swayed through the air until it rested at his feet. “Is much more than being excused. You’ve fallen,” Gabriel clarified. *** Aziraphale falls, but Hell doesn't want him any more than Heaven does. As a result, he is turned human. Trigger warning: the possibility of death is briefly mentioned.

human nature by attheborder (T)

When you’re talking about bodies locked in orbit, forever circling each other, it takes two to tango. Forces opposed; action and reaction. One, and the other.  But the blank-slate version of Aziraphale sleeping beside Crowley in this cold little bed had no fear of Heaven, no fear of Falling. Not even a fear of snakes. He only had, as all humans did, the knowledge of good and bad, and the ability to make a choice. *** Crowley must turn Aziraphale human in order to hide him from Heaven. (Inspired by/fusion with Doctor Who’s Human Nature/Family of Blood arc)

Human Incarnate by nikkiRA (M)

“They think I’m immune to demon fire, see,” Aziraphale said, in a slightly airy voice. “So they had to… get creative.” “Aziraphale, what. Did. They. Do?” “Can’t you tell?” Aziraphale gave a little laugh. This must be what shock felt like. “Can’t you sense it?” He grabbed Crowley’s hand and pressed it to his chest, so the demon could feel his rapidly beating, very human heart. “I’m a human now, my dear. Very, very mortal.” Aziraphale is punished. Crowley refuses to accept it. Shenanigans, feelings, and plots ensue.

It's Not the Fall (It's the Landing) by Ginger_Cat (E)

To save each other from Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become human. Things, predictably, do not go as planned. Crowley thought about what he’d come there to do. He thought about what it meant, in the context of God’s warning. Really thought. There wouldn’t be hopping from restaurant to restaurant with his best friend for the next six thousand years (give or take). There wouldn’t be any more miracles, or tempting. There wouldn’t be any skirting Hell’s wrath for eternity. And when it was over, the deepest, darkest, horriblest pits would be reserved for him. Crowley said, “Will you make me human, too?”

The Human Dilemma by theshoparoundthecorner (G)

“That’s not possible. How could my eyes just change overnight?” Crowley snapped his fingers. The mirror remained stubbornly shattered. He looked up at Aziraphale, face pale. Aziraphale took a step forward. “Like I said, I think something’s happened.” “What’s going on? Why isn’t it working?” Crowley snapped his fingers again, his agitation growing. Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, let’s leave the mirror be for now and talk this over. I’ll make us some tea, or coffee, or whatever you’d like. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to for either of us be around broken glass at the moment.” Crowley nodded, taking Aziraphale’s hand and stepping over the shards to safety. Aziraphale could feel his hand shaking in his. “Crowley,” he said, “I need you to take a deep breath.” “Why? I don’t need to breathe.” “Yes, I rather think you do. I think we both do.” “Angel, what is going on?” Aziraphale reached forward and placed a hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling a strong heartbeat racing beneath it. Crowley reached forward and did the same. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a moment, afraid to speak the truth into being, “I think we may be human.”

And because I know someone will mention it if I don't...

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (Series) (G-T)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

- Mod D

[soul-controller]

Influencing The Influencer III

As Tom made his way out of the bedroom and towards the front door of his hotel room, the magically-gifted man couldn’t help but take a moment to check himself out of the mirror one last time. It had been over a month since his bar hookup, which had originally been meant to be his last hurrah as Chris Nelson before Tom moved onto a new body the next day. Unfortunately for Tom though, the man he had planned to possess had to cancel at the last minute, so he was left for the next few weeks trying his best to find a replacement body to take over. 

While there were certainly countless men in North America that Tom could have taken over, the time he had spent trying to find a replacement body had caused him to begin expanding his scope until it became an international endeavor. Although this only added more potential men for him to become to his list, Tom soon found himself quickly narrowing down his selection until there was only one man left: Max Biechl. 

Given the fact that there would be no reason behind their meeting since Max had a career as a German real estate agent, Tom found himself trying his best to formulate a plan that would allow them to meet. Despite Chris’ popularity as a content creator, the man wasn’t obscenely rich since Tom was still forced to continue Chris’ night job as a security guard at a bar. But after pulling a few strings and dipping into the man’s savings, Tom purchased a one-way flight to Germany and secured a meeting with Max under the guise of wanting a European home for him to visit whenever he was free. Obviously Tom had no intention of purchasing a house from the man, but Max was completely clueless as to the real reason behind their meeting. 

So as he exited his hotel room and made his way out to the busy streets of Cologne, Tom quickly hailed a taxi and gave the address to the location where he was going to meet Max. Given the fact that he wanted to keep his attempt at purchasing a house realistic, he opted to pick the cheapest residence that Max had for sale. Upon arriving at the residence and exiting the cab though, Tom could understand why the house was the cheapest place as the house was fairly rundown in terms of the exterior and looked incredibly small in comparison to the other houses that lined the block. 

But once Tom took note of the front door opening, the man continued his performance as an interested buyer while watching Max and a well-dressed female step out. Eager to meet such a hunky and well-dressed man, Tom quickly extended a hand towards Max and smiled as the man nodded and shook it back. “It’s a lovely house huh?” Tom said with a slight chuckle, awaiting for Max’s response but coming up empty-handed. 

Turning his attention towards the woman, she kindly informed Tom that Max isn’t well-versed in English and she was asked to tag along to be the translator between them. As such, she quickly dominated the conversation with Tom as she allowed Max to lead the way and translate what he said to Tom. Throughout the entire tour, Tom found himself less interested in the house and more focused on the deep Germanic tone coming out of his mouth. To the American, nothing seemed hotter than a hot stud speaking a foreign language, so he was understandably annoyed as the woman’s voice continued to overpower it while explaining what he was saying. Given his annoyance, he wanted nothing more for her to disappear so he could finally possess the hunky and oblivious realtor. 

Luckily, Tom found his wish coming to fruition sooner than he expected as the tour finished and the woman asked the man about whether she needed to get the purchasing paperwork from her car to finalize the deal. Realizing that this was the opening he was looking for, Tom enthusiastically replied  “I’ll take it!” before smiled at both individuals. 

“Excuse me for a moment then, I’ll be right back,” the woman said with her accented voice, turning on her heels and quickly pacing out of the residence. With a prime opportunity for possessing the man emerging with the woman now out of the way, Tom couldn’t resist smiling slyly as he slowly shifted orientation towards Max. Watching as the German man had his back turned towards him while doing something on his cell phone, Tom quietly slinked up closer like a predator preparing to pounce on their prey. With his grin widening to extreme levels, the man closed his eyes and dived straight into the man’s back. 

“Scheiße!” the man cried out, frantically tensing up and arching his back while trying to resist the intense pressure that was permeating through his back. But despite how frantically he flailed his arms behind him to try and stop whatever was happening, Tom’s skill at possession meant he was unstoppable against the German man’s feeble attempts. Given the fact that the woman would surely be coming back soon along with Max’s continued grunts and loud cursing, Tom found himself no longer delaying the inevitable and finally pushing the entirety of his bulkier body into the smaller German man before being consumed by total darkness. 

While inside Max’s body, there was an intense feeling of discomfort and extreme tightness that Tom picked up. Given their clear size difference and Chris’ own bulkier build, the possession of such a lankier man was the source of clear discomfort for Tom. But as time went on, this feeling slowly melted away as if his bulky frame was being stripped of its innate musculature for the time being to be a better fit for his new host. As that tightness finally faded from existence, a sudden sensation of tranquility and comfort pulsated through Tom as the process completed and he found himself in complete control of a brand new body. 

Opening up his eyes, Tom instinctively looked down and chuckled as he saw the man’s snazzy suit covering up his taut and buff body along with the pair of outstretched light white hands. Tom’s enjoyment of the racial change element was on full display, his eyes fully focused in on those hands as they traveled up his clothed torso to feel the muscle underneath. Not surprisingly, the factors of his possession and racial change were quick to elicit a physical response through the man’s new cock, which became rock hard in a blink of an eye and strained against the form-fitting dress pants that made no attempt to cover that bulge. 

Both overly joyous and turned on by his new form, Tom couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer and thus decided to verbalize his own enjoyment. But as he tried his best to talk about how hot this experience was and how eager he was to become Max Biechl, his eyes widened as foreign words escaped his lips. “Verdammt, das ist so heiß! Daran könnte ich mich sicherlich gewöhnen,” the man said instead, causing his eyes to widen and mouth to go agape at the revelation of his new primary language. While it was certainly understandable looking back why he would have gained the man’s natural desire to speak in German, there was a slight moment of panic at the man due to the disconnect between his mind and mouth. His mind allowed him to properly think in English, but no matter how hard he tried to verbalize it, German was the only thing that could come out. Hell, Tom even struggled to say his real name, hearing his now-accented voice falter over the simple first and last name! 

As the sudden noise of heels clacking against the wooden floors of the residence, the new Max Biechl shifted his attention towards the source. With the assistant returning with a bunch of papers and manila folders in hand, she wasted no time cutting right to the point. “Where did the American go?” she asked, Tom smirking to himself as he grew relieved by the fact that he could comprehend the woman’s German speaking with his mind immediately translating them to English for him. 

Upon fixing one of his lower buttons and adjusting the suit jacket he was now wearing, Tom took a moment to formulate a quick plan to explain the sudden disappearance of Chris Nelson. “Oh, he had to go back to his hotel. Some sort of emergency, I guess,” Tom offered up, trying his best to still hide his awkwardness about being a native German speaker for the time being. It was still quite an erotic aspect of the possession, but Tom couldn’t help but wish that he’d adapt to the language shift as soon as possible! 

After her trip to go get all of the paperwork, the assistant was understandably furious about the man leaving before she could have returned to secure the deal. In fact, as the two of them made their way out of the property, locked it up, and returned to Max’s car, the woman was still going on her rant about “ignorant Americans” and talking about how she warned him about taking the meeting with “Chris”. But as he entered the car and prepared to drive off, Tom found himself instantly transfixed by his own reflection in the rear view mirror to the point where her words faded away into nothingness. As such, the man was quick to pull out the cell phone tucked into the pocket of his dress pants and take a few celebratory selfies to upload to his social media later before driving off and returning to the real estate office. 

Upon making his way back to his new workplace, Tom’s hopes of getting an easy day were quickly dashed as Max’s secretary gave him a slew of notes from people that needed to be handled as soon as possible. So as he made his way to Max’s desk, Tom found himself tapping into the man’s memories and personality sooner than expected as he began to handle the overeager or frustrated clients. Throughout the next few hours, Tom easily slipped into the role of Max Biechl and began to understand why he was one of the top realtors in the country; he had a natural confidence that meshed well with a cool and collected personality to make him instantly desirable by anyone. 

