#and he does tend to get very full of himself when hes 'in his crowd'

[crystallinestars]

Kissing Headcanons Part 7 (Lyney, Neuvillette, Wriothesley)

Previous parts here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Wriothesley's part is mildly suggestive. Very mildly.

(Reader's gender is not mentioned)

Lyney’s kisses are playful yet charming. He really enjoys sneaking a kiss on your cheek when you’re least expecting it just so he can watch you grow flustered from the sudden act of affection. Mirth dances in his violet eyes as he chuckles at how shy you get when his soft lips press against your cheek. It strokes his ego to be able to get such a reaction out of you with a simple kiss, and he gently teases you about it and pulls you close just to prolong your flustered reaction to his proximity. You’re so wrapped up in keeping up with his flirtatious teasing and playful kisses that you don’t notice the rainbow rose pinned to your front until after Lyney leaves.

The magician also likes to act like a gentleman towards you when he feels particularly romantic. When the mood is right, Lyney gently takes your hand and kisses the back of it while giving you a cheeky wink and a flirty comment about how mesmerizing you are. He loves how this makes your heart skip a beat, so he makes sure to kiss the back of your hand more often. He’s not doing this just to mess with you, but because he genuinely wants to express his feelings of love. Lyney is also fond of giving you kisses in public, but if you are too shy to kiss in front of a crowd, then Lyney holds his hat beside your heads to block you both from view of any onlookers while he gives you a sweet kiss on the lips. The magician is naturally a very physically affectionate person, so he uses any excuse he can to place his hands and lips on you practically anywhere he deems appropriate. You’re the person who holds his heart, and as such, you’re deserving of all the love and affection he can give you at all times. If you’re not into PDA, Lyney tries to respect your comfort and holds himself back, but he hopes you will make up for this deficit by giving him lots of loving in private. He’s just that smitten with you.  

As excellent as Lyney is at flustering you with kisses, you have come to learn that he gets equally as flustered, if not more so when you return the favor. If you spring a surprise kiss on his cheek, he blushes and stares at you with wide eyes, for once at a loss for words, but the ensuing grin spreading on his face tells you that he loves this kind of attention from you and wants more. Give him a surprise kiss on the lips, however, and Lyney’s heart will do somersaults in his chest. He’ll be so flustered that he tries to pull down the brim of his hat so you won’t see how red his face is, especially if you laugh at his embarrassment.

One of Lyney’s favorite types of kisses to receive from you are what he calls “good luck” kisses. Before a major show, Lyney asks you to give him a kiss to serve as a good luck charm so his and Lynette’s show will go without a hitch. When you oblige, Lyney feels a burst of energy and is motivated to give the show his all. Maybe it’s coincidence, or your kisses really do have some sort of magic to them, but you notice that Lyney’s shows tend to go much more smoothly after getting a kiss from you.

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

Neuvillette is inexperienced with kissing and initially finds the concept a bit peculiar. After meeting and sharing his first kiss with you, only then does he finally understand why humans often depict kissing as a magical moment in literature and music. Neuvillette harbors deep emotions of love and affection towards you, but he finds himself lacking the proper words to articulate how he feels. That was until he got to kiss you. Kissing gives him a nonverbal way to relay the full extent of the depth of his love for you, as well as feel how much you love him in return. It’s indeed a very intimate and almost magical experience in its own right, or so he believes.

His kisses are simple and are never fierce or aggressive. It’s unlikely you’ll get a passionate or heated kiss from him outside of the bedroom since Neuvillette prefers them to be soft and sweet. His feelings for you are tender, and he thinks it's only right to express them through equally gentle kisses. He presses his lips to yours in a chaste and slow kiss that he holds for a few moments before parting to give you a rare, gentle smile and a gaze full of gentle affection. Neuvillette likes to brush his fingers through your hair or along your cheek while he kisses you, his touch light and careful, almost as if he’s tracing his fingers over porcelain. There’s a fear in the back of his mind that he might hurt you. He’s not human unlike you, and comparatively possesses greater strength. This fear is partially one of the reasons he kisses you so gently, the other reason being that he has a gentlemanly disposition and enjoys a more tender and sweet expression of affection.

Neuvillette’s favorite places to kiss you are on your lips, but also your forehead and hand. He kisses your forehead if you’re feeling tired or sad as a way to comfort you, though he also does it when he thinks you are cute while talking about the things you love or while chatting with the Melusines. As for kisses to your hands, the Iudex likes to give you those whenever he makes a promise to you. It’s as if he’s sealing the deal with a kiss on your palm, thus making the promise more real. However, he also kisses your hands as a gentle coercion to get you to take breaks if he thinks you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. All his kisses exude a sense of gentleness and care because that’s exactly how Neuvillette feels about you.

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

The Duke prefers to kiss you only in private. Though he’s well-respected in the Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley is well aware he has a few enemies, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt you as a way to try and get to him. As such, he reserves all his affection for you when you’re alone together. He exchanges short pecks with you throughout the day when he gets the chance, though his preferred way of kissing you is to press his lips firmly to yours in a heated make-out. Wriothesley tends to wrap a strong arm around your waist or press a palm on your back to pull you flush against him while his lips capture yours in a long, deep kiss that leaves both of you breathless.

His kisses aren’t rushed, but they can be intense if he’s been craving you throughout the day. Wriothesley deepens the kiss by cradling the back of your head and angling it just right so he can slip his tongue inside your mouth more comfortably. He feels a strong desire to be as close to you as possible, to hold you in his arms and kiss you senseless particularly when he’s been missing you or if he’s feeling frisky. He gets quite touchy during such moments; his hands rub over your back and card through your hair while he trails kisses from your mouth to your jaw, and then lower still to your neck. You are like a drug that soothes all his worries, and he simply can't get enough which is why he can be a bit clingy if he hasn't seen you for a while.

The Duke can also be a bit of a menace when his playful side rears its head. As if the heated make-out wasn’t enough to leave you flushed and breathless, there are times when Wriothesley playfully nips at your lips and carefully takes your bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a gentle tug. It’s really hot in the moment, and he loves how your eyes cloud over with bliss when he does that, but the aftermath of his actions can sometimes be a problem. Your lips swell from the kissing and biting Wriothesley subjects them to, so it becomes very obvious just what you were doing with him in his office, which could potentially sabotage the secret of your relationship. You can only glare at him as he calls on Sigewinne to come and treat your lips to reduce the swelling, all the while looking more smug than apologetic about the fact. At least he has the decency not to leave hickeys on your neck when you’re not in the bedroom.

Aside from the heated make-outs, Wriothesley likes to get cheek kisses from you as a morning greeting or right before the two of you part ways to start your day. It gives him married couple vibes and a sense of domesticity he didn’t know he craved until you became lovers. Getting a kiss on the cheek from you brightens his day, and he walks around with a pleased smile on his face. The other inmates and guards notice the Duke’s smile, but they can only guess what made him so happy so early in the morning. Only Wriothesley knows the truth, and he looks forward to the end of the day when he will get to spend more time showering you in kisses.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #lyney x reader #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #Wriothesley is tricky to write

[heartsteel-heartbeats]

More dating Heartsteel Kayn HCs (Birthday + Halloween Edition! ft. Rhaast)

Brief mention of drinking, but doesn’t go into full detail.

(( Happy birthday to this silly guy!! 😚😚 )) ~ OBBY 💗

You’ve known Kayn’s birthday was on the 30th and not the 31st thanks to a certain K/DA member texting him at a very unfortunate time, but you did enjoy the idea of celebrating both days in general. Kayn, on the other hand, prefers the 31st because that is what he says his birthday is. It doesn’t hurt to just simply indulge him. If he wants his birthday on the 31st, who the hell are you to say? Don’t let that stop you from doing something fun on the 30th though. Try to take advantage of the fact he has a habit of staying up very late. As long as you two aren’t caught, perhaps you could get away with a thing or two. Maybe a little spray paint to liven up this boring alley right?

Kayn might catch on to what your intentions are and he will tease you about it and telling you his birthday is tomorrow, but he truly does appreciate what you’re doing. Any moment he can spare just to be with you is everything to him.

“Is this for my birthday? You know that’s tomorrow.” “Whattt? Of course I know that.” “This is for my birthday, isn’t it?” “Totally not.” “It’s totally for my birthday!” “It’s past midnight anyway! It’s your birthday right now!”

On the 31st, do expect Rhaast to make an appearance. In fact, it may or may not have been his idea for you to dress up like him. He thinks it’d look cool, and luckily for both of you, some people seemed to have the same idea to dress up as him. Of course, it’d be obvious to tell which one was the real Rhaast, but you? The media can just say you were just a “mysterious talented artist” who practically nailed the costume. At least they never got a picture of your face or even your name, and they’ll never know that you actually got help from the man himself.

Rhaast does eventually escape from the crowd just to go to you and drag you onto a rooftop to watch everyone else. Does he make fun of other people’s attempts to dress up as him? Absolutely.

“[name]! Look at that one over there!” “A for effort, at least.” “No, that’s too high! Bump it down to C tier.” “Hah! That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? Not even low B tier?” “Not at all!” “Oh come on, look at that one. That one’s not that bad, right?” “Ugh, more like cheaply made.”

Rhaast himself is pretty anti-paparazzi. Not in the “literally blinding in the camera” kind of anti-paparazzi, but rather the one that tends to scare them away quite literally. Popping out of nowhere with a loud “BOO!” and a boisterous laugh. Although in general, Rhaast is just really hard to get a good picture of if it’s not during a show. I mean have you seen him? Look at him go.

tbh he’d probably scare some kids too

Since we’re talking about Rhaast, let’s talk about your relationship with him. He loves you. In fact, he’s the one that pushed Kayn to approach you when he realized how Kayn felt about you. In a way, you could say this relationship is polyamorous. Rhaast still gets very jealous if he’s not let out to have time with you, though it’s not so different with Kayn. Both of them can get pretty jealous in general.

“You’re such a wimp! Just do it!!” “No..!” “Oh come on!! They’re perfect! You even thought it!” “Well-! Yes, I did! But-!” “They even love the way I work things! If you want them, you have to get them before someone else does! Have you seen how that other guy was looking at them earlier?!” “I am not doing it.” “What’s that saying? “The worst they can do is say no”? Just do it Kayn!!" “Ugh! Fine! Tomorrow." "Pussy."

Rhaast was Kayn's personal alarm that next morning. He wasn't going to let Kayn forget the plan. Let’s just say he was a bit of a mess when he finally came to you thanks to Rhaast, but when you said yes, he was ecstatic. Kayn struggled trying to keep a straight face when all he can hear is Rhaast yelling triumphantly. That was also the day you realized Rhaast wasn't just his "alter-ego," but rather a whole other person that only Kayn hears and lets out time to time. Well, you did like Kayn, and you did like "not simply an alter-ego" Rhaast, so it worked out.

He definitely tried scaring you a few times. Maybe he succeeded, maybe he didn’t, but he’s done a handful of things to you and others to try and get a reaction. Maybe you grew a resistance to it overtime and your reactions gradually changed.

Rhaast does let you snap some pretty cool photos of him which probably includes him doing dangerous stunts. Still, seeing him go do what he loves to do without anything to stop him was nice. That didn’t stop you from being worried if he’ll actually get hurt, though. He sometimes teases you on that. To be fair, he does this all the time and comes out unscathed.

Heading towards your next destination (which would be wherever they had agreed to celebrate his birthday) had to be done with the two of you doing in different routes so that attention wasn’t drawn to either of you, or to you specifically. Wouldn’t want too many speculations now, though it is fun to see the fans create their own thoughts on the matter. They were either entirely wrong, or they were so close to the truth. You were going to meet up again a few blocks from the location, and of course, he was there first waiting for you in a wall just to kind of surprise you. You were greeted by Kayn instead of Rhaast, and he lifts the mask on your face to give you a kiss.

“Hey there gorgeous~” “Hey yourself. Were you just standing in that wall the entire time?” “Guilty as charged. You’re so slow.” “Says the one who can walk in walls.” “Yeah, but you love it when I do it.”

Serves as good time to just walk and chat now that you’re away from the crowd. Most people, and kids, would be at home and maybe sleeping by now, so the streets are rather empty.

“Not that I’m complaining, but are you here because Rhaast is tired?” “If I let Rhaast drink to his heart’s content, none of us will be going home.” “Since when did that ever stop you?” “Yeah… But Yone won’t be letting me off the hook, so I’m unfortunately at a limit.” “And on your birthday. What a shame.”

Whether this is your first time meeting the rest of Heartsteel or not, it’s safe to say you get along with them fairly well. Ezreal wanted all the details, but gets cut off by Kayn who would pull you away from him. K’Sante and Alune are always fun to talk to, so if things get too rowdy, you can run to them and chat for a while.

You’ve spotted Aphelios taking pictures of some stuff happening, like how Kayn and Ezreal are still bickering which he’ll post somewhere later. He’ll probably go to you to show you some photos he took of the others a few days or weeks prior. There was even a photo of Aphelios and Kayn beating Sett with plushies and pillows (Ezreal took the photo). He’ll send it to you if you ask.

You know those little charms he has on his belt of Rhaast and his shadow assassin form? Your gift to him were matching charms of you and him. He wears the charm of you with so much pride, he loves it so much. You're even placed between the two he already had. No one would suspect a thing either if they see your little charm of Kayn. It's normal for people to have silly pins and charms of their favorite artist, and if anyone asks where you got it from, just say you made it yourself. It wasn't a lie after all.

It’s safe to say both Kayn and Rhaast had fun on their 48 hour birthday.

#obby’s scripts! #WOO FINALLY #dude i like #love the idea of Kayn and Rhaast having an Eddie and Venom relationship here? #heartsteel #league of legends #league of legends heartsteel #heartsteel kayn #lol kayn #shieda kayn #league of legends kayn #kayn x reader #league of legends headcanons #league of legends rhaast #rhaast #league of legends x reader

[seeker-of-stories19]

Autistic Ghost Headcannons

- Intentionally ignores social cues

- Scowls all the time at everything and everyone but usually not on purpose

- Takes full advantage of his ear defenders and balaclava to avoid sensory experiences he dislikes

- Incredibly restrictive eating, often chooses to go hungry rather than touch something he dislikes

- One of his favorite stims is smelling Soaps hair

- Gets overstimulated by certain things but is also very sensory seeking in other ways

- Wears tight gloves and sleeps under four weighted blankets because he likes the pressure

- Stims by making a tight fist, chewing his lips, scratching, hitting himself, leaning against things, rocking, pacing, rubbing the seam of his balaclava, tapping his ear defenders

- One track mind, he hates switching tasks and never does more than one thing at once unless it’s a hundred percent necessary

- Wears a mask largely to hide his scars and identity but it has the added benefit of keeping him from having to worry about making the correct facial expressions

- Very prone to dissociation

- Violent meltdowns, tends to have a vicious temper and destroy everything around him, hurting himself or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his warpath

- But eventually when he’s in private he ends up just curling into himself and crying and rocking like he did as a kid

- It makes him feel incredibly vulnerable and he goes to extreme lengths to avoid the meltdowns which is a huge part of why they’re so bad

- Only Johnny and sometimes Price can calm him down

- Everyone else just thinks he has an explosive temper for no reason

- Ties his boots dangerously tight to get more sensory input

- Thrives under military routines but ignores rules that don’t make sense

- This definitely caused problems with COs in the past but Price is way more understanding and generally the 141 gets a lot of leniency on rules because of the type of work they do and the specific value of their skill sets

- Soap sleeps on top of him and always squeezes his hand a little too hard

- Hides in his room when overstimulated and shuts down completely, will literally disassociate for hours until Soap finds him

- Obsessively neat, nothing is ever anywhere other than where it’s supposed to be

- Doesn’t mind loud sounds but hates multiple sounds at once

- Explosions and gunfire are usually fine as long as he has his headphones but people talking and eating all at once in the mess makes him want to cry

- Absolutely despises crowds and will get very agitated and pissed off before eventually checking out until Johnny can get him back to a quiet space

- Soap letting him have the best vantage point when they go out because of how bad Simons PTSD and sensory issues are and he trusts Simon to watch his six

- Drinks but never to the point of being drunk

- Has the shittiest temperature regulation ever, gets so overheated but can’t figure out why and would freeze to death if it wasn’t for Soap making him put on layers because he’s basically immune to the cold

- Other than keeping his space clean which is mostly because it’s been beaten into him by his dad and then the army to the point where having a messy space will send him into a panic attack he’s a disaster. He never remembers to bring his dishes over to the tiny kitchen in the 141s rec room and routinely stares at things for days unable to complete simple tasks until he gets so pissed he ends up crying

- Price used to get annoyed by it and they’ve all three harassed him about it but once they realize that he’s genuinely struggling all three of them step in to make things easier for him, helping clean up his stuff in common spaces and wash dishes

- Soap definitely helps him with his laundry but only at 3am when he suddenly has the urge to do his own because ADHD

- His interoception is appalling, he’ll be furious and yell at recruits or just look at people like he wants to kill them on missions until Johnny leans over to subtly remind him that he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or eaten anything in eight hours

- Is fluent in BSL and uses it to communicate with Price when he’s in a verbal shutdown

- Soap and Gaz ask Price to teach them secretly and when they start signing to Ghost one day he’s absolutely shocked

- Generally he gets by with everyone else by grunting and scowling, people are too scared of him to call him out

- Most of his masking relies on peoples fear of him even though it often makes him feel even less human and it’s a vicious downward spiral

- Soap not being afraid of him was a really big deal because of this but also lead to him being really freaked out and unsure how to handle his prying

- Soap just finds him impossibly endearing and loves all the hidden little movements and noises he makes when they’re alone

- Lets Simon use his hands to fidget under the table during meetings

- Even though Soap isn’t the best at social cues himself he takes up explaining things to Ghost subtly whenever he can

- When Simon comes to his room to ask him about something someone said for the first time he’s ecstatic and considers it a great victory

- While a lot of Simons stims are more subtle or at least misinterpreted Soap will absolutely get hyped up when he’s stimming and start jumping or rocking or flapping his hands eagerly

- Soap sends him adhd x autism memes all the time and encourages Ghost to send back anything that interests him even if he thinks Soap won’t like it

- Is shocked to realize how strong Ghosts special interests are as his phone turns into a constant flood of articles and artwork about things Ghost loves

- Included but not limited to guns, puzzles, animal anatomy and bones, flowers (specifically the meanings of flowers) and many others

- Taking things apart and putting them back together, usually his rifle but will generally do it with everything from pens to knives

- Hoards weird things like old ink cartridges and bullet casings

- Has an unbelievable memory for details of old missions, can remember building layouts from over five years ago

- Soap’s room is so chaotic they barely spend time there because of how much it stresses Ghost out

- Generally they just balance each other out well with Simon being aggressively introverted and Soap being just as extroverted

- He pushes Simon a bit outside of his comfort zone and helps him socialize while Ghost reigns him in

- No one else really gets how they operate in the field except each other

- Soap was professionally diagnosed in school while Ghost was professionally diagnosed after Roba under a fake name with Price’s help so it’s not officially on his military record

- Ghost is actually very okay with how his brain works because it’s made him who he is and allowed him to surpass the regular limitations of a soldier

- He struggles more in his personal life but being around Soap heals a deep part of him that he’s buried since early childhood

- They understand each other like no one else ever has

#autistic simon ghost riley #soap mctavish has adhd #call of duty #soapghost headcannons #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod mw2 #soap cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

[andsomemaniacgotridofthewheel]

There are a couple of things about Aziraphale that I think we, as a fandom*, focus too much on and get it slightly wrong in the process.

*= I am talking about the regular Good Omens fandom and Aziraphale fans here, not including the Aziraphale haters, who can skip this post because they wouldn't care or understand anyway.

First of all, yes, Heaven is an abusive work environment. The angels in charge are bullies, while Aziraphale is a sweet little cinnamon roll. Absolutely no question there.

And yes, Aziraphale is scared that his relationship with Crowley is discovered. Again, elementary, my dear Watson.

But he is always much more scared for Crowley, if Hell would ever find out, than he is for himself. He's terrified that something could happen to Crowley (see Edinburgh leading to the whole Holy Water blow-up). He knows, or can at least imagine, what Hell would do to Crowley, and he wouldn't even be able to get to him, much less help. Maybe not even immediately realise when it happened.

But he himself has been lying to God and Heaven from the very beginning (what he says to the Starmaker in Before the Beginning, about not wanting to get him into trouble, proves that he was always wary and filtering his words carefully). He lied directly to God's face right after Eden. And he always got away with it. We see him getting more and more comfortable with it during the millennia.

Yes, he sometimes still gets nervous when he faces a surprise or a new threat and he has to think on his feet, but he does it. Every time.

But we are tending to treat him like a little scaredy cat that lives in constant terror of Heaven, and I don't think that's the case. In later centuries he knows that he can run circles around the archangels when it comes to Earth, because he is the expert and they are absolutely clueless. Earth is his domain, where he holds all the power. (Or at least, all the knowledge, which some philosophies argue is the same.)

And while he is much more naive than his book counterpart in his belief that Heaven is good and Hell is bad, this also isn't as extreme as we sometimes make it out to be.

He knows what Sandalphon did during Sodom and Gomorrah. He knows what God did to people with the Flood. He knows what God did to Job. He was told - or is telling himself - it was just, and even that he already started to doubt. With Job, he knew it wasn't.

He hasn't, as I just read in an otherwise rather similar post, been drilled to believe that the Apocalypse is the end goal. He was taught it was inevitable. That it was Hell's end goal. That Heaven winning (what Hell would start) was inevitable - and just! And that was what made him believe that when he finds a way to make it not inevitable, the other angels would have no choice other than to support him, that God herself would want to support him, because they're supposed to be the good guys. And when he learns that that is not the case, he still immediately goes on to do it by himself. He isn't unsure, after he stepped into the circle, when the military angel tries to draft him for the war, or pondering what he should do. He spends the whole time trying to figure out how to get back to earth, and when he discovers a possibility, he doesn't even hesitate for a second.** And when he leaves Earth to take the job as the Supreme Archangel, he does so because he believes he can change it into what he still thinks it should be, knowing full well what it is.

Now I, personally, am not with the nihilistic / resigned Gen-Z crowd who seem to think that trying to change things is stupid, because only violent revolutions and total destruction of existing structures could achieve any real change, and that Aziraphale somehow has to apologise for believing otherwise and trying. (?) Maybe that's because as an elder millennial I can rest in the knowledge that I won't be around when our planet becomes uninhabitable, or maybe it's because I was actually alive to witness the collapse of the USSR, which, incidentally, was pretty much the same time at which Good Omens was written.

Which brings me to my next point.

I don't want to take anything away from fans who relate to Aziraphale because they themselves have experienced religious trauma. He is certainly a powerful metaphor for it. But Aziraphale the character does not experience religous trauma, because he doesn't experience religion.

The existence of God, of Angels, the creation of the world in 7 days, those are not beliefs for Aziraphale, they are simple facts. He has actually witnessed them, he has worked on some of them himself, he is an angel himself. He knows how everything works (or where it doesn't). He isn't a human who has free will and is supposed to have faith, who gets to interpret and re-interpret and guess at how it all works while forming self-important little groups around it and lay it down as law for anyone who wants to join (or remain). It's simply his job. (Well, job for life, and the whole reason for his own existence, but still his job.) God is literally just his boss. A largely absentee boss, but still his boss. He actually even talked to Her at least once.

For angels and demons, Heaven and Hell are not religions, but simple work environments (with certain accompanying ideologies). In the book, being 30 years older than the show, the two sides are quite open references to the two sides in the cold war, and Crowley and Aziraphale are likened to spies in the field. (Pretty much the only thing remaining from that in the show are the St. James Park Bench scenes.)

And I would like people to start remembering that. Aziraphale is not a traumatized little kid who tries to escape a religious cult. He is a Secret Agent who is walking the very dangerous line of collaborating with an Enemy Secret Agent, undermining both their nations and their ideologies at the same time. (Think John Le Carré characters rather than James Bond.) He is afraid of dangers that are very real, but that he has faced and flaunted during his whole career. He knows what he's doing. Which also means he knows what's at stake. And yeah, that is terrifying, naturally. (Again, John Le Carré writes those kind of spy stories brilliantly.)

But Aziraphale is the fucking Angel of the Eastern Gate. He was issued a flaming sword that he gave away against his orders because he believed it to be the right thing to do. Who befriended his demon enemy because he liked him, more than he ever liked anyone from his own side. And who is basically using the seven deadly sins as a to-do-list. That he has a sweet little face that lights up like a christmas tree when he's happy and in love, or that he still believes in the basic goodness and justice of the world, or that he tries to be kind or at least polite whenever he can, does not take anything away from that.

And for the 2nd Coming in season 3 he will be what Crowley was for Armageddon in season 1: The Inside Man.

**= Here I would also like to add that again, as much as I was disappointed for not getting the tv evangelist scene in the show, book!Aziraphale is still much less naive and more cynical about Heaven's goodness - even while show!Aziraphale's defiance of Heaven is much more outspoken and obvious, I can't actually imagine him delivering the whole "if that's your idea of a morally acceptable time" speech.

#good omens #aziraphale #az fell #azira fell #good omens aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #good omens book #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens thoughts #good omens season 3 #good omens season 1 #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #good omens show #good omens tv show #nikku's posts

[mazeinthemiroh]

I have a fluffy thought about skz Hyung line, and was wondering what signs they would show when they’re in love with someone 🥺❤️ like it makes me bust an uwu thinking about them being so sweet with someone

signs stray kids would show when they're in love (hyung line)

genre: fluff + romance

word count: 0.8k

warnings: they're all simps (but yall knew that anyway 😚)

please like and reblog if you enjoy <3

bangchan

he catches himself falling for you when he's smiling like an idiot every time he receives a text from you. his dimples are on full display as he reads the simple, sweet message you sent him

he's a simp and he can't help it

with you, in person, he feels like h can relax with you and let his inner self come to life

constant conversations and speculations and rants about his favourite shows and what happened at work that day and what's the best takeaway food, etc etc... chan is very good at talking, we know this. but he feels like talking with you he is able to express himself fully and be his dorky self <3

will initiate physical contact (shyly, at first.) he's very physically affectionate and even if you're not dating, if you guys are really close friends and he has these intense feelings for you, he can't help but ask you if you're comfortable with him being physically affectionate

and when you say yes, he's bashful about it. will initiate little touches here and there, which seems to brew up an electric kind of tension. and god, does he love it

overall, the main sign that he is in love is the way he looks at you - such genuine admiration in those adoring eyes

minho

he tries to control these light, happy feelings that keep bubbling up when he sees you

but he can't. not for too long

a bashful smile, and a playful side-eye. perfect glares and jeering remarks and oh, how he loves your interactions.

in fact, he lives for them; gushing over them like he's never had a crush before. because he knew deep down this was something much more.

he's a tease - his daring nature and mocking humour mixed with his cute and awkward execution seemed to add to his charm, if that was even humanly possible. he just had it all.

but his wicked games and playful habits don't fool anyone. the tips of his ears turning red and the persistent sparkle in his eyes give him away. he's not fooling anyone.

and despite his somewhat interesting mannerisms, you tend to soften his usual harshness. he would be more sensitive to your thoughts and wants to learn about your opinions on things

he feels like he can talk forever with you because the conversation between you both flows so naturally, which is a realisation that makes his heart skips a beat

he just feels like you get him

changbin

he's subtler than the rest

and for him, 'love' is such a deep emotion. he does fall for someone easily - this someone needs to have something truly special about them in order for binnie to fall for them. after all, he knows and likes a lot of people, being the social butterfly he is

so when he is in love, he's likely to want to be around you a whole lot more

spending most if not all his time with you

inviting you out to meet his friends

he wants you to be involved in his social life, even if you are on the quieter side. he just views you as such an important person in his life that it only makes sense for him to introduce you to those he speaks so highly of

there a times were he catches himself thinking more romantically than he ever thought he would - he's captivated by your laugh, the way it lingers and hangs and ingrains itself in his heart

and soon he is not so subtle with his love for you, finding it so incredibly easy to compliment you on everything you do. he praises you even when you don't deem yourself worthy of praise

he's a very happy man indeed

hyunjin

he has tunnel vision

it seems you are the only one who matters to him. yes, you're the only one he sees in a crowded room. yes, you're the only one whose opinions matter to him

he wants to be close with you and only you - and he actively seeks out that closeness

you fascinate him immensely. your thoughts, feelings, speculations on life, opinions on death - the whole package, that's what he wants to know. so if he asks you questions upon questions, it's because he is interested, and could listen to you talk for ages

enthralled by your beauty, your life, your approach to people around you

maybe he romanticises things too much with his pages of poetry about the pattern in your eyes

or the watercolours he paints, attempting to capture the curves in your face, the tone of your skin he's addicted to, the body he can't help but trail his eyes over when he sees you

but he's frustrated as he writes and paints because he knows it won't be the same. it doesn't capture the perfectness that is you.

skz taglist: @hearts4sungie, @seokshineswiftie, @alyszaen, @jtrstp, @a-wandering-stay, @hyungenie5, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @chammak-challokys

#stray kids #skz #kpop #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #kpop headcanons #bang chan #bangchan #chan #lee minho #lee know #changbin #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fluff #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - or Read on AO3

May 12, 1992: Today.