Seamlessly juggling phone calls between clients and inspection agencies or renovators, Tom was growing quite turned on despite the rather mundane work. So when the time for his lunch break arrived, Tom found himself eager to handle his sexual appetite rather than the hunger in his stomach. Using his desk chair to roll away from his desk, Tom made his way out of the room and towards his restroom with an obvious swagger in his step. Given how many people said hello to him and complimented his designer suit, Tom found himself having more and more reason behind this natural cockiness. 

Once he reached the men’s restroom, Tom quickly pulled open the door and closed it before twisting the lock to provide no interruptions. Making his way towards the long mirror that ran along the wall of sinks, the man licked his lips and smirked to himself as he began to give himself his own private show. Slowly undoing each button of his suit jacket, the man’s cock began to throb as he pulled off his suit jacket to reveal the physique that filled out his dress shirt quite nicely. Using his hands to traverse across the luxury fabric, pre-cum began to leak into the man’s underwear as he gripped and squeezed the man’s firm biceps and cupped his modest pecs. 

With his hands continuing to move down his torso, the man shivered in pure pleasure as he felt the ridges of his washboard abs until he reached the waistband of his pants. Unable to resist, he untucked his dress shirt and quickly undid his belt before tossing it aside. Gripping onto the top button of the pants, he once again put on a show by teasing himself and slowly undoing it before pulling down the zipper. As he tugged the pants down after getting stuck around his rather perky ass, Tom audibly gasped as he took in the rock-hard bulge jutting out against his tight athletic underwear. In all honesty, he had expected Max to be on the smaller side given his smaller size, but based on what he was seeing, he was even bigger than Chris in the manhood department! 

Now with a clear sight of his throbbing manhood, Tom’s striptease began to hasten as he grew eager to get to the main event. So upon quickly unbuttoning and pulling off the black dress shirt, Tom only momentarily took in the sight of his tattooed physique before pulling down his underwear and getting to work. Taking a moment to quickly spit into his hand, Tom lubed up his cock and began to passionately stroke it while staring into the mirror. Turning to his side while continued to jerk himself off, Tom reveled in the sight of his new buff white body. 

With one hand still furiously stroking himself, the man made his non-dominant hand move towards his rear end and grip onto those perky ass cheeks reflected back at him. Curious about why the man had such a perky ass, a quick search through Max’s own memories provided the information that the man had experimented between men off and on for a few years. With this revelation, it left Tom eager to revive that aspect of Max’s personality while he was in control. Clearly based on how well-built he was in both the cock and ass department, he had amazing potential as a versatile gay man. With these thoughts continuing to run through his head, this was the final trigger that caused Tom to reach climax and coat both the sink and mirror with several thick streams of cum. 

After quickly cleaning up his mess and beginning to put his clothes back on, Tom took a moment to pull his underwear and pants back on. Staring down at his torso, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone and once again documenting the moment with a sea of selfies. While he was certainly unsure of how long he’d want to remain a hardworking (yet hunky) realtor, Tom was relieved to know that the plane ticket and other various expenses had been worth it. Although there were certainly potential issues he would experience in terms of adapting to living in Germany, Tom was relieved that he at least had Max’s memories and personality that he could pull from. So after pulling his clothes back on and adjusting his suit jacket once more, Tom gave a wink to the mirror before heading back out to his office to finish his shift.

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[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thanks for the tag, @wheel-of-fish ! I’ll do my best not to sound silly here, but I am trying to get back in the saddle of writing again and this felt nice to do as encouragement.

How many works do you have on AO3?

A mere seven stories! I am absolutely pretending the FFN account I had twenty years ago does not exist anymore. (It does.)

What's your total AO3 word count?

161, 882

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

The Fly Agaric

Between the Lines

All Imaginable Pangs

Le Phénomène

All That is Solid Melts Into Air (this fic will haunt me until I die.)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try as much as I can to; I’ve honestly fallen behind this year, since I’ve been on hiatus for medical/mental health issues, but if you see me replying to your comment from a while back in the near future… I am so so sorry, but please know that I am SO deeply appreciative of every single comment that gets left on my stories.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Between the Lines! This one is a Leroux-canon insert that happens during the two weeks Christine is trapped in Erik’s house, and within the context of the fic, it ends badly, and within the greater context of the book… well! You know how it ends. It’s funny, because that was the first fan fic I wrote as an adult trying to get back into fandom after 15+ years of pretending I had moved on from it (spoiler: i did not.) and now I cannot bring myself to write dark endings.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Most likely Le Phénomène. This was written for fluff week and was a massive excuse to have Leroux E/C have sex during a rainstorm without having to worry too much about the plot lol. What can more i say.

Do you write crossovers?

I have! It’s The Follies! And I’m quite proud of it, but it gets zero hits haha, because it’s a Venn diagram of an already small fandom (Phantom) and an incredibly niche one (my favorite musical, Sunday in the Park with George, which is also set in early 1880s Paris and about a troubled artist/muse affair—which, if you’ve never seen it, GO NOW! The proshot is widely available and it’s life changing.). If you’ve ever wanted to see Erik get drunk with Bernadette Peters, then have I got a story for you.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

For the most part, no. I have had a couple of random people who don’t like what I’ll call “hate sex” blast me for writing Erik and Christine having it because, idk their love is pure or something, but that’s mostly it.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes! I don’t know if I write smut for the sake of smut (save for the one fluff piece), but I love writing emotional, atmospheric sex into my stories—sex that deepens how characters relate to each other and who they are as a person; people are allowed to have their own interpretations, but for me, sex is such a massive underpinning of most versions of the story and also a big part of my own life’s journey, and I just find it fascinating to write. I don’t know if people find my writing hot though, because things tend to inevitably get a little weird.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

See above.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since high school, and most of it was written to troll lol. I think now I’m just too picky and slow and set in my ways for anyone to want to collaborate with me, hahah.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Erik and Christine forever. It just is what it is, folks. Their dynamic is so specific and strange and fascinating and I will never get tired of exploring it/reading it/drawing it/writing it etc. Every other ship I love is basically just another iteration of them.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

There’s this Kay!verse horror story (with a happy ending because I’m me) that I started writing; it’s inspired by the myth of La Llorona and takes place during the weekend adult Erik returns to Boscherville to burn his mother’s house down. I really WANT to write it, but I have a story I need to finish first. I also seldom write horror and had to put it on pause because the particular subject matter of this one did not help my mental state lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I feel so silly writing this out about myself, hahah. If I have to say, I am particularly proud of my characterizations, my prose, and the thematic arcs I try to put into every story I write.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. Oh, god. Plot. Like anything that isn’t angsting, fucking, or fighting is SO hard for me to write. (Hint: call everything a “character piece” and you never have to explain why nothing happens in your writing lmao). Looooong ass sentences. I’m incredibly slow at writing, terrible at outlining, and I second guess myself with every sentence. Someone once told me to my face that my fic writing was purple prose and I guess that still haunts me a bit.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

For the most part, I think it’s a bad idea. Unless you have a genuine handle on the other language, I think you’re better off implying that said language is being spoken through other means. It otherwise usually just reads as really cringey to me, like “Woohoo I ran this through google translate”—especially in smut. A couple of words here and there are fine, especially if there is a word that doesn’t have a 1:1 in the primary language, but something about a bunch of Google translate sentences being pasted into the middle of a story takes me out entirely. Just my preference though, especially when it comes to my own writing; I’m not Tolstoy. I’m not Nabokov. I’m not gonna try. Anyway, end tangent.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I’d say Pharoga, but my current WIP leans into that ship on and off. I really, really want to writeErik and Meg. One day. Or Raoul/Madame Giry

What's your favorite fic you've written?

It’s really hard to say tbh—the process of writing every one of my stories (including Tubeman Rik) has taught me so much about myself as a writer and person. But it’s a split between The Fly Agaric and All Imaginable Pangs. The former was basically the fic I’d been wanting to read and struggling to write for twenty years, and I put so much of myself and my own life experiences into it that it feels incredible to have finally laid it all out and gotten it on paper, even if I worry that I now have nothing else to say about Christine and Erik, haha. But there is something about All Imaginable Pangs that made it so fun to write—I love the challenge of crafting an OC who makes sense in Erik’s past, I LOOOOOVE thinking about the period of Erik’s life where he was trying to live as normal person, before he was jaded enough to become a mole person, and I love that period of time in art and history. It’s been so fun to sit in that world. I expected no one to read it, because I realize that OCs are a very hard sell in this fandom, but I just wanted to create a POV character who was closer in age to me, who’d been dealt a lot of luxury and a lot of shit thrown her way, who also has gray hair and soft thighs lol. That it has gotten any comments, let alone some of the seriously incredible feedback I’ve received across platforms, surprises and delights me. I can’t say whether or not Augustine is a success in terms of a believable original love interest, let alone person, but I like her enough that I’m (slowly) re-writing the whole story from Erik’s point of view.

Well. That was a lot of chatter. I apologize if any of this comes off as pretentious, but I’ve taken such a long hiatus from writing fic and this was a nice little jab in the arm to finish. I’ve had to take a lot of time away from fandom for health reasons, but I’m doing so much better and (i think) finally getting back in the swing of things. If you’ve ever so much as read one of my fics, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Tagging @box5intern @ladystormcrow @flora-gray @muirin007 @antiquarianne . My apologies if you’ve already been tagged.

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

I’m not exactly sure what you’re describing, but I think the key word with what you described here and in your tags is “dread.” If drinking 11 mouthfuls feels “wrong” and gives you “dread,” to me, that COULD be OCD—you’re just resisting the compulsion to “complete” it and pushing through the distress, if that makes sense. Which is actually really good! That’s how therapy for OCD works.

“Cannot stop yourself from that thing bc otherwise everything is Bad”—that sounds like a classic compulsion. An example from my own OCD: researching. I have spent hours, DAYS, researching topics about salvation to try to figure out if I’m saved. Sometimes the stuff is very interesting and fascinating, but that’s not ultimately why I’m researching—I’m researching because I’m wondering if I’m saved or not, which brings intense anxiety, so trying to “solve” the problem with research sometimes brings relief. But to resist that—which is what we do in ERP therapy—is intensely distressing. It feels like my eternity is at stake, because my OCD is telling me that if I don’t address this problem right now, I might miss “something God is trying to send me,” might miss something that would lead to me getting saved, etc.