Hold yourself together, hold yourself together, hold yourself together.

It's an old familiar chant. Steve was practically raised on the mantra. He repeats it in his head as he leaves the exam room and passes through the doctor’s office lobby full of older folks reading outdated magazines. He chants it as he takes off running through the parking lot and throws himself into the driver's seat of his bimmer.

He holds himself together until he can't anymore. He bursts into tears in the safety of his car. It's explosive when Steve finally cries, he lets everything build up for far too long which tends to result in a snotty, messy display.

It's not fair, the news he was given. He'll never outrun his violent teenage years. It's getting harder and harder to find value in himself with the extensive list of health issues he's accumulating.

The voice in his head – the one that sounds like all the people who've ever hated Steve – is chastising him. 

Your life's not over, you're being pathetic. 

But he just wants to feel sorry for himself in peace.

What Steve needs is to talk to someone. But he can't even hear Robin when they talk on the phone anymore, which pulls another desperate sob out of him. He just wants his best friend. 

He's dreading telling his professional-musician-boyfriend the news, there’s no way that’s gonna go well. Part of Steve’s appeal to Eddie is that Steve has always gone to all of his shows. Even before they started dating, he’d show up to their Hideout gigs and compliment Eddie on little moments of each performance that he enjoyed. Steve’s pretty sure it’s what won Eddie over in the end.

So what’s gonna happen when the very foundation of their relationship is pulled out from under them? Will Eddie go looking for someone else to listen to music alongside? Lord knows there are plenty of men who would die to be in Steve’s shoes.

Unsure of where else to go for reassurance, he decides that when he stops crying maybe he'll drive to Jeff's. 

____________________________________

When Steve tried to remember the first time he noticed things getting bad, he pictured a concert. It was a warm summer night, a few years back. 

August 1990: Two years ago.

The final chord of the concert rang out across the stadium and vibrated through Steve. The drummer smashed a conclusion to the encore, sweat falling from his hairline. It was loud, so loud. Steve was flinching and wincing all night.

He and Eddie were pushed up snugly against the barricade in front of the stage; warm bodies caging them in. Really, Eddie was at the point in his music career where he needed to have security with him in a crowd like this, but he thought donning sunglasses and wearing his hair twisted up into a bun cut it as a "sufficient disguise." Steve was only slightly annoyed to admit that it was, in fact, sufficient because no fans had approached them. Eddie sacrificed his comfort for the evening to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered all of his demobat scars. They were one of the defining features of his on-stage persona. Those and his tattoos, probably.

And despite the fact that Eddie definitely could have pulled backstage access for them to watch the concert more comfortably, he always insisted on watching it like an audience member. "The experience is completely different," Eddie had argued, and yeah, Steve wasn’t disputing that.

The crowd roared as the band bid everyone a good night, and the stage lights went out conclusively. Sweaty bodies started pushing their way out of the stadium, away from Steve. He finally felt like he could breathe again, but boy were his ears ringing. He blinked at the crowd moving towards the exits when he felt clammy fingers wrap around his bicep and squeeze excitedly.

He looked over, and Eddie was beaming, practically bouncing with the adrenaline of seeing one of his favorite bands live. He looked like the zealous, music-obsessed kid that Steve fell in love with a handful of years ago and not the well-adjusted musician who had met or performed with nearly all of his role models by then. He had been so excited for the show, and by the looks of it, it was everything Eddie hoped it would be and more. Eddie pulled him towards the exit, keeping his head down so they could get home quickly.

"My ears are ringing really bad," Steve complained.

"Mine too," Eddie giggled and pumped his fist. He was celebrating as if ringing ears were an accomplishment. "That speaker setup was on another level." Steve nodded; his ears would be fine... probably.

"You had a good time?" Steve just wanted to hear about how much Eddie loved it because then the headache he’d probably get later wouldn't hurt so bad.

"Amazing time! Best concert yet, I think. So glad you were there with me." Eddie pushed down his sunglasses and blinked at Steve with big, shiny eyes. The headache would be worth it.

When they got home, Eddie ushered them both into the bathroom, pushed the shower knob on, and started stripping. He threw his clothes messily onto the counter. Steve followed, much less enthusiastically.

Eddie’s a big, fiery ball of energy; his social battery gets charged when he’s pushed around in big crowds and surrounded by loud music. Steve is the opposite; he’s always drained down to nothing by the end of a concert because he worries about Eddie's safety the whole time. He makes an effort to wear a smile, though, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Steve is having a good time.

Eddie pulled him into the satisfyingly warm water and immediately wrapped his tattooed arms around Steve’s waist. Steve fell back against the cold tiled wall, which made him hiss and arch away from it. Eddie leaned down to press heated kisses down his jaw and neck. When he got to the meat of Steve's shoulder, Eddie bit down softly.

His hands slowly migrated from the dimples of Steve's back down to his ass. With a cheek in either palm, Eddie squeezed greedily and pulled their bodies together. He moaned into Steve's shoulder. Steve didn’t hear the moan; he only felt it, vibrating against him. His ears were still ringing.

"Eddie?" Steve asked softly. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight. Can we take a normal shower, maybe? Please?"

Eddie pulled back with a startled expression. His hands retreated to rest on the wall on either side of Steve.

"Oh fuck, Steve. I'm sorry." Eddie searched Steve's eyes. "I should have asked; I'm sorry."

Steve felt guilty about making Eddie feel guilty, but honestly, he was worried about himself. He’s got health-related anxiety now, after years of living with his worrywart best friend, Robin, and consistently uncovering new side effects of upside-down related injuries. So the fact that his ears were ringing more intensely than they ever had before, made him nervous.

"It's okay," Steve assured him, but he felt small and kind of fragile. Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

"Want me to get out and give you some space?" Eddie asked with his hand already pushing back the curtain, ready to step out.

Steve shook his head and reached for the shampoo bottle. He grabbed Eddie's wrist and squeezed a dollop into his palm. Eddie always used more shampoo than him, had much more hair after all. Steve did the same to his own palm and started massaging it in. He could feel Eddie watching his back, probably with sad puppy dog eyes.

Steve made his shower a short one instead of going through his whole five-step process. He just shampooed his hair and stepped out, leaving Eddie alone under the hot spray of water.

He dressed himself in oversized baggy sweats, which made him feel like he was in control of himself again, for some reason. He cozied up on his side of the bed and nuzzled his face into his pillow for comfort.

It wasn't long until Steve felt the bed sink next to him. He turned his head to face Eddie and squinted against the lamplight coming from the bedside table. His man was still wrapped up in a towel, hair dripping onto his own pillow. Eddie brought a hand up to gently pet Steve's arm with the back of his index finger in a little windshield-wiping motion.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry for pushing and not asking. I feel bad."

Steve shook his head. "You're fine, don't even worry 'bout it. I just have a lot on my mind. Wasn't feeling it."

"Did you not like the concert?" Eddie sounds crestfallen as he reaches down to wrap the towel more snugly around himself.

"Always have so much fun with you, baby. I'm just tired is all. 'Kay?" Steve knew that the concert would be ruined in Eddie's mind if he found out Steve didn't really like it. So Steve always kept those thoughts locked away deep in the caverns of his mind. He would do just about anything to make Eddie happy anyway.

Eddie nodded and stood up to put on a pair of boxers.

"Alright," he responded, and Steve resolutely ignored the panic of how little of Eddie's voice he could hear. He tried to assure himself it would be better in the morning.

The ringing in his ears was gone when he woke up, which calmed him enough to ignore his hearing-related issues for a while. He's good at ignoring his problems.

_____________________________________

April 1991 - A year ago.

Steve was studying, believe it or not. 

When the band first moved out to California, Steve took up a job waiting tables at a chain restaurant that he never wanted to think about again. It was well and truly traumatic. 

Tired of being yelled at for minimum wage pay, Steve finally sat down and listened to Eddie list off some career options he reckoned his boyfriend might enjoy. Steve hated when people told him what he should do with his life. Eddie wasn't telling or demanding, Steve had to remind himself, he was just suggesting.

Steve was still deciding what he wanted to do. Eddie assured him there was no rush, but he feels useless if he’s not making strides toward some sort of focused career. He was speeding his way towards an undergraduate degree at a state school on Eddie's dime and flirting with the idea of becoming a physical therapist. He didn't know if he could handle that much education, though.

That afternoon, Steve had been thumbing through a stack of notecards for an anatomy exam he had the next morning. It was a Nancy Wheeler-approved study method. 

He paused when the phone rang. Steve rushed into the kitchen and answered with his signature, "Munson Residence, this is Steve." It made him smile every time. He liked to pretend that he was a Munson too.

He heard a garbled voice on the other end, but he was pretty sure it was Eddie calling from JFK airport. 

"I'm so sorry, I can't hear you. Could you talk a tad louder, please?" Steve asked politely just in case it was someone calling Eddie on business.

 "Hi baby," he could subtly make out. 

"Hi Teddy, what's up with you?" Steve responded, curling the phone cord around his finger. 

"I have bad news; my flight got delayed, so we'll actually be in at one... not eleven. And I know you have class in the morning-" 

"I'll be there, it's no problem," Steve confirmed. 

"Are you sure? We can-" Eddie cut off, and Steve pushed his ear impossibly closer to the phone. "Oops, Grant says I'm talking too loud..." and Eddie got quieter. Steve couldn't hear what he said next, but he guessed it was something about finding another way to get home. 

"I'll be there. Okay? Don't worry about me. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you." 

"Okay, love you. See you soon." Eddie chirped back.

Steve mounted the phone onto the receiver and trudged back over to the couch. He wondered if it would be a better use of his time to continue studying for his test tomorrow or nap so that he wouldn't be completely exhausted in the morning. High school Steve would have chosen to sleep, so he decided to study.

Steve pulled the van up and parked it right in front of the American Airlines door a little before 1 am. He waited and waited and motherfucking waited. He should have brought his flashcards, dammit. He did, however, buy one of those bouquets of black-dyed roses that Eddie loves. It was set carefully on the passenger seat next to him, waiting for Eddie.

Steve had to drive a few loops around the airport because it wasn't until around 1:45 am that the band exploded out through the airport doors with luggage in tow. Steve got out to help them pack it all into the back. There were a few teenage boys standing near the street, staring at the band with wide eyes. 

Please, Steve begged the universe, do not approach or ask for something silly like an autograph.

"Hi, Sweetness," Eddie crooned. He gave Steve a friendly-looking, publicly acceptable hug to tide them both over until they got home. "Missed you so much." Eddie stepped back and threw his suitcase into the trunk, slamming the back door shut as the other guys squeezed into their seats. 

Eddie lit up when he opened the passenger-side door and saw the bouquet. He grabbed his roses and held them up to his face to hide his smile. Gareth and Grant teased him in the backseat. Jeff stared on wistfully.

"Baggage claim take a while?" Steve asked while pulling away from the curb.

 "No, not really. We kinda sped out of there," Eddie confirmed. How can that be right? They were forty minutes late. 

"You said you were gonna get in at 1," Steve argued. 

"1:30, I said 1:30," Eddie responded as he turned back to confirm it with his friends. "I said 1:30, right?" Steve looked in the rearview mirror to see Grant's curly hair bob up and down with an over-the-top nod. 

Oh, well, fuck. 

"Must have misheard, my bad," Steve dismissed as he made his way through airport traffic. He felt Eddie's eyes on him. He was being watched with a concerned expression. He shrugged it off.

_____________________________________

May 9, 1992 - three days ago

Thank God it was Saturday, Steve thought contentedly, wiggling in the warmth of the bed. He threaded his fingers through Eddie's, which were splayed across his stomach possessively, even while asleep. Steve luxuriated in the simplicity of having no pressing or immediate responsibilities. He was surprised when Eddie squeezed his tummy. He turned over to see Eddie wide awake and watching him.

"Oh hi, didn't know you were awake yet," Steve rolled onto Eddie's chest and pressed gentle kisses to the tattoos inked across Eddie’s collarbone and shoulder. Eddie grabbed Steve's chin and lifted his face so that they were both looking at each other. He looked upset.