It might help to think of it this way: for you, sometimes you drink water “correctly” and enjoy the feeling of “rightness.” For me, sometimes I read a Bible verse and feel the thing I think I SHOULD feel, and it makes me happy/relieved. I think, “Wow, maybe that’s a sign that I’m saved!”

But at other times, you drink “wrong,” and experience dread, and then you either try to do it again to correct it or you push through the dread. Same with me: I might feel the “wrong” thing in response to a Bible verse and start panicking/questioning my salvation and trying to feel the “right” thing to prove to myself that I’m saved.

It might be worth noting what happens if you tear yourself away from the thing or NOT do the thing that gives you that sense of satisfaction. If you’re enjoying a project and have to stop to go to dinner with friends, you may be sad to leave the project, but you’re not anxious (assuming you’re not on a deadline or something or stressed about finishing it for other reasons). That’s a sign it’s not OCD. If I have to stop doing a compulsion to go to dinner with my family, I will be in so much distress that I’ll have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom during dinner in order to continue compulsions because the anxiety from putting off the compulsions is too great.

With the water, yes, you may get satisfaction from drinking 11 mouthfuls, but the real teller is what happens when you don’t—you feel “dread.”

Does that help at all?

Important distinction for OCD that no one seems to realize:

If you are enjoying the obsession/obsessive topic, it’s not OCD.

I have spent hours upon hours obsessing about cosplay projects and having the time of my life. This was NOT my OCD.

I have had times of my life where all I could focus on was a fun school project. It was so fascinating and it was all I wanted to think about. This was also NOT my OCD.

OCD comes with distress/anxiety/dread. Not just “I feel like I can’t focus until my desk is tidy,” either—it’s usually excessive/unreasonable dread and sometimes panic, depending on the severity of your OCD.

OCD isn’t fun. OCD isn’t enjoyable. If there’s any sort of enjoyable factor to your “OCD,” it’s not OCD.

Doing compulsions brings RELIEF sometimes, which is why we do compulsions in the first place (and get stuck in cycles of doing them). But that’s the only positive feeling in the OCD experience, and it’s also one that you ultimately have to deny yourself in order to find lasting healing.

[obikin-events]

Hello Open Circle Fleet!

As you may know, or possibly just finding out by reading this, we have our very first Obikin Events event coming up!!

This mini event will run July 23 - 24! 

**If you saw the other post, please know I goofed on the dates there! These are the correct ones!

I know this is only a month away, and doesn’t give you much time to create for, which is why for this event there will be no minimums or maximum word counts, no set sizes for art, no x amount of pics for an aesthetic/mood board, no x amount for a playlist, no x amount length for fanvids or podfics. This event in particular is meant to be low pressure. 

You can create art, podfics (though please do make sure you have the authors permission if it’s not your fic you are turning into a podfic), mood board/aesthetics, playlists or whatever you can come up with to fill the prompts!

Which leads me to prompts: 

Day One, July 23 - Canon Verse! Create anything you wish as long as it’s set in the GFFA. Meaning you can create fix-it fic’s, never a Jedi, raised a Sith, clone wars era pwps, saving Anakin from falling to the dark side, explore scenes you felt were only glossed over. You can even do AUs as long as they’re set within the GFFA!

Day Two, July 24 - AU’s! Want to explore Anakin being hot for Professor Obi-wan? Want rich business man Obi-wan to hire personal chef Anakin? Want an excuse to write that bodyguard fic or what about the raised as a Sith? Well today is the day for you then friend, because this day is all about AUs! Any and all are welcome! 

The tag the blog will be tracking is #obikinweekendJ1, or to help ensure the blog sees your creation to reblog you can also @ us!

I know these prompts are very broad, but this is meant to be a very low pressure event. If you want to create only for one day, awesome! If you want to do both, fantastic! If you want to create multiple things, then I salute you King! But don’t feel like you have to do anything but bask in what other people create is still valid!

*** We now have an Ao3 collection where you can post add your creations!

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to send in an ask here, a DM on Twitter or even an email to obikinevents@gmail.com.

May the Obikin Be With You.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

HI HELLO EXCUSE ME I JUST SAW THE TAGS ON YOUR LAST POST ABOUT THE POTTERY SHARDS VERSE? HE GASLIGHTS CAPTAIN AMERICA?? AND YOU CUT IT OUT????? DO YOU CARE TO ELABORATE???? I love love loooove your pottery shards and acts of... verses sooo so so much btw absolute masterpieces. It is so hard to find anything about Jack Murdock but he is just so interesting please. Also pottery shards??? mwah i love it. I usually avoid mcu stuff bc peter is always stripped down to some spineless kid, but he is SO MUCH MORE. plus it's so funny like god

It wasn’t in pottery shards. Explanation below the cut.

The scene came from a fic I have planned and partially written but no idea if I’ll ever publish. The idea was that Bucky, post Winter Soldier, ends up recovering with the vigilante community of New York, which results in Peter Parker becoming ferally protective of him. This Peter is extremely productive, mildly insane, terrible at communication, and a total ride or die. Every adult in his life is terrified as to what he is doing at any given moment, because it could be anything, and Peter will not tell them until it has already happened. he just keeps doing things and he will not fucking tell them what those things are. 

as a side note, bucky in this AU adores peter to his dying breath, and he has never been more stressed out in his life. it’s like a tiny steve who has the power to fling himself off buildings and is even worse about sharing relevant information in a timely fashion--and steve let the army fucking experiment on him without letting his good ol’ pal bucky know that his last enlistment attempt worked. bucky has aged a thousand years since meeting peter. he would be stressed all day, every day, seven days a week, but he gets to time share his stress with frank castle, which alleviates some pressure. 

Bucky hadn’t reached out to Steve at this point—who was tearing apart the world looking for him—and Peter was a very firm believer in bucky’s right to heal on his own timeline. So, when Steve spots Bucky near one of their old haunts in Brooklyn, he’s elated, and Bucky is less than elated.

Peter, who was coming to meet bucky, takes exception to this fact.

He just sort of gets in Steve’s way in the street, acting like a random passer-by, and Steve, in his rush to get to bucky, grabs him by his bare forearms to move him out of the way when Peter keeps getting in his path. This is, of course, exactly what Peter wants, because he immediately activates his stickiness and Steve now physically cannot let go of this obvious child.

Peter immediately proceeds to give an Oscar winning performance of “terrified child in the process of being kidnapped, please, please, this isn’t my dad, someone save me.” He tries to fuck off immediately after, but he gets snagged by Sam and dragged into Avengers tower for questioning as to what the hell he just did, how the hell he just did it, and how is he involved with bucky.

Peter decides the only way out is through and that he just has to lean into the kidnapped child thing. He just. Immediately starts gaslighting the fuck out of everyone. He didn’t do anything, that’s insane, their theory is that he can, what—become sticky at will and somehow force captain America to drag him around by the arms? he’s fourteen and an honor student and he wants his aunt, oh god is he actually kidnapped by the avengers. He cries. It’s mildly humiliating.

It’s also extremely convincing, because like. He’s fourteen and an honor student. he’s crying. Why would this random child have any affiliation with the winter soldier? And what could he have done to make Steve grab him by the arms and drag him around—become sticky at will? That’s insane.

So he convinces everyone that Steve saw someone who was just a bucky lookalike on the street, snapped, had a nervous breakdown, lost control of his own strength, and almost kidnapped a fucking child. Including Steve. Steve also thinks he had a breakdown and almost accidentally kidnapped a child. But, good news, Peter really really doesn’t want to be on Ellen as the kid who almost got Datelined by Captain America, so he’d love to just go home and never talk about this ever, please and thank you. they really lucked out of a lawsuit, if you think about it. So he manages to gaslight them into letting peter go with their profuse apologies, and they’re actively making plans to ship Steve off to a wellness retreat on one of Tony’s tropical estates, because obviously the stress of hydra and looking for bucky has just been too much for him. He snapped and almost caused the most difficult to explain PR scandal ever. 

This, of course, all fails, because Peter accidentally unlocks his phone with Face ID while they’re giving him back his stuff, and a photo of him with Bucky is his home screen. He is very high intelligence, very low wisdom.

“Huh,” says Peter, into the damning silence. “I almost gaslit my way out of that like a girlboss.”

And then he immediately shoved his phone down his pants and announced that he would personally make sure that anyone who went after it would never be allowed in a school zone again. It devolves from there.

I loved it. It was so funny. It was peak chaos. Peter will never apologize for his actions. Foggy tries to get him to, and Peter says “I’m not sorry and I would do it again” and Foggy has to be like “HAHAH kids say the darnedest things please don’t press charges.” Matt keeps having to leave the room to laugh. Karen gets all teary-eyed with pride whenever Peter does does anything illegal, so she’s useless at scolding him. I had to scrap it in the end because it was a very big narrative point—Steve finding bucky again—that could be used in much more effective ways. It was devastating but made for a stronger plot.

I fully agree—a lot of fandom makes peter like, pretty spineless and helpless. I think there’s a big difference between making him young and making him a damsel which a lot of fanfiction misses. I, personally, like him insane. Ironically, pottery shards peter is probably the tamest peter i have in my drafts. 

Jack murdock was this lasting point of interest for me where I desperately wanted a fanfiction where he lived and there just really wasn’t a lot of options. Lying by Omission by deniigiq was really the only thing that had fun with an alive Jack murdock, but I really, really wanted a Jack who just managed to survive canon. Roscoe Sweeney taking Matt instead was the obvious choice, which—it has such fascinating implications for guilt that I was obsessed. I’m glad you also like it.

I’m glad you’re enjoying pottery shards and acts! Thank you for the kind words!

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: The Phantom of the Opera (Andrew Lloyd Webber musical)

Tagged by anonymous

These answers are for the musical character only, because I haven't read Gaston Leroux's book yet.

Favorite thing about them: His poetic, musical spirit, his array of skills and the fascinating use to which he puts them, the tragedy of his life story which earns our pity without excusing his worst actions, and his ultimate redemption by letting Christine go.

Least favorite thing about them: Nothing much. Just that he murders two men, terrorizes the opera house, is controlling and possessive toward the woman he loves, kidnaps her, and threatens to kill the man she loves if she refuses to be his. That's all.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I love music.

*I feel insecure about my looks.

*I can be passionate – although I don't kidnap my crushes or strangle people when I'm angry.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I have a loving family.

*I'm not a genius in multiple artistic fields.