"I've been talking to you." Uh oh. This might be the tipping point. Eds might finally bring up the thing they'd both been blissfully ignoring. "I'm worried about you, Sweetness. About your hearing."

Yep. Steve sighed and flopped backward onto the sheets. He wished he could sink into them. There went his relaxing morning. Eddie chased him. He sat up and leaned over, placing a warm palm on Steve's cheek and tugging on Steve's earlobe.

"Maybe we should make a doctor's appointment." Which Eddie should have known was absolutely going to be met with one of Steve's dramatic eye-rolls.

"It's gonna cost a million dollars for them to tell me I have a little hearing loss. I'm not gonna do that." Steve didn’t have health insurance, much to everyone's chagrin.

"There could be things to prevent it from getting worse," Eddie suggested softly because he knew Steve was tender about perceived weaknesses. And then Steve realized that his hearing issues had probably become inconvenient to everyone around him, but they'd been too nice to say anything until now.

If Eddie didn't want to drag this out, then fine. Steve could suck it up and go see a doctor.

"Okay," Steve agreed, and Eddie gave him a relieved smile and a kiss on the forehead.

"Thought that would take a lot more convincing. Let's get you in sometime this week, that sound good?" Eddie asked and scooted down the bed to pad off to the bathroom.

It did not sound good. The whole reason he had been pushing off the diagnosis he knew was coming was because it would probably send Eddie running. He was trying to savor his limited time left in this bed.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #soft eddie munson #hurt/comfort #steddie fluff #Hard of Hearing #deafness #eddie munson is a sweetheart #rock star eddie munson #brief mention of sex

[dairy-farmer]

Young Justice Fuck Up AU? Tim is Robin, well into it. Not a rookie by any means.

But! Magic users, man. They stumble upon a mad scientist. Who is CONVINCED he can make sense of Magic. Instead it drove him crazy, as it tends too. The duke it out. Good ol punch fest.

But oh no! Perv man has been eyeing Cassie in a way none of them like, this whole fight. Makes a Comment as he levels a ray gun! "More agreeable"?! Oh HELL no!

Tim is closest. Bart still elbows deep, trying to stop some poor harpy woman from bleeding out in front of her kid. Tim pulls that Classic Hero Move(tm) and dives in front of his friend. Takes the beam.

Hits the ground. Feeling like he's on FIRE.

Terror Furious is a SCARY look on Amazons. Cassie breaks his damn near EVERYTHING before Kon can pull her off. Tim's not moving. Ray guns busted to hell. They take it anyway. Free everyone they can, take the "research" to try and make sense of it, burn that nightmare pit to the GROUND.

Tim wakes up with... weirdly nice hair and skin. Like? His complexion? Usually pale and half dead looking. His hair a birds nest. But he looks? Dewey. Ready for a photo shoot. He's also kinda hungry.

But? Nothing touchs it. Not coffee. Not toast. Not even when he breaks down and eats a "real" breakfast. He just feels kinda bloated.

And he notices.

That press ready complexion and such? Slowly gets duller as he gets hungrier. He's not stupid. Far from it. He's a god damned ROBIN. The ray DID something.

He testes his DNA.

It's no longer a match. Fuck. He tears apart the Creeps "research" looking for blueprints of that gun. It takes hours to find it. The missing Model? A young succubus. It's HER DNA in the gun.

He's literally gonna starve.

Obviously, he tells his team. And Obviously they swear not to let that happen. Everyone splits up. Kon flying him back to Gotham. They stop by his safe house. So he can get supplies. And Kon? Well he spent the flight THINKING. Stacks everything to the side, ready to go, and crowds his bro back up against a wall.

Hugs him real close. Fingertips touched to those bits of skin he can find, cheek pressed against cheek as he sucks in air. As he jacks it. Tim wide eyed and frozen, full body pressed against him, staring unseeing over his shoulder from where Kon tucked him close.

It's crazy. Kon knows he should be doing this. But he let's himself get into it anyway. Feel as much lust as he can. Feel as GOOD as he can. Because Tim needs it.

And Tim tries not to think about how it feels like perfection. When Kon cums on this thigh. How he can feel it even through his armor in a way he shouldn't be ABLE too. How he DOES, actually, feel so much better. Because he's going to "fix this". Turn back.

Except...

Except it doesn't seem to be working. Even with the awesome power of the Batcomputer and the advanced labs he has at his disposal in the cave? Everything pointing to his body not being able to HANDLE two full DNA changes back to back. Maybe in a DECADE... but...

No. He's running out of time!

And he IS. The other Bats have noticed he's not eating. Worse, they're clearing noting his physical decline. Digging for answers.

Finding them.

Dick storms up to him looking like murder Very Much is an option on the table. Doesn't so much slap the printout down as rest it like a death warrant on top of his keyboard. It's a print out of the ray gun. Fuck. He knows.

A second page. Print out of a conversation with with Zatara. How long can Succubus go with out eating? He passed "medically advisable" two days ago.

He refuses to look at Dick. The disappointment and no doubt disgust. That's why he doesn't see the arm coming to sweep him up and out of his seat. Barely has the strength to object and struggle. Dick ignores him. Carries him up stairs.

To his room.

Does he want Tim to rest? Conserve strength? But then why is he taking off his shirt? Tugging off Tim's sweats? The thought is so wild, so unimaginable and out of reach, it doesn't register until Dick has him pushed back and by the legs. Is leaning forward towards the hem of Tim's baggy sweater.

His entire body JOLTS.

He feels like he's been holding his breath too long and suddenly sucked in air. It doesn't JUST feel good, he feels light-headed with how hard it hits him. Dicks hands have slid up. Seized him by the hips so he can't escape. Now he's being devoured.

Dick is mad at him. Has to be. It goes beyond just being careful with a virgin. Wet, teasing, and relentless. It takes forever for there to be fingers. Then they're overwhelming and GOOD but not ENOUGH. It could only be on purpose. It's too deliberate.

Maybe he decides Tim's is gushing wet enough, or maybe it's the whimpering, like Tim's going to cry. But Dick decides to eventually take pity of him. Too shush and sooth. Scoop up and pull close, as he lines up and starts rocking DEEP.

And it's fizzing in Tim's veins. Fuller and fuller, closer and CONNECTED in a way that feels like he can KEEP. And Dick? Feels closer then he has in years. To anyone. He never wants to pull out. Wants to stay like this, rocking lazily in and out, riding the afterglow, FOREVER.

Wants to take him hard and deep, slow and sweet, bent in half and gasping for air. His, his, his~.

But? Guess who forgot to grab those papers? Dick. Guess who is Worried About His Son(tm)? Bruce. He snoops. He finds them. He has his moral panic and brooding session on a gargoyle in the rain. He does the mental gymnastics necessary to live with himself.

He tracks down Tim.

Because really, who else could they TRUST with this? And yes. Bruce has not been... the best mentor. But he has been trying to be better. Will be better! And he is not about to let some Creeps lay their filthy hands on his boy.

So Tim gets to live out his teenage hormone dreams~☆

Pulled into Batmans lap. Kissed as gentle, powerful, and calloused hands slide down his pants. Between his legs. To tease and rub. To slide deeper then in. Filling him, fucking him, stretching him in preparation for something BIGGER. All while his mouth is plundered by that commanding mouth. All while he squirms in his lap, feeling the thickness of what's going to be buried DEEP pressed against him.

Clothes discarded. Being lifted up. And pulled down onto something that feels like it can't possibly fit. Whining and breathing through it. Leaning forward and just breathing in the scent of Bruce's aftershave, concentrating on the beat of his heart. Being pulled all the way down to the root. Listening to him GROAN and rock Tim's body just to FEEL it.

Up and down, up and down. Lifted and dragged, like a sleeve. Held like a TREASURE. Listening to Bruce rumble out praise in a way he NEVER does. It drags against every good spot inside him. How could he not come apart? Over and over until his bones feel like goo and his head full of honey? Drooling and twitching against Bruce's chest.

At least he's not hungry when he wakes up.

The problem? BRUCE left those damn papers in the cave, too. And both Jason AND Damian found them. Independently of each other.

AND no one in this family TALKS to each other. So EVERYONE thinks that Only They(tm) can prevent him from starving to death.

He... he should tell them. Honestly, he's ABOUT too.

But then? The little nightmare is... not NICE, so much as civil to him? Something about a victory being meaningless if Tim starves thanks to his team mates slow reaction time. Tim likes to think NOT punching him for that remark is being rather mature, on his part. Still, it's nice he's largely backed off.

Only THEN? Tim finds out he backed off because he was going on some weird, DEFINITELY Bruce's Son, "journey of soul searching" about whether or not to fuck him to save his life? Did it never occer to EITHER of these two, to FIND him someone trustworthy? No? HAS to be done by their own two hands, huh?

Is control-freak a genetic trait? Asking for a friend. Who is Tim.

The answer was apparently "yes, he will do it", by the way. And was apparently Preparing himself mentally. How does Tim find out? He finds out in the showers, completely naked. Leg bruised to heck and back, trying to balance on wet tiles, when hot hands too small to be Dick or Bruce, steady him.

It's Damian.

Who is flushed and refusing to look at him. Embarrassed scowl all but carved onto his face. Helping wash with the same efficient but careful method he lovingly washs Titus. Crowding close to him. Sliding an arm around his waist to keep Tim upright. A bold but fumbling hand down and down, like he has a right to what he'll find.

Spreading and curling, under the sprays of water, everything slick. Pin pricks of water hitting his skin, as everything starts to feel so SENSITIVE. Damian pressing against his back like he wants to hide how badly he WANTS, even though Tim can FEEL how hard he is against his back. How greedy his hand is, as it explores.

Sliding to their knees, then the floor. Because Damian's legs have gone weak and Tim can't bear to put pressure on one of his. Damian scrambling forward, eyes almost manic, as he finally learns what all the FUSS is about. His Rival so magnificent beneath him.

Hands tracing scars. Rutting, slick and desperate, under the pouring showerheads. Clawing at those strong hips, to finally put theory into practice. Whining like he's WOUNDED against drenched skin. So HOT. So good.

No technique or skill.

Just frantic pounding. Deep. Again and again. Hips trapped in a desperate hold, as Damian throws everything he HAS into fucking the hot body beneath him. Overwhelmed by the need to milk himself DRY into the perfect vice around his young cock.

Tim not only isn't hungry the next few days, the little gremlin? A doting, if stabby, little shadow. Dick is thrilled they've "become friends". Tim wonders if this is what Talia was like with Bruce. Tries to keep track of his DNA.

Goes to Jason, because honestly, he's probably MET some Succubus before. What with his "Scew You, Dad!" World tour. Might know something. Problem is? The SECOND he climbs in the window? Jason just puts down his guns, turns, and pulls him into a kiss that melts his brain.

Tim's not even sure HOW he loses his clothes. Jason doesn't give him time to think. Next thing he knows, he's bent in half, being held still by his hair, as Jason both sucks the air out of his lungs and pounds him through the mattress. Grinding some little vibe he got from SOMEWHERE against his clit, like Tim isn't ALREADY losing his damn mind.

He absolutely loses time, after the second earth shattering orgasm.

All Tim knows is he wakes up with a drool and tear stained face, bones made if jello, and the bruises like he went a round with Bane. He's practically GLOWING with how well fed he is. Is bordering dangerously close to... to PERKY and Cheerful! In the MORNING!

If he could move, he would accuse Jason of some sort of dick based witchcraft.

Instead he's pulled close like some sort of lover and Jason mumbles something about breakfast after he wakes up. It BETTER include coffee. Tim can't move. Well, the healing ability is kicking in. But he gets to complain anyway!

He does not, in fact, remember to tell anyone.

They NEVER fucking communicate because of course they don't.

So each one of them, Secretly of course, keeps Tim's Super Secret Succubus Secret from the other's. And helps him feed. Secretly.

Tim is extremely well fed. And never DOES figure out how to change back... not that he tries too hard.

-🐼🐼🐼

tim being magically turned into a succubus and his family all independently deciding they will take on the oh so hard task of "helping" him and keeping him fed 👀👀! and then tim being in absolutely no rush to change back because he's well fed and taken care of so it's not like he's on a time crunch or anything 👀👀👀

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

[otakusheep15]

Winter Holiday with Twisted Wonderland

Hi everyone! It's been forever since I made an actual post. I've been trying to write for the past month, but the world just does not want me to lol. But I made it through 2023 and now it's the new year, so I thought it was time I post something again.

This is basically little blurbs of how I think the boys would spend their winter holidays. I'm trying to keep everything ambiguous since I don't know what they celebrate, and I also want everyone who reads this to feel somewhat included at least, so this is me trying my best. If it feels a little rough, that's largely because I'm still trying to fight the writer's block lol. Still, I hope y'all enjoy!

First Years

Ace Trappola: He mostly spends his time relaxing. It's not much different for him than any other season. He enjoys the vibes of winter, but he's not the biggest fan of the cold, so he does his best to stay inside. A big secret of his is that he'll secretly binge all of the cheesy romance movies airing around this time. He'd never admit it though.

Deuce Spade: A lot of his time is spent with his mom, as per usual. Lots of shopping days and going to winter farmers' markets. They also spend time at home drinking hot cocoa and watching holiday movies. He does also enjoy a good afternoon jog through the snow if it's not too much.

Jack Howl: He loves the winter very much. It's his favorite season. He spends most of his days outside playing in the snow with his siblings and enjoying the cold air. The one thing he dislikes his how he grows a double coat to keep him warm, meaning he sheds a lot more than usual. Other than that, he's having fun. Anytime it snows, his tail is going wild with excitement.

Epel Felmier: From dawn until dusk, he's either in the fields tending to crops or out in the crowds selling products. When he's done with work, he likes to curl up in front of a warm fire and work on his carvings. His hands always have to be moving, even when he's meant to be relaxing.

Ortho Shroud: He's spending time with his brother. Idia is not the best at socializing, so he does his best to make sure Idia has someone during these months considering how bad seasonal depression can get. He's also trying to help Idia get more out there, and enjoy the festivities of the season, even if he knows it won't work.

Sebek Zigvolt: He spends winter the same way he spends the rest of his time, with Malleus. Or, that's what he wants to be doing. Instead, he's given a vacation, much to his displeasure. So now he's spending time with his family. It's a little awkward being gone from his station for so long, but he will admit (to himself, begrudgingly) that it is somewhat nice to have a break.

Second Years

Riddle Rosehearts: Winter is always a bit strange for him. He's so used to spending it at home under strict conditions that it takes him some time to get used to the freedom he now has. He likes to spend his time sitting by a fireplace with a book and some tea. Now that he's independent, he likes having this time to relax instead of worrying about family.

Ruggie Bucchi: He spends time back in his childhood home. He visits his grandma and helps take care of the neighborhood kids. They're full of energy and like playing around when it snows, so of course he joins them. He'll also spend time cooking warm meals with whatever ingredients he can scrounge up.

Azul Ashengrotto: Winters are a busy time for him. It's the season of giving according to some, so he's taking full advantage in any way he can. He's striking deals with anyone he comes across and just generally doing the same shady things he usually does. However, he is also consciously taking breaks and making sure to spend time with his family, or at least calling them if he's above the surface.

Jade Leech: He's tending to his terrariums. Winter is not the best for a lot of his plants, so he has to give them extra attention lest they wilt. It's a lot of hard work, but he's very dedicated to them and he's willing to put in the effort. He also begins working on winter-specific plant life and fungi as well so that he can grow his collection.

Floyd Leech: He gets the winter zoomies. The cold makes him extra hyper and excitable, so he's running around a lot more than usual. Ever since discovering snow, he's loved it, so he's spending most of his time rolling around and playing in it. He also loses whatever loose sleep schedule he had and just passes out whenever his body physically can't anymore.

Kalim al-Asim: He prefers summer, but winter is fun too! While he is busy helping his dad and getting trained to succeed him, he still makes sure to take time to have fun. He and his siblings will go out and play around in the snow and just have fun however they can. He can't always handle the cold like his siblings can, but he does his best to keep up with them.

Jamil Viper: He's given a vacation on the request (read: demands) of Kalim, so he's relaxing. For once he has no responsibilities, and he's living his best life. He's making warm curry for himself and catching up on books he's never had the chance to read. He does have the urge to go back to work early, but he forces those urges away.

Silver Vanrouge: He's spending time with his father. Winter makes him extra tired, so he spends a lot of it inside sleeping. Lilia stays with him for a lot of it, and they bond. He'll cook warm meals and they'll watch movies together. They also make sure to visit Malleus often so that he isn't lonely.

Third Years

Trey Clover: The bakery is busy this time of year, so he's mostly occupied with that. He's baking, running the store, making deliveries, and keeping up with orders. There's very little free time, but the time he does have is spent with his siblings. They play in the snow together, watch movies, and drink warm cocoa by the fire. His parents will also join in if they have the time, which is even less common than him.

Cater Diamond: He's keeping up with all of the winter trends of course. He's taking selfies in the snow, reviewing all of the winter exclusive products available, and blasting classic winter music. He loves this time of year because of how festive and fun it is, but it also drains him very quickly on the inside, so the seasonal depression hits quick as well. He won't let it show though, at least until he's alone.

Leona Kingscholar: He does not care. The only difference is that winter is cold which makes him more tired than usual, but that's it. He might stay inside more to avoid the snow, but when you live in a castle, there's plenty to do inside as well, so he's fine. Cheka might force him outside, but he's not enjoying it at all. The snow bothers him and so do the festivities.

Vil Schoenheit: Most likely, he's working on a winter-themed project. A movie, play, photoshoot, something along those lines. It's tiring work, as per usual, but it's what he's required to do, so he does it. What he would like to be doing is relaxing, however. He actually quite enjoys the wintertime, so it'd be nice to spend it alone and without stress. If he could, he would relax at home, maybe even with his dad if he were free. They could finally spend time together and just be normal.

Rook Hunt: He's spending time with his family. It's so rare for all of them to get together, so it's nice to be able to see everyone at once like this. They are also a very competitive family, so many days are spent playing games and having fun competitions amongst one another. Board games, games in the snow, or just random games made up on the spot. It's fun for everyone.

Idia Shroud: He is, as expected, by himself playing games. He may go back to S.T.Y.X. if his parents request it, but he's not leaving his room. In his own way, he is being festive. He's playing winter-themed games, watching anime that takes place in the winter, etc. etc., but that's as far as he'll go. He's not the most fond of the winter festivities because that's normie behavior, but he might be convinced by Ortho to come outside and be festive at least once, as a treat.

Malleus Draconia: Usually, he's alone. Winter can be a lonely time for those without family. However, this year, he does have a family. He has Lilia and Silver, and Sebek too. They all make sure to visit him whenever possible, even if they can't be with him all the time during winter. After all, they do get their time off, so they're allowed time to themselves. However, they still visit him, and that makes him happy. He also spends time with his grandmother when she is available. Still, for a good majority, he finds himself alone, wandering the halls as usual. Sad.

Lilia Vanrouge: He's spending time with Silver at home, mostly. He makes an effort to visit Malleus when possible, but he's mostly relaxing on his own. He and Silver have fun bonding together, something they don't get to do often. He also makes sure to see Sebek and his family too. He tries to cook some hot meals for Silver, but Silver will not let him in the kitchen, so he's upset, but he's still having fun with his time off.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #ace trappola #deuce spade #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #idia shroud #ortho shroud #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #sebek zigvolt #headcanons #scenarios #imagines

[minecraftbookshelf]

Gone Fishing

Mr. InTheLittleWood I know you’re in your tags on here, walk away from this one.

(No, this isn't Marriage of State, that is still with my beta, this is something i started writing for Mermay and then semi-abandoned until these past couple of weeks.)

Mildly Dark Comedy Urban Fantasy Adventures featuring Sleep Deprived Martyn, Selkie!Scott, and Swan Maiden!Cleo and Pearl.

AO3

Rating: T on AO3

Wordcount: ~4k

Characters: Martyn InTheLittleWood, Scott Smajor, ZombieCleo, PearlescentMoon, bonus appearances by JoeHills (with accompanying breaking of the fourth wall) and Rendog.

Relationships: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss + Martyn (its not quite Divorcee Quartet imo) Background Martyn?Ren and Referenced Past Flower Husbands

Warnings: Off-screen murder and on-screen blood spatter, kidnapping, selkie tropes and the adjacent concepts

-

This is directly inspired by that one tumblr post (I'll link it if i ever successfully find it again) that starts out "swan maidens would be hella built and down for violence, actually" and ends with "a swan maiden and a selkie team up and do violence"

-

3AM calls directly after the full moon are officially Martyn's nemesis. Nonetheless, he listens to the flustered emergency dispatcher stammer through a semi-explanation of the situation. (Murder. Kidnapped mythicals. The usual. He's not even on call this week; how and why is he the only Hunter in the area?) He hauls himself out of bed, knocks on Ren's door on the way out to let him know he is leaving and grabs his keys. He pauses, halfway out the front door and texts Ren because there is no way he'll remember given that he probably didn't even wake up when Martyn knocked, deep asleep and dead to the world in a way only exhausted werewolves can manage.

It's a bit of a drive; some fancy, palace-like mansion outside town on the far side. About as far away as it can get while still being in Martyn's district.

He gets two more calls on the way over, one from the same dispatcher, one from the police on the scene, practically begging him to hurry up with all the usual frantic desperation of humans who've never encountered magic before.

He stops for coffee.

It's a right mess by the time he does arrive; multiple police complete with flashing lights. The press (complete with their own version of flashing lights) a coroners van, at least five ambulances, and an arch-fey lurking by the tree-sized bush sculpted into a pegasus.

Oh no.

Joe Hills gives a jaunty wave that Martyn returns on autopilot.

There's only one reason Joe Hills ever leaves Tennessee.

One cup of coffee is not enough to deal with Cleo.

Much less what they usually drag with them.

Maybe-if Martyn is really, really lucky-Cleo was flying solo when they got mixed up in whatever the hell this is. (Even if they tend a bit more towards arson than murder.) Maybe its just them and not any of the rest of their crew.

He slips through the frazzled crowd of medical and law enforcement personnel, taking note of the battered and sickly looking people sitting in the backs of the ambulances, all of them visibly Not Exactly Human. He recognizes the vampire in the nearest one. Her missing persons case has been sitting on Jimmy's desk at Guild HQ for almost six months now with no new leads. She's sipping on a blood packet while a nervous paramedic hovers just out of her immediate reach.

Now he just has to find someone who knows what's going on-

"Hiyaa!"

Oh no.

Scott Smajor is sitting in the entryway of the stupidly fancy house, wrapped in a shock blanket, practically beaming at Martyn around the paramedic who is very clearly just trying to do their job and is not being paid enough for this.

Martyn can relate.

Scott's smile is wide and bright, his eyes are glassy and feverish, and he's visibly shaking. There is blood spattered on his clothes. And that is just what Martyn can see around the blanket.

He should revisit that offer from the Syndicate. He's pretty sure their annual salary is double what the Guild pays. More than enough to make up for not being a strictly legal operation. Half the stuff Ren brings into their apartment would get them both imprisoned in a pocket dimension somewhere for centuries anyway, might as well go all in.

With a resigned sigh he sucks it up, sticks his hands in his pockets, and strolls up to the front steps.

"Well if it isn't our favorite friendly neighborhood black widow," he says, dry as summer in purgatory. Already piecing together the picture to form something of a complete answer to the question of 'what happened.' "Fancy meeting you here."

Scott actually has the audacity to look offended. "Excuuse you. Most of my husbands are still alive."

Based off the amount of blood spatter on his clothes and the presence of the coroners van, Martyn is going to assume that the most recent one isn't.

'Clothes' is a bit of a generous term. Scott is wearing what most people would consider appropriate-if a bit risque- for clubbing, and what Martyn recognizes as what Scott wears when he's hunting. Most strongly indicated not by what he is wearing but by one very specific and important thing he isn't. This kind of scenario usually ends in at least a week of headaches and several different levels of bureaucratic hell for Martyn that he has to deal with all on his own because Jimmy and Scott are apparently fighting or something and Jimmy reuses to touch anything to do with this nonsense with a fifty foot pole. That could also just be Jimmy deciding to be smart for once and growing a backbone at a time extremely inconvenient for Martyn in particular.

Every day, Martyn regrets getting mixed up in mythical society. If he'd known it outstripped even the smallest of small towns on the 'everyone knows everyone' front he would have run so fast in the other direction. No matter what Grian had to offer. And now he's stuck here.

"Speaking of husbands," Scott purrs, craning to look around the paramedic, ostensibly at Martyn but he's really not as subtle as he thinks in the way he scans the driveway around Martyn's car. "Where is your partner?" He's hiding it well, but his jaw is tense and his eyes pinched. It's probably been hours since he was Separated.

"So what kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time?" Martyn ignores his question and brushes past it, offering an alternate distraction he is actually willing to play along with. He does not have the energy to deal with the drama surrounding his partner and said partner's ex(?)-husband, especially when Jimmy isn't here to give a hard time over it. It already gets brought up way too much every time Scott pops up yet again, dancing merrily back and forth across the line between victim and perpetrator in yet another one of their cases.

"Are you the Guild agent?" A loud voice demands from behind him.

Martyn whirls on his heel, far more ready to trust Scott at his back than some random police. (Not that he would ever admit it.) "I am!" he responds brightly, deliberately irritating in the way he knows best. "What happened here, Officer?"

The policeman, clearly someone important by the lack of wear and tear on his...everything, pulls himself pompously up to his full, rail-thin height and peers down at Martyn over his nose. "Aren't you lot supposed to keep your rabble in check?"

Oh, its going to be like that, is it?

Martyn fixes a blandly polite smile on his face and slips his voice into something a little bit more professional. "That still doesn't answer my question. What happened here?" Behind the officer he can see Joe Hills, still lingering amongst the topiary, eyes fixed on the officer's back. Suddenly it is a lot more reassuring, knowing there is an exit strategy for the people without the protection of a government employee ID. Even if that exit strategy is one of the most dangerously unpredictable beings Martyn is aware of. Which really is saying something.

"That," The officer (Hughes, his nameplate says) jabs a finger over Martyn's shoulder, presumably at Scott. "Has murdered an upstanding citizen and has the audacity to claim immunity!"

Martyn cocks his head to the side. "From where I'm standing, you're pointing the finger at a selkie missing his skin, so yeah, there is probably immunity involved."

"Well first of all," Cleo announces their presence as they emerge from the depths of the house, trailed by a very nervous looking police officer.

They stop in the doorway to drop a bundle on Scott's head, the dark mass makes contact with his bright blue hair and unfolds to drape over him. By the time Scott has discarded the shock blanket to wrap himself in his pelt instead, Cleo has stepped past him to stand shoulder to shoulder with Martyn. They're taller than Officer Hughes, which a very petty part of Martyn appreciates. The crisp white feathers of their own skin tickle his arms as they cross their arms. There is blood spatter on their feathers.

"He didn't kill the asshole," they continue without so much as looking at Martyn. "He physically couldn't. I did. And I'd do it again."

Cleo is hardly new to scenes like this, neither are they squeamish. The combined records of the entirety of their little squad speak to that. But something about this one clearly has them rattled and angry. At least Officer Hughes is here to take the brunt instead of them turning it on Martyn.