*I'm not deformed.

Favorite line: The lyrics to "The Music of the Night."

brOTP: Madame Giry, especially in the film version where she saved his life and brought him to the opera house years earlier. In crossover-land, I'd like to see him meet Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, because they have a fair amount in common (although I admit I like Heathcliff better).

OTP: Emotional healing.

nOTP: Christine – sorry, phans.

Random headcanon: While like most opera lovers, he was introduced to the legend of Don Juan through Mozart's Don Giovanni, he's also well-versed in earlier versions of the story, since his array of talents includes "scholar" as well as musician, architect, and inventor. That's why in his opera Don Juan Triumphant, he called the Zerlina-like character "Aminta," since that was her name in the original play by Tirso de Molina. No word on why he named the Catalinón/Leporello character "Passarino," though.

Unpopular opinion: He's not a romantic hero. He's an antagonist. A tragic, sympathetic one, not to mention charismatic and compelling, but an antagonist just the same. Christine doesn't belong with him, and he redeems himself in the end by letting her go with the man she does belong with. Love Never Dies will never be canon to me.

Song I associate with them:

"The Phantom of the Opera"

"The Music of the Night"

Favorite pictures of them:

Michael Crawford:

Colm Wilkinson, with Rebecca Caine as Christine (hard to believe they did this after playing father and daughter in Les Misérables!):

Howard McGillin (a.k.a. the voice of Prince Derek in that childhood favorite of mine, The Swan Princess):

Davis Gaines (the first Phantom I ever saw onstage at age ten, as well as the singing voice of the Chamberlain in the above-mentioned Swan Princess):

Hugh Panaro:

Thomas James O'Leary:

Mike Sterling, with Meredith Braun (a.k.a. Belle in The Muppet Christmas Carol) as Christine:

John Owen Jones, with Celinde Schoenmaker as Christine:

Ramin Karimloo:

Gerard Butler in the film version:

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Y/n meets her savior and officially joins the investigation. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren here you go. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a DM. 

Trigger warnings: dissociation, implied sex abuse/trafficking, discussions of death, drugs

It was only when the man left your line of sight that your senses started to return. And even then, you felt like you were on a separate plane of existence from everything happening around you. You were floating, completely numb to your surroundings, letting the world push you wherever it needed you to be.

You weren't entirely sure how you made it from the dumpsters to the FBI headquarters, but there you were.

You listened in on the conversation happening in the other room. From what you could tell, the man who saved you was arguing with his boss.

"Because if there's so much as a Tylenol in her system, you're going to pass it off to the DEA." The man said, his voice soft but firm. This wasn't the first time they had this argument and it showed.

"Will, it is not my fault that the DEA gets preferential treatment." The boss sounded exhausted. "We have a better chance of catching this man with their resources. And we can't turn a blind eye to how substances affect human behavior. I thought you of all people would accept this."

"What if there's nothing in her system?" The man posited. "Then all we have to work with is our own resources. Would that be so bad?"

"Look," the boss said, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. "We can't determine anything until forensics gets lab results back tomorrow. For now, see what you can find out from the waitress. She was able to keep her talking, maybe we can find out about what."

The man resignedly left the room and made his way to you. You glanced around the hallway, hoping he wouldn't notice that you've been eavesdropping.

He sat on the opposite end of the bench. You pulled the security blanket from the ambulance tighter around your shoulders.

"I know this is such a stupid, insensitive thing to ask," the man broke the silence. "But are you okay?"

"If it makes you feel any better," you sighed and dropped your shoulders. "I wasn't really okay to begin with."

"Yeah." The man agreed. "It doesn't matter how much you break something, it's still broken. Broken is a... Boolean value."

"It's just that.." You clutched the receipt between your fingers. "Just as I thought things were starting to improve, the universe sends me a cultist strapped to a bomb. I'm never going to recover from this."

"I don't think anyone expects you to." He said. "My name's Will, by the way."

"[F/N]." You said, just for formality's sake. He already knew your name. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life."

"Don't worry about it." Will smiled weakly. "If you think you can, though, it would be innumerably helpful if you told us what happened."

You knew you weren't in a position to be asking for favors, but you were desperate. "Could I maybe stay with you for a while?"

Will hovered his hand over yours as if asking for permission. You took it, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"I'll stay with you as long as you want."

Will's presence made it easier to tell the man, whom you learned was the head of the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI, everything that progressed that night.

"And then she started chanting that one bible verse about the martyrs inheriting the kingdom of heaven." You finished. "That was when Will shot her in the leg."

The director, whose name you learned was Jack Crawford, took a moment to ponder the information. You felt like a child that had been sent to the principal's office.

"Do you have any reason to believe that the woman was under the influence of any drugs? Alcohol?" Jack asked, resting his hands on the desk.

"Not with any certainty, no. I didn't see her ingest anything." You shook your head. "If she was under any influence at all, it was probably against her will."

"What makes you say that?" Jack cocked his head. "In your own time, of course."

"She was..." you glanced at Will, just to remind yourself that he was there. "Scared. Nothing she said had any conviction behind it. It was like she was a hostage being forced to read a fake suicide letter."

"What about these 'cult names' you mentioned?" Jack said. "What significance do you think they have?"

"She kept referring to Chase as 'vanguard'." You began.

"That's what Keith Raniere called himself." Jack interrupted. "Keith Raniere was the head of a sex trafficking cult."

"And the only reason I know that is because I listen to a lot of podcasts." You felt the need to explain. "I'm not sure how Mulvaney decided it would be a fitting title. Maybe he identified with Raniere."

"Did the woman call herself something, too?" Jack leaned in.

"Funny you should mention that," You forced a laugh. "Because she referred to herself as an 'unwoman'."

"That is interesting." Jack brought his hand to his temple, perhaps trying to convince you that he knew what ‘unwoman’ meant.

"He probably thinks Handmaid's Tale is some kind of instruction manual." You said, emphasizing the title of the work. 

“Handmaid’s Tale!” Jack exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "So, are you thinking maybe he's running a breeding cult?"

“Like a borrasca.” You turned to Will, hoping that maybe he would understand what that meant.

As if on cue, a woman in a lab coat burst into the room. 

“Dr. Katz,” Jack announced, taken aback by her urgency. “Welcome.” 

“Jack, you’re going to want to see this.” Dr. Katz said simply. 

Jack stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, Ms. [L/N], Will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Again, you were alone with Will. 

“I’m...” Will broke the silence, pausing to find the right words. “Jack isn’t as scary as he looks. He just has a habit of asking too much of people. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re perfectly within your rights to tell him to back off.” 

You shook your head. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

“Tell me about it.” Will muttered and leaned back in his chair. “It does seem pretty out of character for him to want to drop the whole case on the DEA, but he does have a point about their resources. You can’t argue with money.” 

“No.” You agreed. “You can’t.” 

Will sighed. “I’m sorry. The last thing you probably want to hear about is FBI in-fighting after almost being killed twice in a two-week period.”

“It doesn’t really inspire confidence, no.” You said. 

“Let’s talk about something else.” He offered. “Do you like... fishing?” 

You laughed at his strange attempt at making conversation, but answered honestly. “I used to go fishing with my grandpa when I was a kid.” 

Realizing he’d tapped into a happy memory, Will decided to follow it. “Where did he take you?” 

“My grandparents had this lake house up in Michigan.” You reminisced. “On this dinky little manmade lake where all the rich boomers took their spoiled grandkids for the summer.” 

“Did you ever catch anything?” He shared a little smile.

You realized that he was doing the same thing to you that you did to the unwoman. He was trying to keep you talking to avoid, or at least prolong, some catastrophic event. But he was doing it for your sake. You appreciated that. 

“We pulled up a ton of bluegills, some walleyes, occasionally a bass.” You listed. “One time he and his brother-in-law settled a dispute by seeing who could catch a catfish first. They were outside all day.” 

“Did he ever take you downstate to go fishing on Lake Erie?” 

You stared vacantly ahead. “He wanted to.” 

Will lowered his head in respect. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It was, like, fourteen years ago.” You admitted. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Still,” Will shrugged. “Grief takes a lot out of you. I’m sorry for bringing it up, I had no idea.”

“At this point, most avenues in my life end in death. It’s not your fault.” You smiled at him. “Thanks for trying, though.” 

You settled into another prolonged but comfortable silence. 

“I think Jack is going to arrange to get you into some kind of protective custody, by the way.” He said, shifting his body to face you. “And I don’t think he’s going to give you a choice now that he knows Chase is targeting you, specifically.” 

“Yeah, I was thinking about that.” You answered. “I think they’re probably going to insist I quit my job, too.” 

“You sound disappointed.” Will nodded. “You’ve grown to like that job, huh?” 

“I was good at it.” You admitted. “My boss was gunning for me to take over when he retired. I had big plans for that place. I know waitressing is supposed to be a job that’s ‘just a job’ but--” 

“You had ambition.” Will finished. “You were making an investment for your future.” 

For the first time in a while, you felt heard. “Right.” 

“If you would permit me to say,” Will stood up and walked towards Jack’s desk. “I think you would be an invaluable asset to this investigation.” 

You leaned on the armrest. “I don’t know, Will. I feel like I would just get in the way.” 

“But the sooner we catch this sick fuck, the sooner you can get back to your restaurant.” He said, grabbing a post-it note. He gestured to you with a pen. “And I will do everything in my power to get you back to that restaurant.”

“Why?” You asked. “I’m just a waitress.” 

“Your profile of Chase Mulvaney in your TattleCrime interview was a work of genius.” Will took off his glasses. “And it was incendiary enough to make him come back for you. It wasn’t just a cocaine-fueled bout of murderous hysterics. He remembered you. Now, throughout this investigation, Jack has been ignoring me. But maybe he’ll listen to you.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” You raised an eyebrow. “What then?” 

Will sighed and leaned back on the desk. “Then I do it myself.” 

“Fuck it.” You said, the complete contents of your soul behind those two little words. If he was going to raise the stakes, by god you were going to match him. “I don’t have much else to live for, so might as well die for something.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Will agreed. 

[kabootarandishaan]

How bout a little bit of French boi love? Could you do something where reader hugs Polnareff one day, and they both realize they're pretty touch-starved, so they start becoming more cuddly/affectionate with each other. And it gets to the point where reader will like, climb into Pol's lap and hes confused and wondering if it means she likes him too lmao. Poor boy isn't used to his flirting being returned what do 🥺😂😍

A/N: Hey nonnie! I have no idea when this came in but hopefully it hasn’t been too long. I made a drabble like thing since it would be too long to be a headcanon. Hope you enjoy! It worked out that the reader is gender neutral so it’s E for everyone!