"Chapter four of the Magical Coexistence Treaties, Section B, Paragraph 13; 'Should the autonomy of any selkie, swan maiden, or similar being be violated, any and all members of their pod/flock can take whatever measures they deem necessary to right and/or avenge the wrong and secure the freedom of the violated party or, should the victim have perished, obtain were-guild from the one who harmed them.'"  Cleo rattles off the sentences that Martyn knows by heart at this point, from the frequency he's encountered them in more or less this exact context with this exact cast.

They point at Scott. "Selkie." They point to themself. "Swan." They gesture back and forth between the both of them. "Pod, flock, whatever you want to call it. And given I just retrieved his skin from the asshole's locked personal office I think his autonomy was violated enough." Their voice is deeply sarcastic in the way that only Cleo can be. Martyn is half-surprised Officer Hughes isn't on the ground bleeding from it.

"And all that was before we found the dungeon in the basement." They turn to Martyn, brushing Hughes off with as much concern as if he were a fly. "He was a collector, apparently. And he'd been at it awhile."

Martyn looks around the assembled ambulances and their occupants with a new, more critical eye. A starved and weakened vampire, a silver-collared werewolf, two nervous and twitch sirens (wrapped in damp blankets as a paramedic with a lock-picking kit fiddles with the muzzles fitted around their faces. Martyn makes a mental note; someone with flexible skills set like that might work out at the Guild. And they can always use more medical personnel.) an emaciated naga. As he turns back two more paramedics emerge behind them, carefully wheeling out a criminally (literally) small tank containing brackish water and an insensate mer.

Oh this is going to be so much paperwork.

Martyn is very glad the guy is dead. At least that means he won't have to work on a prosecution on top of everything else.

"There's more inside," Scott says behind them. Martyn glances over his shoulder and is glad to see him looking a lot less feverish and pained than before with the return of his pelt. "I got a grand tour. He's got a dragon-hide hanging on the wall in the library and a whole hall of displayed...parts."

So much paperwork.

Jimmy had better enjoy that vacation. They'll still probably be sorting this all out when he gets back.

"He was going to put me in a concrete enclosure, Martyn, he showed me. It's so ugly. Almost as bad as the rest of his house."

Of course that is equally offensive to Scott's sensibilities as his entire free will being stolen. That tracks.

There is still an elephant in the room that Martyn hasn't sen hide nor feather of at all.

"Pearl?" He asks Cleo, almost dreading the answer.

"Left already."

Suspicious, but at least it means he only has to deal with Gaslight and Gatekeep here. Or whatever they call themselves.

This time.

Because this is not the first time The Terrible Honeypot Trio, as they are unofficially referred to at Guild headquarters, have used this exact legal loophole to go after a creep or two. The murder is outside the norm, admittedly. Usually they limit themselves to theft and arson. It's a very lucrative racket for them and they have it down to a science. Dress Scott (its usually Scott; Cleo is scary and Pearl has a stab first ask questions later policy) up, flaunt his selkie status, and dangle him in front of a bunch of rich guys and see who takes the bait.

And every angle of it is legal.

Multiple Guild members are of the opinion that, whatever their (financial) motivations they are also providing a valuable public service. Their trail of victims is also a trail of overall shitty and predatory people that the Guild can make sure get nailed for something else, whether mythical or mundane in nature.

Ultimately, given that all someone has to do to not end up as a target of 'The Three Gs' is, you know, not abduct someone, they've never had a very convincing entrapment case leveled against them. Though a few of their victims have tried.

This one likely won't be, given that his blood is currently smeared all over Scott's clothes and Cleo's face.

Hmmmmm.

Martyn squints thoughtfully at the spatter on Cleo. It's hard to tell, since they've clearly been doing things, he's not going to think too hard about what, and its been smeared quite a bit...but that doesn't look like murder spatter. That looks like adjacent to murder spatter.

Which means, given that Scott couldn't, Pearl was probably the one who actually killed the asshole.

Honestly, that tracks.

Cleo and Hughes are in some kind of stare down now, Martyn would wish the officer luck but honestly, he hopes Cleo eats him alive. He ignores the two of them and turns back to Scott, who's still sitting on the front step, leaning against the door-frame. He looks tired and is shivering a little, but winks at Martyn when he notices his attention. Getting his pelt back has cleared away most of the lingering discomfort or shakiness and as annoying as it is how unruffled he seems after having just witnessed a murder at what was very clearly close proximity, it is reassuring to have him back to his usual demeanor. Despite having made a career out of it, playing the victim really does not suit Scott at all.

"See something you like?"

Martyn snorts a laugh and nudges the discarded shock blanket with the toe of his boot. "You should probably take this back."

"Awww," Scott coos at him, head cocked to the side. "You do care!"

"It's like, 6° out and you're wearing fishnets," Martyn says, somewhat proud of his deadpan and also for resisting making a joke about how fishnets seem a bit on the nose. "It's making me cold just to look at you."

Scott rolls his eyes, but concedes enough to drag the shock blanket over his lap. "You realize I don't really get cold, right? It's like, a whole selkie thing."

"Yeah, when you're in seal form, which you're very clearly not, at the moment."

"It doesn't just go away," Scott grumbles, but tucks the blanket more securely under his knees anyway.

Martyn is going to blame his fussing on still being in post-full moon mode. He'd been throwing blankets and pillows and soup at Ren all afternoon and is going to have to pick right back up where he left off when he gets back home. Ren is notoriously terrible at self-care after a transformation.

"Right," Cleo is suddenly there, looming threateningly over Martyn's shoulder. "Martyn, can you tell this idiot that he's not going to be able to arrest us so we can get on with it all."

God, Martyn hates inter-departmental politics. He leans back to peer around Cleo's shoulder at Hughes. "They're in my custody, you can't have them."

He ignores Hughes' subsequent blustering to give Scott and Cleo his full attention. "Is there anything else either of you needs, or can we get out of here?"

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. Martyn has spent the past several days taking care of a worn-out and antsy werewolf he is supposed to be dead asleep right now. He will send a preliminary report into HQ (text his boss a two sentence summary) and then he is done. This can be someone else's problem until he's had a minimum of twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. The murder part has already been done anyway, what's left sounds like it is much more in Research & Preservation's jurisdiction. And Medical. He'll be sure to add a whole extra sentence to that effect.

Scott and Cleo exchange a glance and shake their heads. "Didn't bring anything," Cleo says with a shrug. "I got what I came for."

Scott kicks at their ankle but also looks kind of touched. For a second and only a second, because those two don't do sappy emotions. He then kicks the shock blanket back off and begins hauling himself to his feet. Cleo gives him a hand up and he wobbles on his high-heeled boots but stays standing. Given how shaky he still looks, Martyn is counting that as a win.

He's starting to think Scott might have been separated from his skin for more than just a few hours this time. He's usually completely shaken off the effects by the time Martyn shows up. He's never seen this level of severity.

The two mythicals wander over, Scott still holding onto Cleo's arm, pacing carefully to try and hide the way he is leaning on them for support. Cleo, being Cleo, blatantly ignores the entire situation but still slows their usually brisk stride to accommodate.

"You'll have to give us a ride."

"What?" Visions of his bed vanish before Martyn's eyes at Cleo's declaration.

"You heard me," Cleo repeats, heading towards the edge of the crime scene, Scott only staggering a little bit as he keeps up. "Now where did you park, I'm ready to be rid of this place."

Martyn opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, "Excuse me?" He looks back at the topiary Joe Hills had been standing by. 'Had been' turns out to be the important part of that sentence. "What happened to-"

"He had to go pick his kid up from school, keep up, Martyn." Cleo yells over their shoulder without looking back. "He has a schedule to keep and you took too long. HE was just here to take down the wards."

"Wards?" Martyn rushes to catch up to them. "This is the first you've said about wards. What kind of wards?"

"The kind that keep people like us out," Cleo snaps back, not slowing down at all. "What kind do you think?"

They beeline directly for Martyn's car, pull open the passenger door, and push Scott into the seat. The entire time Martyn has known Cleo, they have never given up the front seat for anyone.

Martyn wonders just how close their luck came to running out this time.

Cleo closes the back seat door behind themself  and then the two of them are looking at Martyn impatiently through the windows, as if he is the one acting weird.

There are not enough braincells in Sleep-Deprived Martyn's head to untangle all of this. He gets in the car.

He gives both Scott and Cleo a onceover while starting it. Now tthat they are out of sight of the masses, Scott is slumped against the door, face pale and eyes closed. Cleo is being very deliberately casual in a very Cleo way, and their face is pinched and the line that shows up on their forehead when they are stressed is definitely line-ing. The hand they have held up, pretending to pick dried blood out from under their nails, is shaking.

"Can we get chicken nuggies?" Pearl asks, her face very suddenly right in Martyn's.

Martyn does not yell or flail. Just for the record. And he certainly doesn't scream or jump.

Pearl just stares at him, eyes eerily blank behind her usual 'thrilled with violence' sparkle. She must have been laying down in his back seat. She's sitting in the middle now, next to Cleo, spattered with even more blood than the other two, in a way that bears out Martyn's theory on who actually killed the homeowner.

Her expression turns wheedling and she leans forward even more, propping her chin on the back of Scott's seat. "Nuggies?"

How is this Martyn's life.

"Fine," he sighs as he pulls out of the fancy big circle drive, leaving the oversized house and all its horrors behind them. "We can get chicken nuggies."

-

Ren wakes up, for a given definition of "wakes up" at...some point. Checking the clock would require opening his eyes and, between the sandy sensation and general lingering exhaustion, he doesn't really want to do that.

He can feel the sun through the curtains and his window face west. So afternoon sometime.

His stomach rumbles.

Perchance he should investigate the kitchen.

A moment of consideration and he decides it still isn't worth opening his eyes. He wraps his comforter over his head and around his shoulders as if it were a winter cape and stumbles towards the door. It takes a few moments of groping around but he manages to find the doorknob and free himself from his confines.

He can smell coffee.

Coffee and people and fast food and...blood?

Instantly set on edge, the clinging territorial instincts from the moon reaction to unexpected intruders in the home, Ren finally cracks one eye open.

Half of the sofa is taken up by a blurry white mass that, after a few blinks, solidifies into a swan sleeping on a pile of messy blankets, head tucked under one wing. A very familiar swan that is awakened enough by Ren's racket to raise their head and give him a displeased hiss, before going back to sleep, settling deeper into their impromptu nest.

His attention is pulled away from Cleo by a shuffling from the kitchen.

Pearl Moon waves at him from where she is sitting on the floor, leaning up against the partition between kitchen and sitting room, halfway through a tub of Ren's ice cream. Ren blinks back at her.

Major is sitting at the kitchen table across from Martyn, who has his face down on the surface of said table and is giving off the general smell he does anytime his emotions are best summarized as "I don't want to be here anymore."

Major looks back over his shoulder and beams at Ren, "Oh good, you're up! Come take a look at these!"

Ren shuffles closer until he can see what exactly it is the selkie has spread all over the table.

It's quite the variety, all placed carefully on Ren's good tea towels. Several trinkets of questionable origin, a cursed box of some kind that smells of fae magic, some mundane jewelry, and a small collection of potion vials. Major taps one of the un-enchanted necklaces proudly. "How would you price this lot?"

Martyn groans against the table top. "Could you at least not conduct your illegal sales in my kitchen when I'm here?"

Ren pats him on the shoulder and does his best to wake up enough to give the haul a more critical look. "Hard to say without a close examination but at least a couple thousand."

Behind him, Pearl makes a disparaging noise. "Only a couple thousand?" She says around a mouthful of ice cream. "Wow, that's cheap."

She shakes something that makes a jingling sound. "Now come look at mine!"

Martyn groans again and shoves his chair away from the table. "I'm going to go get food, if this is what you are doing now." He heads for the door.

Ren takes his chair as Pearl scrambles to her feet and joins them at the table, pulling things willy-nilly out of the pockets of her bright red jacket. He certainly wasn't planning on business on a day off when he hadn't even opened the shop, but Cleo and friends were always a good source of dubiously obtained items.

Martyn closes the front door behind him and Ren can hear him grumbling his way down the stairwell.

He can smell cheap chicken nuggets and his stomach rumbles. Hopefully Martyn brings some of those back with him.

#rain rambles #trafficblr #selkie au #life series gaslight gatekeep girlboss #inthelittlewood #smajor1995 #zombiecleo #pearlescentmoon #renchanting #rain writes fanfiction #long post is long #rendog

[mossmurdock]

TWO IS NEVER A CROWD

✿ ao3 ✿

prince!gojo/stable hand!reader

summary:  Prince Gojo, soon to be crowned King, spends his evening in the soft comfort of the stables to visit his favorite stable hand. Though he has fleetingly escaped his royal duties, he's once again forced to face his true feelings and urges when with you.

tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Reader is a Stable Hand, Complicated Relationships, Idiots in Love, Gojo Satoru is Bad at Feelings, but so is the reader, even though they seem like they aren't, touch as a love language

notes:  thank you so much for reading! this was something that wormed its way into my head and i couldnt rest until it was typed out lmao, i had lots of fun with it.

You hand Satoru moments of silence when no one else can. Most would think a prince like him was never the sort to search for this type of thing. Silence was something unknown to his crowds unless he called for it with the wave of his hand; he kept other princes, councils, and even kings on their toes during any sort of royal congregation with his wit, knowledge, and ill placed taunts. In a crowd with Gojo Satoru, there is never silence. 

But you are far from a crowd.

The silence you grant him is nothing like the charged energy of a hushed room, it’s full, almost suffocating, and yet comfortable enough to not smother him. In the quiet of it all, the two of you exchange quick looks, touches, and grins. 

There’s this aura around the stables you work in that engulfs Satoru each time he steps into them, like every single thought he’s had is one of your own. You never hide that you hang onto his words and absorb his ideas. After one of his very long talks you will hum after finishing one of your tasks—that he did not lift a finger to aid in—and will tell him something about your own day in return: that one of the horses has unfortunately fallen ill, that another nearly kicked you during grooming, or that your mother has thankfully gathered enough money to retire from working because you’re finally healthy enough to work consistently. 

This, to most, might seem like an odd exchange between royalty and non-royalty, but Satoru doesn’t think he could handle asking for more without making a fool of himself. He’s content with tucking your days away into his sleeve and carrying them with him when the two of you are apart. 

When he walks toward the stables, the sweltering heat of the evening hits him all at once. He isn’t surprised to see you still hard at work with tending. He would be lying if he said the shine of the sun and sweat on your skin wasn’t something he caught himself lingering on every now and then. Each look feels a little more scandalous than the last. 

He’s made up for the sin with another by never stopping himself from wiping hay off your shoulders or cheek. The collected look on your face falls each time he does, and your nose flares when you move to step away, like he’s forced you to catch your breath. It’s the only form of teasing that seems to get to you, and Satoru has no trouble indulging in it. 

You’re cleaning the water troughs as your last task of the day, hardly noticing Satoru sneaking by as you drain the old water into the ground. He quickly pokes at both your sides so that you turn to him with a jolt, the tank falling harshly and jostling as you stumble into him. You look up at him in brief shock before gently pushing him away with a huff, the rough glove on your hand brushes the ruffles of his white shirt and he desperately wishes the touch had been skin instead. 

He’s seen your bare hands briefly in times between your work, a little rough, a little calloused, they would fit perfectly in his. 

“You startled me, Prince Gojo.” Your voice still sounds slightly strained from lifting the heavy metal, that or Satoru really did frighten you. 

He pouts at the title instead of apologizing. “How long have we known each other?”

“A year and two months, my King.” This time, you laugh smugly to yourself as Satoru’s pout grows into a genuine scowl at the thought of his future title. 

“Who told you?” he asks, back to his dramatic sulking. “I was hoping to be the first to break the news to you, you know.”

You sneak a look at him while picking up a brush off the ground, the old bristles are tinted green from past cleanings, a well loved thing you’ve mentioned wanting to replace for some time now. “I heard it from another stable hand.” You look to him, searching for something. “Are you disappointed you were chosen?”

Satoru shrugs nonchalantly while rolling his eyes. The both of you knew he would be the first to be picked by the elder councils, all the meandering these years were theatrics and faux fairness. And “disappointed” just doesn’t seem like the right word. 

“It’s ok to not want it, Satoru.” You drop the brush into the tank along with your gloves with a thud. Fatigue looks different on you than it usually does on Satoru. It’s more physical, he could hold it in his hands and maybe mold it into something a little better. The notion is a comfort to him. If you were to ever fall again like you had years ago—from overwork, illness, or some sort of accident—Satoru counts on himself to be there for you. His jaw aches at the image of you so young, already so overburdened, and with only your working mother to take care of you. 

“I expected you to be a lot quicker in getting rid of me,” he jokes. “Shouldn’t you be glad?” 

You don’t laugh at his attempt. The sound of his own voice has never felt more deafening to himself.

The look you give him is unreadable, yet honest enough to make him look away. The silence that falls is like a heavy blanket. Satoru for once feels like he’s being smothered by your intolerance, a sign that he’s gone too far in his purposeful misjudgment of you. He may not be able to read you, but your anger is brimming. He doesn’t like that you’re forcing him to feel the unfairness he tries to avoid.  

“How about running away?” Despite all odds, Satoru tries humor again.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. We could take one of the horses off into the sunset and never look back.” You almost sound serious, Satoru has to look away from your face again. Too bright with your work, too sincere, everything Satoru thinks he may never grow used to. 

“Would—” Embarrassingly, his voice comes out too softly at first. “I would like to ride with you one day.”

“Is that right?” You aren’t afraid of softening your voice for the both of you. 

“Of course,” he smiles. “I’d love to give you a few pointers. From mentor to pupil, obviously.”

You laugh and he does too; and you’re close. The space between the two of you is small, silent, beautifully private. Your hand, gloveless, brushes against his cheek in a passing moment. The fond feeling of your thumb under his eye makes the air in his chest halt and crash into itself. He’s sure you hear his laugh turn weak and airy. 

When you step-back it almost looks like you’ve caught yourself, not out of embarrassment, but out of something Satoru can’t place. You rub the same hand against your face to wipe grime away, but Satoru is sure you’re hiding a rising blush. He almost makes a move to point it out, but the tease falls flat on his tongue once he notices the own heat of his neck dangerously crawling its way up to his ears. 

“Would your highness do me the honor of keeping me company?” you ask. Voice level, unbearably accustomed. For some odd reason, Satoru swears he hears a twinge of caution.

Satoru bows his head in compliance while gracefully holding out his hand for you to take. He feels your smile before he even sees it, but when he raises his eyes the warm look on your face makes the world go quiet all the same. 

#moss writes #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #this is the lightest thing ive written in a while and i really think it did me some good :') #ch: gojo satoru

[tearitar]

[destiny wip] the one where s14 plans to gambit

featuring one of my favorite combos: osiris/s14 + a very stressed drifter

unsure when i will finish the rest of it but i am extremely fond of the first section so here it is.

--

The weekend usually brings about the same crowds toward Saint’s ship in the hanger. Occasionally a new face shows up, eager to try their hand at Trials, and Saint is more than happy to let them in. Late nights tend to be the most popular times for full matches, which leaves his weekend mornings free to feed the resident hanger birds and clean up shop. 

The birds have been fewer this early morning, and the hanger remains quiet. The sun has barely risen, glowing its muted orange. Saint enjoys the view, sitting on one of his ammo crates and sprinkling some birdseed from time to time. Despite Osiris’ arguments, it’s just as good as a cup of coffee. Maybe even better.

Still, a cup of coffee would be nice. Saint is about to get up and procure himself one when he sees someone slinking over to his… general vicinity. Their eyes meet. Saint only feels a little shocked to see the Drifter some steps away.

For a moment, neither of them move. Saint gives a short wave, in case Drifter isn’t actually here to see him then at least he’s given a greeting. But, against all odds, Drifter starts approaching in earnest, giving off an incredible aura of nervousness and, strangely enough, determination.

“Good morning! Are you here for a Trials card?” Saint asks dubiously, but not totally devoid of hope.

“After what y’all put me through last time?” Drifter sniffs. “Hell no, brother.”

Saint deflates a little. Ah, well. Their last Trials outing had been fun, in Saint’s opinion. Drifter obviously doesn’t have the same sentiments, which is a shame. Drifter had done remarkably well despite all his protesting. A man who can complain and put up a decent fight at the same time isn’t one who’d been using all his faculties. Saint wonders what’ll put someone like the Drifter through his paces. 

“Hm.” Saint lets out a huff of static. “So how may I help you? A new scam?”  

Drifter doesn’t seem bothered by the comment. “No scam here.”

The pause that follows after doesn’t give Saint much confidence, but Drifter appears to be gearing himself up to say his next piece. Saint politely waits. The pigeons peck at his boots, trilling, so he sprinkles another handful on the ground.

“I’m just—ah. Look,” Drifter begins, eyeing the pigeons rather than Saint himself. “I have some information you might be interested in. As a fellow associate to the Vanguard.”

“You can send the information to my Ghost. I thought we were already contacts,” Saint says, apologetically, about to wave Geppetto in, but Drifter shakes his head.

“This is a little more sensitive. I’m trying to be tactful here,” Drifter says through gritted teeth. He blows out a sigh, sounding like he’s ripping off a bandaid. “So, just thought you’d like to know. Your man Osiris signed himself up for a Gambit match.”

Saint takes in this new information with what little grace he can manage. “He what?”

“You heard right. He paid for admission and everything.”

“Pull him out.”

Drifter looks almost as annoyed as he does. “He paid me extra for admission. It’s not in my interest to pull him out without his permission. He’ll think I scammed him.”

“Well, it won’t be in your interest if he gets killed playing one of your games,” Saint says, low.

Drifter shuffles his feet, like he wants to agree but instead he stands up a little straighter with a scowl. “Look. I’m only passing along an observation. The guy was a top notch Guardian back in the day when he had the Light. And for what it’s worth, I did tell him he might not do so well in Gambit without it. I told him multiple times, actually, and he just threw more Glimmer at me to shut up. What could I do, you know?”

Saint-14 puts his pouch of birdseed to the side. It leaves his hands free to clench them into fists, gloves creaking against the strain.

Drifter obviously notices. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “You think I’m a dummy? That’s why I’m here. I’m sayin’ you go get him. He sure as hell didn't listen to me.” 

The idea has some merit. Osiris is stubborn at best with Saint so it makes sense he’d be impossible with Drifter.

“Fine,” Saint says. “Put me in.”

Drifter flicks him a green coin. “It’s a thousand Glimmer for the entry fee.”

Saint catches it, turning the coin in his palm. The Vex symbol glints in the weak morning light. “You said no scam.”

Drifter doesn’t seem to be aware of which coin he’d given him. Judging from his careless shrug, the man truly seems to regard himself as blameless. “It ain’t. This is doing business. There’s a buy-in for everyone. Gambit needs a lot to keep running — running safely, if you catch my drift.”

Saint stands up. He drops his hand on Drifter’s shoulder. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Drifter. Your tenacity is admirable.”

He can feel Drifter’s muscles tense under his palm. The man starts to look a little paler. It’s a little mean, Saint-14 can admit, and it’s not like he’s short on Glimmer. But the principle of the matter still remains; he’d rather not be hoodwinked and he’s not above relaying that message.

“I can discount you fifty percent. Ex-Vanguard special,” Drifter says, sharp as a tact. Amazing how quick on the uptake some people can get with the right pressure. When Saint’s hold loosens, he steps back with a strained smile. “And I can sub you in as a Sentry. You’d make a good fit.”

“No.”

Drifter’s strained smile disappears. “No?”

“I’ve read up on your Gambit matches from Shin Malphur’s reports,” Saint says, ignoring how Drifter frowns at the name. “I will go as an Invader.”

Drifter gets a gleam in his eye. A little bit of hunger, a lot more of greed. He flips one of his green coins. No doubt he has a bias for the more vicious role. “Ohoho, interesting. Done.”

Satisfied, Saint leans away. “Put me on the opposite team as well.”

Drifter’s coin goes flying from his fingers. It pings off the ground, scaring a couple of pigeons into the air. 

“Uh,” he starts. “I thought you’d want to get Osiris back.”

Saint shrugs. “And I will. Easily.”

Drifter’s mouth stays shut for an extended amount of time before he opens it again, his voice a little weaker. “Just so we’re clear, Saint, bein’ an Invader ain’t about protecting anything. You’d have to kill-”

“Extremely easily then.”

The good thing about having a longstanding reputation is the general lack of opposition when it comes down to doing things your way. Drifter looks like he understands the concept or, at the very least, resigned to it.

“Alrighty then,” Drifter says, braving Saint-14’s firm handshake. “See you in a couple of hours.”

#typans #destiny #o14 #saint 14 #wip

[catchyhuh]

Guilty pleasures of the gang! The ones they're kinda embarassed to show others. It can be food, movies, music, whatever you want!

this one almost stumped me BUT I THINK I GOT IT. i think the key here is less "what's embarrassing to them" and more "what would they make fun of each other for enjoying" and as soon as i put it through that lens we fucking Got it. LET'S GO GUILTY PLEASURES

lupin:

i do not imagine he has many. not because he doesn’t enjoy things but just because he feels no shame almost ever. even when he really, REALLY should be embarrassed, he just isn’t. carpe diem to its most extreme extent in the form of shit like saying “hey. would” when they pass a frosted flakes ad in public. it doesn’t matter if he’s doing it for the bit or not, because my god, he’s doing it. so trying to imagine something he’d feel sincerely EMBARRASSED for enjoying is… tricky…

if he had one, it would def come from his stance on something changing. he goes who the hell says mars attacks is their favorite tim burton movie and the others shrug not giving even a fraction of a rats ass. probably forgot it right after he said it. and then he rewatches it by himself and goes Ogh damn. This Isn’t Bad. But My Pride….

jigen:

SAYS he thinks hating overhyped things is whatever, who cares about (insert blockbuster of the year) and whether or not people like it. and he’s right who cares enjoy whatever harmless schlock you enjoy. but… he wouldn’t ADMIT to liking (insert blockbuster of the year) because that would make him appear as boring in his mind. and nobody would really care anyway but lupin and fujiko would clown on him and that’s worse than the entire earth caring 

this is so random but based on my experiences in life a lot more gruff middle-aged men who are far too particular about music. fucking love avril lavigne. would jigen? would a man with so many murders under his belt he’s forgotten how to distinguish the smell of blood from the oxygen in the air love avril lavigne? hey man. what the hell

fujiko:

fujiko has a half-self inflicted relationship with the idea. she lives with less than 0 regrets, does what she pleases, objections be damned. but she does tend to frown a bit when she finds her attention is actually held by the saw sequels of all fucking things. it’s one thing to be caught enjoying some classic, genre redefining horror movie, even if it has excessive sex or violence or whatever the hell else, but to be seen nodding to yourself after the plot budges forward 1 inch after 40 minutes? god just put her in the reverse beartrap already

has a snuggie. she hides it. it wouldn’t even be a huge deal, but hey, would ANY of these be a huge deal in any fucking world? of course not! the motherfucker is comfy as hell, perfectly plush without being so heavy it ruins her inner temp control, and she likes having her hands free to do whatever while she’s cozy and warm, but for SOME reason she just REFUSES to allow anyone a glimpse of her snuggie. that’s private

goemon:

DAMN NEAR EVERYTHING HE DELIGHTS IN REGISTERS IN HIS MIND AS A GUILTY PLEASURE. WAKING UP AFTER 6 AM IS A GUILTY PLEASURE TO GOEMON ISHIKAWA THE THIRTEENTH.

highly specific but little debbie oatmeal sandwich cookies. overprocessed, nothing about it is healthy or natural, and yet… that cream filling just calls to him. they aren’t as sickly sweet as other snack cakes, the consistency is nice, the texture of the cookie feels “correct” to him, so. yeah. indulge in a little debbie oatmeal sandwich cookie (not sponsored)

zenigata:

it’s kinda hard to say what does and doesn’t constitute a guilty pleasure for someone as bluntly, brutally honest as this guy. he HAS shame but it’s more of a subconscious acknowledgement than something that actually stops him from saying embarrassing shit at full volume in a crowded mall

gets very guarded about movies that make him cry. not because he’s embarrassed about crying, god knows that is not true, but he just feels… silly, being affected by made up bullshit. homeward bound, ESPECIALLY the part with the little girl, ending of edward scissorhands, almost any lameoid sappy disney princessy love bullshit, he purposefully didn’t watch the barbie movie because he heard it made people cry and when he did end up seeing it somehow he also cried and was BAFFLED AT WHY HE CRIED,

#SORRY. THESE FEEL VERY RANDOM but i guess that adds to the authenticity! #lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin #jigen #fujiko #goemon #zenigata #asks

[behindsonglyrics]

“Question...?” (Midnights) Matty Healy Masterpost

I haven’t done an analytic post in quite some time! I’m a little rusty, but I felt like this would be fun and …Question? has been pondering on my mind for some time now.