You had no idea that meeting a group of huge ass men would have quite the impact on your life. You tagged along with Jotaro and crew because you had been orphaned by one of Dio’s minions 

That’s probably what caused you and Polnareff to hit it off so easily. You both knew how it felt to lose those you loved, when you were around him you felt less alone. He always brightened your mood. Despite all he’d been through it didn’t stop his personality from coming through

He was quite the flirt and you had to admit at first it caught you off guard. Later though, you also started to subtly indulge him. You’d find excuses just to be around him, you’d sneak into his tent to talk about your day, etc.

It was one particular moment that changed the dynamic though. You needed some supplies and thought to go into the market. You saw numerous couples and people but something caught your eye. A mother was with her son, she picked him up from the ground and held him firmly against her chest.

The scene brought out a yearning you didn’t realize you had. The desire to be held closely. The desire to be encapsulated in the warm embrace of a loved one. You didn’t know why but suddenly you were exhausted and you made your way back to the base.

You don’t know what came over you but you immediately went over to Polnareff and wrapped your arms tightly around him. He stiffened at the sudden contact but quickly placed his arms around you.

”You okay cherie?” He looked down at you out of concern. You nodded. “Just haven’t hugged someone in awhile. I wanted to remember how it felt.” You felt his chest reverberate as he gave a chuckle.

”Ah! Well, I’ll be more than happy to be your designated hug buddy. Come to think of it I can’t remember the last time I myself hugged someone so this is nice.” After that you two became pretty well-versed in casual touches.

You’d lean onto his shoulder if you two sat next to each other or you’d play with his hair. He didn’t mind. Although, you were a bit frustrated he didn’t notice you were being a little more than friendly when touching him at times.

You thought on how you could make it any more obvious and came up with an idea. It had gotten pretty late this day and everyone else had made their way to their tents, save for you and Polnareff. You and him were talking and you slowly made your way closer to where he sat.

You were leaning on him when you suddenly got up and sat so you were straddling his lap. From the light given off by the fire you could see a tinge of red make its way across his cheeks. “Y/N, what are you doing?” His voice was hushed.

“Well obviously I’m in your lap.” You said matter of factly. He looked at you and raised his brown amused at the boldness of your answer. “I can see that, but my question is why?”. You rolled your eyes and gave out a sigh. “Jean Pierre Polnareff I like you, that’s why!”

“Oh. Me too” That was all he could say. You laughed before speaking. “You know for someone who calls himself a flirt you get quite flustered don’t you. Anyways, are you gonna kiss me or what?”

He quickly composed himself after those words “Say no more mon amour”. The next thing you felt were his soft lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss and could feel his smile tug yours upwards. 

You slowly pulled away and rested your forehead against his. “I hope there’s more where that came from.” He took your chin in his hands and pressed his lips  against yours for another swift peck. “Who said I was finished.” He smirked and picked you up taking you into his tent.

[stark-tony]

tododeku fic recs

* = incomplete

meet you again someday (after we take the long way ’round) by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku's life is saved by a boy with the strongest Quirk he has ever seen. 

Eventually - inevitably - he falls in love.(An AU in which Todoroki never attends UA, they never clash at the sports festival, but they come together all the same.)

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

that is just the way by celestialfics

summary:  Shouto has his first sleepover.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what is right and what is easy by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku, tsuchako

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

First Time For Everything by kazzarole

summary: Midoriya is the catalyst of many of the 'firsts' in Shouto's life--it just makes sense that Shouto should share his first kiss with him, too.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

alone together by celestialfics

summary:  Five times when other Class 1-A kids notice Todoroki and Midoriya in their own world.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

A Simple Warmth by patster223

summary: “I’m trying to make Todoroki a sweater for his birthday, but…” Izuku pokes at the tangle of yarn. “It’s more complicated than I thought it would be.”

In which Izuku sucks at knitting, his classmates are eager to help out, Todoroki finally gets to be cozy, and knitting is a vector for romance.

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: none

Conventional Taste by WowBoring

summary: He didn’t think it would matter if Midoriya were taking him to a sewer convention; it was probably still going to be the highlight of his Golden Week.

In order to avoid a visit from his unpleasant grandparents Todoroki attends a hero convention with Midoriya, and learns a few things along the way.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: abuse

pls respond by Esselle

summary: 'Midoriya: UR SO CUTE

Shouto chokes on nothing. How is he supposed to respond to that? Is he supposed to respond at all?

Midoriya: Look at your big head aaaaaaaaaaaaah Midoriya: *Image Attached*

Oh, Shouto thinks. He was talking about Shouto's Nitotan, which is now smashed to one of Izuku's cheeks in the image Izuku just sent, as Izuku squeezes it joyfully. Even if Izuku wasn't talking to him directly, the butterflies in Shouto's stomach feel a bit joyful, too.

He types out: I wish I were that Nitotan right now. Then he snorts, and erases it.'

--

Izuku has a wide variety of special moves, but his Key Smash might be the most powerful of all.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

i can keep a secret, could you? by handcrusher (ameliafromafairytale)

summary: The last thing Todoroki wants is for his father to figure out that 1) he's gay and 2) he's dating the boy he's supposed to overcome as a hero. So, he and Midoriya devise a plan.

Just how long can they keep it up?

pairings: tododeku, tsuchako, momojirou

tags: 

warnings: 

hold on tight by lunalou

summary: "What are you doing?" Shouto asks.

"Hugging you." Midoriya returns in a patient voice. His arms tighten around Shouto's waist and he presses his forehead more firmly against his back. "You know it's a hug, Shouto-kun. Don't play dumb."

or, five times somebody from 1-a hugs todoroki and the one time he hugs them first

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: 

If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man

summary: Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself. 

  In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: 

Guiding Light by furihatachlookie

summary:  It was his mother's idea to enroll him at the local elementary school. His father believed a private tutor was better, but nobody can argue with a mother who's made up her mind, and a balanced exposure to kids his own age sways his father's judgement enough to agree and sign the papers.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: 

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu's Elite Study Club by hanwritesstuff (hannahkannao)

summary: “Well, as I see it, we have two options.” Shouto holds up two fingers. “We can either ignore this and pretend it never happened or... not.” He doesn't know which one he wants. “What does not entail, exactly?” Yaoyorozu asks. “...I don't know.”

In which Todoroki accidentally learns something about Yaoyorozu, Yaoyorozu accidentally learns something about Todoroki, and they spend a considerable portion of their study sessions... not studying.s

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

Do What You Will, If That's What You Want by stanzas

summary: “What do you mean you’re retiring?” Bakugou asks nicely, or at least as nicely as someone like Bakugou can ask. The question is phrased more like a demand.“

Call it a mid-life crisis,” Shouto answers, like Bakugou asked him what the weather would be tomorrow, and takes a deep sip from his coffee. “I’m thinking of changing careers.”

The world of heroes is quick to adapt to surprises, but Pro Hero Entropy’s (very premature) retirement announcement throws almost everyone for a pretty impressive loop.

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, humor

warnings:

extra, extra! by rythyme (pugglemuggle)

summary: Shouto & Creati: ACTUALLY Dating?! by Hitachi Hitomi at September 18, 2047 3:42 pm."Ever since heartthrob 

Todoroki Shouto and the Everything Hero "Creati" made their official debuts, the two 22-year-old heroes have been nothing but professional towards each other. But was this all a sham to cover up the truth?" 

Or: The media thinks Shouto and Creati are dating. Hint: they aren't. A multimedia TodoDeku & MomoJirou fanfic told through news articles, gossip columns, twitter, tumblr, text messages, and more.

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

you broke the dark and my whole earth shook by aloneintherain

summary:  Shouto had imagined himself as the country’s top hero for decades. Endeavour had put those images in his head when he was a child, and they had stayed there, growing like a fungus, until Shouto had reached adulthood. Even now, he was only just beginning to realise he didn’t have to live his life according to almost thirty-year-old decisions made by his abuser. He could do more. Be more. Outside of the hero community.

Izuku gets a job offer in America. Somehow, this brings Shouto and Izuku closer than ever before.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings:

count your blessings, not your flaws by PitViperOfDoom

summary:  Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.

pairings: tododeku

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

call the fire department (i'm burning up with love) by Edgedancer

summary:  An (abridged) list of things Todoroki Shouto did not have before U.A.: Loud neighbors. Fire alarms. Friends. Midoriya Izuku.

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings:

long nights and daydreams by dreamtowns

summary: According to the public, Pro Heroes Deku and Entropy are an amazing Hero Duo, best friends, and the most eligible bachelors in the world. According to their fans, they’re head over heels in love with one another yet oblivious to the others’ feelings. According to their friends and family, they’ve been in love with one another since high school, but, for reasons unknown to them, refuse to act upon said feelings.

According to said heroes, they have been (secretly) married for six years.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: 

extra-salty/twitter-verse series by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)

summary:  In his third year at UA, Todoroki Shouto works in a burger place, catches on fire and falls in love. Only two of those things are on purpose.

Or...Todoroki Shouto's exciting adventures in customer service.

part one of the extra salty/twitter-verse

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

More Than Skin-Deep by Emmeri

summary: It was a fact, really. That he was ugly. Having a scar which takes up half his face kind of does that, in Todoroki's eyes. So why does he overhear the girls call him the class pretty boy?

He'll just have to ask Midoriya about it; he has too little filter to tell anything but the truth.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: 

Your Biggest Fan by Latios

summary: He opens the bag on the floor to see what could have been left in there-- and promptly freezes, staring at the contents inside.

“Midoriya.” He calls.

“Hm?”

“You bought our hero merch?”

~

Aka, Class 1-A starts to see themselves appear on merchandise in their local stores. Todoroki tries not to buy things, and fails.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: 

Marry The Mole by Haurvatat

summary: “You're going to break up with him before he can propose.”

The hands went down and the steel wall of Midoriya's entire being went up. “...Excuse me?”

“And in return-” Enji gritted his teeth, “-I will deposit 20 million yen in your checking account.”

-

The gay drama fic based on a tumblr post absolutely zero people wanted to see but YOU'RE GETTING ANYWAY

pairings: tododeku

tags: humor

warnings: 

ascended fanboy by aloneintherain

summary: “I want to honour them,” Izuku said softly. “When I cosplay, I just want people to see how amazing these heroes are.”

Shouto brushed a thumb over his cheek, careful not to smudge his makeup. “They do. I promise.”

Or: Izuku and Shouto attend HeroCon, five years post-graduation.

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: 

[rpbetter]

Reblog Etiquette (and ships)

At this point, we all know about “reblog karma” and “reblogging from source.” Though, I say that...and am questioning it. You should fucking know this by now, but in the event you don’t, let me define that shit for you.

Reblog Karma: the RPC’s oldest attempt at keeping people from clogging notifications and using others as meme resources. Essentially, don’t reblog a meme from a mutual unless you are sending them something from that meme first. Not all blogs practice it, or practice it the same way, please see their rules.

Reblogging from Source: another effort to stop being used as a meme/aesthetics resource. Many RPers would like you to reblog quotes, aesthetics, and memes from their source (original post location or the meme/aesthetics/quotes resource blog they got it from), even if you are sending them a meme. This is especially applicable when not interacting with the RPer.

Okay, that’s out of the way.

There is more to Reblog Etiquette than this!

And, when that etiquette is nonexistent, it almost always deals with a RPer’s ship. Mentioning ship partners and/or tagging ships on a reblog from another RPer, not removing that RPer’s mentions or tags, and even dropping a mention or outright RPing in the comments of another RPer’s reblog.

Don’t reblog from another mun and tag your ship or mention (@) your ship partner(s).

Don’t reblog a post with someone else’s mention still stuck to it.

Don’t reblog a post and leave the previous mun’s tags still in the tags.

Don’t go into the comments on someone’s post and mention your ship partner(s).

Don’t roleplay in the comments of someone else’s post.

None of this is alright, I have no idea what would make anyone think this is appropriate reblog etiquette, but it very much is not. It’s incredibly rude and lazy. Because I know that many people have similar ship aesthetics and so on, I’m not saying you shouldn’t reblog something for your own ships that a mutual has for theirs. (That’s a whole other in depth conversation we’ll have later.)

I’m saying that this is how you should be going about it:

Reblog from the source.

-What if there is no source because it’s deactivated, or there is another reason why I can’t access it? 

Go into the post’s notes. At some point, damn near every post that could be used as an aesthetic, quote, or prompt for a ship (and RP in general) has been reblogged by at least one source blog. Look for RP meme, aesthetic, help, and other resource blog urls. If you cannot find one of those, look for urls that are general resource-style blogs. Personal blogs reblog aesthetics etc. as well, and there are many such resource blogs out there. -If you’re uncomfortable reblogging from a personal, that’s tough shit; I hate to break it to you, but most of your resources came from personal blogs. Deal with it, or don’t reblog anything you can’t find filtered through a RP specific resource.

-- “But this takes time/effort lol I just want to use it for my ship.” Again, tough shit. Sometimes, it does take energy not to be rude and do the right the thing. In all honesty, it’s fairly rare that doing the right thing is effortless, even when it’s something as simple as RP. Grow up.

--- You went through the notes, but there’s no appropriate blog to reblog from, now what?

Just because it’s a rare occurrence doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I know this one isn’t, I’ve had it happen too! My choice was to not reblog it at all, I just sent the link to my ship partner privately instead. If you don’t have that kind of friendship, you really wanted it on the dash, or another reason, you are now left with one option, and you’re not going to like it. Message the mutual you want to reblog from. Politely, explain that you’d like to reblog the post for your ship, and ask if they’re comfortable with it. No guilting, begging, or general, weird ass rudeness. If they decline, accept it just as politely, thank them for their response. If they accept, thank them, and especially if this isn’t a mutual you interact with much, be sure you’re showing them continued support on the dash by reading and liking/commenting on their headcanon posts and other appropriate material. (You should be anyway.)

Remove any mentions present (@’s)

Seriously, this is incredibly rude! Yet, with the typical lack of self-reflection and awareness of others in the RPC here, I see it multiple times a day on my dash. Not just with RP-blog-to-RP-blog interaction either, I also see RPers reblogging from personals and leaving their mentions attached. (I see it the other way around too, but I’m not here to school personal blogs.) For all the excessive emphasis RPers put on appearance, you’d think they’d want to get rid of something that looks this sloppy, but no. Not if it takes one extra second of effort!

-I know that xkit’s editable reblogs tends to break whenever tumblr gives us a new, exciting, hideous, insulting, limitation, I mean update, but come the fuck on. It is also one of the quickest things to regain functionality, so, maybe you should save the reblog to drafts, be following xkit’s blog for updates, and edit it once there has been a patch. If it’s worth it to you, it’s worth a short wait. When it’s working, you can easily remove that mention with editable reblogs.

--If you’re going to use being mobile as an excuse, or if you don’t want to wait on it/don’t use xkit, again, go to the source. And, also again, if that isn’t an option, you can find where it has been reblogged by an appropriate blog at some point in its history, sans mentions. Reblog from there.

Do not reblog someone else’s tags (#)

Some people have their xkit set up to reblog automatically with the previous poster’s tags. While that can be useful in some situations, I can think of, very literally, no situation this is appropriate for an RPer to use. If you have this set up on your personal/resource blog/wtfe and your RP blog is a sideblog (or you are using certain methods of having your browser open to two separate blog accounts where your xkit settings are transferring over), it’s up to you to delete the tags on these posts.

-It takes maybe one full second to click in the tag field and hit your delete button a few times to clear it. Do that. It’s never, ever, appropriate to keep someone’s ship, muse, verse, or other personalized tags attached to a reblog.

--If you are a personal blog reading this somehow, maybe you’re wanting to get into RP, please take note of this. This is one of the many reasons why most RPers will not interact with personals. We don’t like you reblogging an aesthetic post and keeping our tags on it.

In the case of both situations, not only is it rude and lazy, it’s fucking with someone else’s tags and privacy. Most RPers don’t want their content showing up in generally searchable tags, it’s one of the reasons that personalizing tags came about. Furthermore, if I’m on my dash and click a mutual’s custom tag for aesthetics, verses, ships, and so on, it’s now going to come up with instances of those tags on someone else’s blog as well.

Delete the fucking tags if they auto-populate. Don’t use someone else’s custom tags of your own volition either.

“Subverting” reblogs to mention in comments is a hard no, too

-So, you don’t want to reblog the post, but do want to @ your ship partner(s) in it? There’s no way to do that without being rude and strange. To be honest, this is even worse than just reblogging and tagging your ship.

I may not be the OP, but you came onto a post on my blog, one very likely tagged for my ships and/or having my ship partners mentioned on it, and commented on it mentioning your ship partner. It’s every bit as offensive and more so than someone reblogging from me and using it for a ship I’m not a part of. I don’t know what’s worse, when that other mun is a ship partner, casual mutual who doesn’t interact, or a writing partner but not ship partner. It’s all deeply fucked up. No one’s RP blog is here for your use like this!

--You’re also not subverting anything. I think the idea is to be polite or go unnoticed. People seem to lack a basic grasp on how tumblr works; you get notifications on reblogged posts you are not the OP of when someone comments on them just like you get a notif when someone likes it. The only way to genuinely be secretive about this would be to comment on it from the source or a resource blog. They will get the notification.

If you are commenting on, liking, or reblogging a post you see on the dash, the person having reblogged it, putting it there for you to encounter, will be notified of your interaction with it.

---What I’m saying, just in case it isn’t abundantly clear, for the third time now: you’re not being slick. Your mutuals will see that you weirdly @’ed someone in a comment on their reblog. They know.

----The appropriate behavior is to do just as advised in the above points: GO TO THE SOURCE. If no source exists, find an appropriate resource blog in the notes. You may then, and only then, give that mention in a comment.

Frankly, it’s still weird, and I would recommend you just reblog it from the source to interact with it. There is always the option of sending it to the intended party by way of tumblr’s messenger or linking the post in an off tumblr messenger like discord.

I say this because it hasn’t escaped my attention that the only time I have this issue on my own RP blog is when the imagery or text is fucking filthy. As in, Other Mun didn’t want something that sexual, kinky, violent, and so on to be posted to their own blog. You need to grow up if that’s your deal. Like writing smut or violence, if you need to do it in private only, you’re obviously not adult enough to handle the topic.

Keep your roleplay where it belongs; in your inbox and threads

-It’s not appropriate to start up RP in the comments of another RPer’s reblogged ship aesthetic. (Or anything else, this just happens to be the most common.) It’s incredibly odd and offensive to look in your notifications and see that a mutual and their ship partner are flirting, or outright fucking, in the comments of a post you reblogged for your ship.

It’s just as awkward feeling and offensive when someone reblogs the post and begins full-blown RP on it. It’s one thing when it’s a post originating from an RP resource blog, or when it’s kept to something like a mention and a short line that your writing partner can start their original post in inspiration of. But...

--You know how I said above that auto-copying tags thing is one of the reasons why RPers are iffy about personal blogs? Well, this is one of the reasons why personal blogs think RPers are exceedingly weird members of fandom that need to be excluded and devalued. It’s odd, especially if you’ve never encountered RP, to see someone reblogging your quote, moodboard, or other original post and RPing on it.

Listen, we all need to RP some crack and commentary sometimes, but it’s best left in the tags or put into a new post.

---Instead of RPing (not sorry, especially if it is smut) on that post, link the image to show in a new post, and go from there.

Please remember to be polite about artists, including photographers and gifers, when you do this! Tumblr automatically gives the source of imagery when you use a link to display the picture, that’s why I recommended doing that instead of saving, then re-uploading the image as though it is your own. If you’re going to do that, even if it’s just silliness going on, give mention of the artist, photographer’s blog/site, or gifer’s blog in the tag or below the image.

Tumblr is deeply unfriendly to artists of all sorts, don’t be fuel that. When you upload artwork for the sake of RP, again, even if it’s just crack, that’s literally violating what artists ask people not to do; you’re reposting their art without permission and credit.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.8 (BAON)

Summary:   It’s been a long night for everyone and dawn might be on the way, but it isn't over yet.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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If Jeff had had his way, they would have been out the door and on the way home before the second round of backup showed up, possibly with a pause for a drive thru run at taco bell for some ill-advised early morning burritos. Security would wave them out without so much as asking for a quick rundown of the evening. There would be no paperwork to fill out, no affidavits to sign, and after a lovely, long night of sleep as the little spoon in Antwan’s arms, they’d be treated to a gourmet breakfast in bed prepared by Gordon Ramsey himself.

Heck if he was gonna dream, might as well dream big.

As it turned out, he didn’t even get to step one. After the bad guys were in various stages of detained, Stretch wanted to sit down for a few minutes before heading downstairs and Jeff didn’t even consider throwing out a protest. He sat down next to his best friend who’d probably just saved his damned life again and waited, torn between trying not to think about everything that had happened or letting it loop around in his mind, so it’d be fresh when they gave their inevitable statements.

In the end, he went with a third, unexpected option: worrying about Stretch.

A minute of sitting here in this horrible building that was probably going to get a starring role in Jeff’s future nightmares, ‘to catch his breath’, he’d said, and yeah, that made some sense. After getting drugged, kidnapped, tied up, and then MacGyvering both an escape and a capture, anyone would need a breather.

Only, he and Stretch had been friends for a little while now and there was something…off. He couldn’t quite explain it. His tired smiles didn’t reach his eye lights, it didn’t make his eye sockets squinch in a skeleton Monster approximation of laugh lines. Maybe that could’ve been excused by him simply being exhausted and stressed; wasn’t like Jeff was his normal cheerful self either, plus Stretch used up a lot of magic teleporting them around, popping in and out to drop off traps while keeping a few steps ahead of the bad guys. Could’ve been, but he’d seen Stretch tired and besides, it was his understanding that if Stretch’s magic got low enough, he’d simply drop. That’s what happened way back when he’d saved all the kids when those Humans broke into New New Home. So why was it different now?

That wrong-smile was stiffly brittle, like it’d been borrowed from someone else and pasted onto Stretch’s face and Jeff didn’t like it, not one bit.

But now wasn’t exactly time for an interrogation, at least not from him. He was pretty damn sure they’d get one of those as a free bonus the minute they walked downstairs, whether they wanted it or not. So he kept quiet and sat with his friend in one of the rooms where the booby trap didn’t get set off. The tile floor was dirty but there was nothing inside but dust and some broken furniture, so they sat on the tiles anyway, leaning against the far wall where they had a good view of the door.

Honestly, as strange as it was that Stretch wanted to linger in this shithole, more surprising to him was that security was letting them instead of hustling them out the door as fast as they could.

That had been quite a moment. They’d still been in the hallway with one guy gagging and the other pinned to the floor in a cage of glowing blue bones that Stretch summoned up from nowhere when Red showed up, not shortcutting in, but hauling ass from the stairwell and that’d been a sight in and of itself. As far as he knew, Red never went above a pace of a casual mosey but there was no drag in his feet this time as he tore his way around the landing. He walked towards them like he’d been taking lessons from Arnold Schwarzenegger, boots heels clacking loudly on the tile floor.

“let go, honey bun, i got ‘im,” Red said. Stretch didn’t look at him, those bones not so much as wavering and he spoke again, a little louder, sharp and short, “brother, let him go. let me take him out.”

Stretch jerked as if he’d been pinched. He looked at Red, orange-tinted eyelights swinging towards him, but almost immediately he flinched, turning away. As the cage of bones faded, a crowd of guys in Embassy Security uniforms swarmed up the stairs behind them, all moving as Red barked out orders. The bad guys were gone in a flash, hauled out in cringing silence, and only when they were mostly alone did Red speak again.

“you two okay?” Red asked them bluntly. “do we need to get the medics up here? talk to me, no bullshit right now, i ain’t in no mood to interpret.”

“we’re not hurt,” Stretch said. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his elbows, and his gaze was on the floor. Jeff nodded in agreement, only to blink as Stretch added, tightly, “i need a few minutes before i can go downstairs, red.”

Red’s sockets narrowed and he nodded slowly. “take all the time you need, honey bun.” His gaze shifted to Jeff and he nearly flinched himself from that piercing stare. It felt as if Red were looking through him, staring right into his little green soul. “what about you, handy andy? stayin’ or goin’? i figure your honey should be here in about fifteen, but you can wait in one of the cars downstairs if you wanna.”

Jeff never hesitated, “I’ll wait here.”

One corner of Red’s mouth rose in a brief smirk. “figured. okay, come on, in here.” He ducked into an empty room, sidestepping the little pile of trash that concealed what Stretch had called a ‘ketchup and mustard gas trap’ in honor of his twin bros from another ‘verse. All Jeff knew was he’d been ordered not to breathe while Stretch mixed some red powder and a yellow liquid together into an old soda can as a special surprise for the asshole du jour of the evening.

“stay here,” Red ordered. “i’ll tell the rabble to keep out.” He hesitated, his tongue flicking over his teeth and if it were anyone else, Jeff would say he was almost nervous. “my bro is on his way. telling ya right now, i ain’t gonna be able to keep him downstairs without collateral damage.”

“no, don’t stop him.” Stretch sank down to the floor in a noodly way that was impressive for a guy made entirely of bones, leaning against the wall. “it won’t hurt. send him up, i’ve already seen it all, a long time ago.”

Red’s expression twisted in a complex grimace. “sorry to hear that.”

Stretch made a sound that was almost amused. “don’t be. i still fell in love with him, didn’t i.” He let his skull fall back against the wall with a light thunk, closing his sockets. Red paused at the trap, dismantling it with expertise that shouldn’t have been a surprise. He paused, the rigged soda can in hand, when Stretch said, softly, “red? thanks.”

“not a problem, honey bun.” There was a certain unexpected gentleness in those words. “take a breather, yeah?”

Stretch nodded tiredly and that was it. Red left and they’d been sitting for close to fifteen minutes now without speaking. Take a breather, right, and Jeff didn’t pretend to be some kind of espionage genius, but he knew doublespeak when he heard it. There was some kind of understanding between Red and Stretch that they didn’t want to say aloud.

And honestly? Jeff didn’t care. Let them keep their secrets, he had an inkling of what his friends had been through in the past, his morbid curiosity wasn’t worth making them relive it. All he wanted was to make sure Stretch was okay now. He shifted a little closer and Stretch didn’t move, didn’t even seem like he’d noticed.

“Stretch,” he asked cautiously, hesitating. Stretch could be awfully prickly when it came to his health and surely Red wouldn’t have left if he’d thought Stretch was in any danger, but still. He had to ask. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“yep,” Stretch said immediately. “just need to catch my breath.” It should have been true, it probably was, but still. Something rang a little false there and Jeff wasn’t sure what.

He didn’t have time to think about it for much longer. This whole building echoed like an empty airplane hanger and he could hear someone coming up the stairs very fast. It was only seconds later that Blue came flying in through the door. As far as Jeff knew, he couldn’t teleport, but he sure didn’t seem like his feet ever touched the ground as he sailed over right into Stretch’s lap. Buried his rounded face into the thin t-shirt they’d been forced to wear, and his shoulders were shaking before Stretch could even get an arm around him.

“hey, shh, it’s okay.” A brother in the lap was finally enough to get Stretch moving. He pulled his brother in close, resting his cheekbone on top of his skull as he murmured a soft litany of comforting words. Whatever Blue was saying was muffled into Stretch’s ribcage. Not that it mattered, his brother seemed to understand, sibling-speak a power all its own, and held him tighter, still whispering that it was all right, he was fine, he really was.

Jeff was so focused on that first happy reunion that he didn’t notice someone new in the doorway. Until he glanced up and his eyes snagged on a face he’d wanted to see for hours and feared he never would again. Antwan stood there, more rumpled and haggard than Jeff had ever seen him, and he was the most wonderful thing Jeff had ever seen.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, he only stood there staring with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Jeff said. His first impulse of delight wavered, and he laughed nervously, wetting his lips, “Okay, not exactly home, but it’s still pretty damn good to see you.”

Antwan still didn’t say anything. He only stood there, staring, and Jeff’s grin was starting to falter when he abruptly walked into the room. Not so much as glancing around, his eyes entirely for Jeff as he all but fell to his knees and pulled Jeff into a tight hug. Blunt fingertips dug into Jeff’s back as if sink directly into him. His shoulders were shaking, his breath hitching, and he made a faint, shuddery sound, almost a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t,” Jeff said softly, close to tears of his own. He settled a hand on Antwan’s head, petting his short hair and painful as this was, he couldn’t remember any time he’d ever felt as loved as he did right now. Not his own family, not any lover he’d had before. There was only Antwan holding him so tightly his ribs ached, warm dampness starting to flow where his face was buried against Jeff’s neck.

More than any comfort for himself, he wanted to hold Antwan close and offer what he could to him. Under his tentative hands, Antwan felt chilly even though it wasn’t a cold night and Jeff spread his fingers wide as if he could warm him that way. Maybe he did, Antwan slowly stopped shivering as he petted and soothed. He leaned heavily against Jeff and they would have sprawled on the floor if the wall weren’t propping them up.

Jeff absently noticed Edge coming in, couldn’t spare a hand to wave at him, but he figured it didn’t matter. Edge only had eye lights for Stretch and that was just fine.

Long moments passed before Antwan finally lifted his head. His eyes were reddened, his lashes matted and damp. “You’re all right?” Antwan asked hoarsely. “They didn’t hurt you?”

All right was a little subjective right now, so Jeff went with as much truth as he could. “I’m not hurt, they barely pushed us around. Not a scratch or a bruise on me.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy. Antwan scowled and plucked at the crappy shirt Jeff was wearing, the one those assholes forced him to put on. He started to speak, broke off, ducked his head and tried again, but whatever words he was trying for didn’t seem to be coming.

It was so bizarre to see him this way. Antwan, who was never hesitant. He was always decisive, whether it was in a courtroom or what restaurant they were going to that night. It was one of the things Jeff loved most about Antwan; left to his own devices, he’d end up spending an hour trying to choose between Italian and Chinese takeout and still end flipping a coin.

Not Antwan. He came in and took control, knew what he wanted and how to make it happen, and he damn well did it. He was a little like Edge in that, the two of them were pretty damn formidable when they did couple’s nights.

Today his tight control seemed to have abandoned him. He’d given up on speaking and now his lips were pressed tightly together, his whole face scrunching up as if trying to keep something from exploding out.

That was worrisome and not only because he was afraid Antwan might be a little nauseous, who knew what shortcuts he’d been dragged on tonight. As much as he loved him, having his boyfriend puke in his lap would be the worst way to end this night and, cautiously, Jeff asked. “Are you okay?”

What finally burst out was about the last thing he’d ever expected, a blurt of words crammed together into not a question, but a demand. “Marry me!”

“Uh…” That wasn’t anywhere on the list of his expectations. In his arms, Antwan shifted restlessly, like he wanted to stand and pace, but didn’t want to let Jeff go.

“This was supposed to be romantic,” Antwan said and his voice sounded like every word pained him, the entire glut escaping him without so much as a breath or a pause. “I had a plan, I have a ring. I was going to take you to dinner at the most expensive place in town and propose by the fountains. We can still do that, I want to do that, but I can’t wait, I can’t.” He shifted his grip to Jeff’s shoulders, giving him a little shake like a punctuation, his face inches away. He was beautiful this close, his dark eyes all but glowing as if he’d picked up the trick from one of the local skeletons. “Edge tried to warn me, he told me time passes too fast, he told me to step up and I didn’t.”

“Yes.”

Antwan didn’t seem to hear, still talking in an endless rush, “When Red came and got me, I died inside, all I could think was that I’d waited too long and lost you because I was a coward, I was an asshole, and I need you—”

“Yes.”

He plowed on like a semi without brakes, rolling over everything in its path. “We don’t have to get married right away if you don’t want, but you should move into my place completely. No more stuff at Blue’s, we’ll get the rest of it tomorrow. No, wait, you should rest tomorrow, you’ve been through a traumatic experience, we can do it the day after. We can do it whenever I can stand to let you go, I can’t, I—"

The rest of the words were stifled under Jeff’s mouth, a firm kiss ending that outpour. His mouth froze, meeting that kiss hesitantly at first then with increasing fervency, and it was warm and wet and wonderful, perfect, so perfect, every word Jeff could manage to shake out of his mental thesaurus.

Antwan groaned into his mouth, shuddering when Jeff broke it and drew away, but he didn’t go far. He leaned back enough to look Antwan directly into those beautiful eyes as he said clearly, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“You will?” Antwan parroted dumbly, then again, louder, “You will. You will!”

He sounded, Jeff thought fondly, as if he were he were trying to convince Jeff as much as himself. Not exactly the way he’d dreamed of getting a proposal and, yeah, there was something to be said for romance, but sitting here on this dirty floor in his ugly-ass kidnapping outfit, he sure didn’t doubt Antwan’s sincerity. His chest ached with love for this wonderful, crazy man and it was only when he heard a heartfelt sigh behind him that he remembered they weren’t alone.

He turned to see the three skeletons in the room were watching with varying degrees of interest. It looked as if Edge pulled Stretch into his own lap and brought Blue along for the ride, making the skeleton stack three deep. It did not escape his notice that Edge holding onto Stretch like he was never going to let go. As fastidious as Edge could be, he only sat there on the dirty floor with him, holding Stretch like he was the most precious thing in the world which, yeah, okay, he was, to Edge.

And it sure as hell didn’t escape his notice Stretch and Blue’s eyes lights were morphed into bright little hearts, both of them watching as if their favorite daytime soap opera couple finally got together in the season finale.

Jeff only grinned, barely embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have as an audience.

That impulse lasted about as long as it took Stretch to open his mouth. “’bout time, antwan, i was starting to think you’d never cowboy up and ask.”

“Shut up,” Antwan said automatically. Some of his normal sass must be rebooting. “I heard how you proposed, it was more like a train wreck than a question. Red bitched for a week about how much cash you lost him.”

“gonna bitch some more this time,” Stretch said, cheerily unoffended. “i got a twenty coming my way.”

“I have fifty,” Blue piped up. He clapped his hands together. “This is so wonderful! We need to have a party, we need to make plans—”

“We need to do a great deal,” Edge interrupted, not unkindly. “To begin with, let’s go home, shall we?”

Stretch must’ve finally breathed enough. He nodded and said, “yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here—whoa!"

Edge barely paused to nudge Blue to his feet before he stood, Stretch in his arms as he strode briskly to the door, “babe, no, your leg!”

His voice dwindled before Jeff could hear the rest of his protest. Blue followed them out, not without a last fond backwards glance, and left them alone.

Jeff smiled at his boyfriend, no, his fiancé and he’d never expected to be able to say that, never dared dream, and now it was his, no take backises from the universe, not this time. Politely, he asked, “you wanna get the fuck out of here?”

“Yes,” Antwan said firmly and Jeff let out a squeak of his own as he was suddenly lifted into Antwan’s arms, held close as he was carried out the door. Unlike Stretch, Jeff wasn’t about to offer a single protest. He only slipped his arms around Antwan’s neck and held on.

He’d let Antwan carry him to hell and back if needs be, but for right now, all he wanted was for his love to take him home.

tbc

[camdentown-library]

Day O1 : Holding Hands || male!Eivor x fem!reader

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

You and Eivor have made your way to Glowechestreschire, apparently his blacksmith friend was in the mood for marriage and in all honesty after the tragic chapter of Sigurd it was a valid excuse to change a bit 'air. By now the air when the two Vikings were close became almost unbreathable, even for you, Hidden-One with a calm and static mind. As soon as you arrived from Gunnar you were expecting a wedding, sure, but you certainly weren't expecting a party country! Apparently a pagan celebration was upon us: Samhain. Gunnar explained to you that on this holiday the monstrous creatures of the night came out and the people of the village left all kinds of sweets to them. So the blacksmith advised you to disguise yourself as monsters so you can have fun collecting some sweets and scare some naughty children.

"Hahaha ... I feel ridiculous" you said after Gunnar and his promised wife helped you dress up as a monster "You are ridiculous, mate" you said pointing at Eivor with a laugh. He wore the skull of an animal, which covered his face and you too were dressed in the same way. Eivor laughed under his breath as he watched you from head to toe. "Believe me, if there's anything ridiculous it's a monster of your short stature, y / n" he commented crossing his arms to his chest. "Hey!" you said with a slight pout. "Nonsense! You are the spirits of Mari Lwyd herself, Now let's go! Don't take your cloak off during the party and if you sing the locals will delight you with beer and sweets" Gunnar explained, in his usual way of brave storyteller. "Even with a knife to my throat you won't hear me sing" Eivor commented, with the same friendliness as a hunting wolf, you and Gunnar held back a laugh at that point. "Too bad. You know, y / n, Eivor has a really beautiful voice when he sings. Once larks have fallen before him" the building told you in his rich, bubbly and cheerful voice. You bit your cheek so as not to burst out laughing and thanked the gods of Eivor and Gunnar for hiding your face behind a mask. "You know Gunnar, I don't know if the larks have fallen in front of him or fainted for some out of tune" the blacksmith then replied with a fat laugh, while Eivor stopped walking and turned towards you putting his hands on his hips. "Enough..." he said curling his lips a little "Come on now y / n, we have a lot to do and...Gunnar if I find out that my friend and I are the only ones dressed in this absurd way, I'll fill the shop with sheep" concluded the viking from the hair blonde as straw after inviting you with a nod to follow him. It wasn't such a bad night, in fact to be honest you were really enjoying yourself !! You had never been used to participating in these parties so weird, but at the same time fascinating...You felt in a sense your lost childhood rejuvenate and surely celebrating with Eivor was a good choice. You had gone to the door of a house and when it opened a child came out and at the sight of you two gave you all his sweets, with a terrified expression on his face. As soon as the door closed, you heard Eivor's hoarse voice explode in sincere amused laughter. "HAHAHA! Did you see how many sweets? We also have an apple pie!" "hahahaha! Did you see what that kid's face? We could really ask him anything and he would have given it to us" you commented while holding your belly contracted for too much laughter. You looked at Eivor, well...Eivor's mask, for a few moments and after giving him an amused smile, you took him by the hand and started running. "Come on Eivor! Let's find a secluded place to eat our loot" you suggest starting to run, while your friend couldn't help but think how tiny your hand was compared to his. You sat on a hill and after taking off your mask and sharing an amused, contented laugh, you split your apple pie. It was delicious ... you have never eaten such a good and spicy dessert! "We needed this evening between friends" Eivor began eating some cake, observing the horizon and the moon reflecting like silver on the shores of the lake. "You're right..." you commented with your mouth full. "Do you think ... do you think I'm a weightlifting brother?" the Viking suddenly asked after what moment of silence, while you suddenly turned your gaze towards him, with a puzzled grimace. "What ?! No-" you said suddenly and then regain consciousness and understand why he was asking you icò "Hey..." you approached him, taking his left hand with both of yours "You did what you could, ok It is true the skalds sing of an otherworldly warrior, but Eivor, you are a man, you have your limits, and anyone would have done what you did. You have gone even beyond your limits, you have often gotten into trouble, for save Sigurd's life. In time he too will understand" you explained stroking his hand, while the wheat-haired Viking, in a moment of confidence, placed his forehead on yours "Friends don't lie Eivor, what I say is pure truth, Sigurd is shaken by a great anger but over time he will understand who the people who really love him are” you said "And until he understands it, I'll be there to hold your hand" you concluded with a small reassuring smile. Your foreheads were still attached, and the gentle eyes of the drengr at your side watched you closely and then let out a deep sigh. "You're a good girl, y/n" he murmured leaving you a kiss on the forehead and then cheerfully ruffling your hair to dampen his regret caused by his worries, you smiled too as you walked away from him. "You're the good boy, ferocious drengr with a generous heart" "Ah, leave the flattery to Gunnar" he said with a chuckle. "About Gunnar ..." and you both glanced at you, while you smirked "Why don't you sing me a song" "No" the Viking seemed to sulk like a child, and you laughed. "Come on" "Forget it" "I'll give you all my sweets" you proposed, making the blond boy waver. "Just a verse" "Three" "Deal, I want all the apple pie" he said, wiping the crumbs off his lips and standing up after taking a sip of beer, a gift from a village family. He cleared his throat and after looking at you with the same face as those who were walking around naked in the crowded streets he began to sing a tune "My mother told me, Someday I would buy ♫ Galleys with good oars, Sails to distant shores ♫ Stand up high in the prow ♫ Noble barque I steer steady course for the haven ♫ Hew many foe-men ♫ Hew many foe-men ♫ Hew-Hey- Ah-ooooh!" she concluded with a proud howl, while you giggling touched by her demeanor, applauding laughing. It is true, the next morning you would have had to face everyday life again, but unfounded now it was right to enjoy this moment together. "Come, y/n. I teach you to dance this song" Eivor said, giggling, taking both hands and lifting you off the ground. "Hey! Weren't you the one who didn't even want to sing?" you asked ironically, as he guided your hands to follow the steps. "You unleashed the madman in me, now you will suffer the consequences, Eagle-cub"

𝕿𝕳𝕰 𝕰𝕹𝕯

𝕯𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊? 𝕺𝖗 𝖉𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓?

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