Before I hop into it, this is just a personal analysis theory. I’m not Taylor. I cannot ‘confirm’ whether a song is about someone, only Taylor holds those cards. Since it is a solely a theory; if you have a different opinion on ‘who’ you think a song is about, that is ok.

---

Now anyways, let’s get started...

Short Summary: …Question? Is a song where the song narrator (singing the song) is specifically reminiscing about a short lived moment of the past, regarding a short-lived situtationship, which we cannot fully call an official relationship because it was fleeting. The song narrator ponders on Questions she’s asking a former brief past lover. The narrator also opens up her heart, and telling her side of the story to that past brief lover, whom she has the Questions to.

Who is the ex fleeting situtationship? (Who the song is about?): Matty Healy.

How is it about Matty, well firstly, I know commonly Harry Styles is thought to be the  muse of this track, and (you never can say never, he very well could ‘still’ be as Harry has similar coincidences experienced and the OOTW sample) but heavily it seems to lay on Matty.

---

Let’s take an insight look to the lyrics, in a more depth way:

‘Good girl, sad boy / Big city, wrong choices”

Taylor tends to usually refer herself as a ‘good girl’ and has in previous songs, which narratively make it easily to come to the conclusion she is speaking about herself here. The ‘big city’ she refers to is New York, which, Taylor first met Matty Healy in 2014. New York is the “big city” as it’s often nicknamed the big apple for a reason.

At the time Matty had also met Taylor, it was known he was going through a lot himself: former heroin-addiction, outbursts, etc which led to a band intervention. He was not in a good place at the time of the rumors with Taylor.

“Wrong choices” also aren’t from Matty’s end either, Taylor is also speaking about her own wrong choices in the setting of New York.

“We had one thing goin' on / I swear that it was somethin'”

This is a very specific lyric that many may overlook, but tells a lot by the song narrator. Taylor indicates that she, “swears” they had something going on, meaning there wasn’t anything official, or set in stone. Thus why she, “swears” by it. This lyric here tends to steer me away from the Harry Styles theories, as Harry was in a full fledge (official) relationship with Taylor, unlike Matty where they were briefly having “something going on” even though it was fleeting, and she explains (in the rest of the song, why).

But one thing after another | Fuckin’ situations, circumstances | Miscommunications, and I have to say, by the way | I just want some explanations 

This lyric is quite intriguing because it is insight what led to to derailing and the shortness of this situtationship, and Taylor is asking for an answer (to, whom) she is singing to. Around the time Taylor was seeing Matty (in 2014), briefly as it was just starting up, there was an interview where he described potentially dating Taylor Swift as ‘emasculating’ and denying the possibility of them dating when asked in the past. He later apologized publicly, and said his words were miscommunication, implying they were taken out of context and correcting what he meant.

There is a letter somewhere of his public response, I can’t find the link right now, but it does exist.

Which fits the “miscommunication issues” that led to lost.

Can I ask you a question? Did you ever have anyone kiss someone in a crowded room and every single one of your friends was makin’ fun of you but fifteen seconds later, they were clapping too?

I won’t say much about these lyrics, as it’s a very straight forward retelling specific moment, and Taylor (the narrator) is asking how they felt about that, but it is obvious they shared a kiss, his mates teased him and it’s not the ordinary, only for them to be cheering them on, which mates tend to do. You could also say this scenario is weird for the both of them based on the circumstance.

Half-moon eyes, bad surprise Did you realize out of time?

So, Matty seems to have a hooded eye shape, which you could describe as ‘half-moon’ and when he smiles becomes more obvious in which she is describing. When she also asks, “did you realize out of time?” Is their situtationship coming to an end, and him knowing such.

“She was on your mind with some dickhead guy / That you saw that night”

Now commonly people think these lyrics apply to Harry as Harry looked distressed seeing Taylor with Calvin (masterpost here) but Harry wasn’t the only one during this time who was experiencing this. Around the timing of Matty and Taylor when Taylor started to get close and began seeing Calvin, Matty was there. That exact day. Dickhead guy is also Calvin Harris, btw for anyone specifically curious. 

“But you were on somethin' It was one drink after another”

As already said in this masterpost previously, Matty in the past was taking heavy drugs during this era of time. By 2017, an intervention was held for him by his bandmates. “On something” is pretty on the nose from Taylor.

What also debunks. …Question? Being about Harry Styles, is Harry in an interview himself said he never took drugs, until One Direction split. As he didn’t want to be the one who “fucks up.” It’s been said as well, Harry took One Direction seriously way back then, while his other bandmates (Louis, Zayn) were experimenting. He was “not on something” (Harry) he saw Taylor and Calvin, and that was the BBMA. Unlike Matty who “ran out of time” immediately after, cause after their breath flirting back and forth, Taylor met Calvin right then.

“Fuckin' politics and gender roles”

Matty has been politically outspoken for awhile now, I don’t know too much about him, but 21-year old Harry at the time wasn’t politically outspoken, besides maybe saying “don’t go to sea world” which is all I can really find, etc.

“Got swept away in the gray”

This may or may not be a similar reference like how Halsey paints Matty Healy and associates him with the color gray, he has strips of gray in his hair. Gray (as a color) = associated with some negative connation's, as it symbolizes loss, gloom, etc. Just like “blue’ is associated with describing the feeling of sadness.

---

Other than the lyrics, let’s talk about the sampling from OOTW.

There are theories that ‘About You’ may be Matty’s song to Taylor (whether it was written about her ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ up to you), but About You is saying, “did you think I forgotten” while OOTW is, “I remember” … Lastly, it is Jack who has long time worked with Taylor both on OOTW and Question. Both songs are on each others pre-set list as well.

#Masterpost #Midnights #questions #Matty Healy #1975 #Music #analyzing #analyzing the lyrics #behind the lyrics #tatty #theory #song #album #taylor swift album #song meaning #Question Masterpost #harry styles #haylor #who is it about #analysis #music analysis

[ghost-party]

CHAPTER 2

Previous || Masterlist || Next

Pairing: All Might x F!Reader

Rating: Mature — IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: 5.3K

Warnings: canon divergent, grief, emotional dissociation, swearing, anxiety

A/N: Toshinori struggles with hard feelings and makes some new friends.

The next morning, Toshinori finds a Post-It note stuck to the fridge. He reads it while taking advantage of the blender he finds in one of the cabinets, making a high-protein smoothie full of sliced banana, mango, and a generous handful of spinach.

Stayed up late. Sleeping in, but I set an alarm. Or five. Text me when you’re done with class! Dinner and laser tag tonight?

He smiles and adds Dave’s number to his phone before pouring his smoothie into a tall glass. He drinks it while reviewing his class schedule, making a mental note that he should bring a gym bag with some fresh workout gear to change into for today’s Performance Lab.

From what he can tell, it’s what UA simply called “hero training,” except kicked up to a whole other level. Toshinori honestly isn’t sure what to expect. But he’s hoping he’ll have a substantial advantage, thanks to his training with Gran Torino.

And Nana.

The sudden sharp pain stops him mid-step on the way back to his room, and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He can’t think about it. He can’t. Not right now. 

With his hand clenched around his phone, he imagines taking the memories that are threatening to resurface and pushing them back down. He instead focuses on the feel of the laminate wood flooring under his bare feet, the sound of Dave’s snoring, the faint smell of waffles and maple syrup wafting over from the suite across the hall.

One deep breath. Then another. And another.

He keeps reminding himself all morning, even as he sits through the first half of Intro to Public Speaking and Relations. After going over the syllabus, the instructor sets her papers aside and smiles at the class. It’s a small room, with floor to ceiling windows and enough desks for only fifteen students.

“Let’s get some practice in today.”

Anisa Rodriguez is, surprisingly, less intimidating in person, considering she’s led the PR teams for countless highly-ranked American pros during her twenty-year career. 

She clasps her hands and leans on the podium. “Don’t panic. You’re not being graded. Think of it as giving everyone an opportunity to get to know you a little better.”

Going in alphabetical order, she recites names from her roster, and students are given the choice of joining her at the front of the room or remaining in their seats. They then share their name, where they’re from, and what they’re most looking forward to this semester.

Toshinori is thankful the professor isn’t requiring them to come up with a “fun fact.” He’s never been very good at that. He does, however, enjoy learning more about his classmates.

He’s not the only international student. In this room alone, there are two from France, one from Brazil, and another from Poland. While some of his peers speak with confidence and poise, others are clearly nervous, avoiding making eye contact and stumbling over their words. Professor Rodriguez seems unfazed, thanking each student and making sure to ask them a question about something they’ve shared.

“Last but not least, Toshinori Yagi.”

As he walks to the front of the room, a few hushed voices can be heard, murmuring too quietly for him to make out what they’re saying. He knows his height and build tend to make him stand out in a crowd, so he’s used to receiving stares and comments. But as he turns to face his classmates, he clears his mind and smiles. 

Showtime.

“My name is Toshinori Yagi. I’m a transfer student from Japan. I graduated from UA High School earlier this year. And I’m looking forward to honing my skills as a hero, as well as learning more about American culture.”

Professor Rodriguez nods approvingly and begins to ask him a question when another voice asks, sounding awestruck, “Aren’t you the guy who won the UA Sports Festival?”

Toshinori’s smile remains bright and unmoving as he meets the gaze of a student in the front row. He has a tanned, freckled face and curly brown hair shaved into an undercut. Alex Parrish, he recalls. He’s always had a knack for remembering names. “Yes, I am.”

“That’s so fucking cool.” Noticing the professor’s raised eyebrows, Alex slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry! I just — My friends and I have watched that for, like, years. Ever since middle school.” He leans forward, his knee nervously bouncing under his desk. “And you were amazing.”

Professor Rodriguez politely clears her throat, and Alex sinks back into his chair, mouthing another sorry. But his apology doesn’t do anything to wipe the excited grin from his face.

As Toshinori returns to his seat, the professor steps up to the podium. “Thank you, Toshinori. Now, let’s talk about your first assignment.”

When class ends, Toshinori is unsurprised to find Alex waiting just outside Auburn Hall, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He practically bounds forward and breathlessly continues where he left off. “Seriously, dude, you’re the coolest. Your quirk is like —” He punches into his palm. “— pow, but also like —” He mimes an explosion around his head. “— boom. Mind-blowing.”

Toshinori can’t help but laugh, which only makes Alex’s smile widen. “I don’t know about that. But thank you.”

The two of them begin to walk back towards the residential circle, the next ring out from the academic buildings. Much like yesterday, it’s hot and sunny, bright enough to prompt Alex to pull a pair of aviator sunglasses from the pocket of his palm tree print shorts.

“Well, consider me your biggest fan. As long as that’s not weird or anything.” Alex’s grin is wide and earnest, and Toshinori can’t help but offer him a small smile in return.

He listens to Alex’s bubbly chatter until they part ways, Alex heading in the opposite direction, towards his dorm in Tatum Hall, while Toshinori walks back to the Honors Complex. There’s no sign of Dave when he enters the suite, with the exception of some recently-washed dishes drying on the rack beside the sink.

Deciding it would be best to warm up his body before this afternoon’s Performance Lab, he changes into a workout tank and mesh shorts before jogging to the rec. The heat has already left its mark on him by the time he walks inside and checks in at the desk, sweat gleaming on his skin.

It’s as he’s doing bicep curls that he catches sight of the TV out of the corner of his eye. Filling the screen is an international news broadcast, with a headline splashed in bold lettering across the bottom: HPSC Issues Statement on Disappearances

Toshinori stops and stares, reading the closed captioning amidst the noise of weight plates being loaded onto barbells and cheerful pop music blasting from the dance studio down the hall.

In a public statement, the HPSC has assured the public that they are working with Japanese law enforcement to investigate the recent disappearances of three pro heroes in and around Tokyo. Details are currently classified, but with gang activity at an all-time high in the local area, sources close to the Commission claim that this will be a focal point of their —

Trying to push down the anxiety now clawing at his throat, Toshinori slowly places his dumbbells on the rack and pulls his phone from his pocket. The locker room is mercifully empty as the call finally connects, and he’s greeted with a heavy sigh at the other end of the line.

“I knew it was only a matter of time until you called.”

Gran Torino sounds exhausted, and Toshinori feels a twinge of guilt for calling him so early in the morning. Although it’s just past noon in California, it’s four AM in Japan. “Did I wake you?”

The older man snorts. “A little late to be asking that. But no, you didn’t.” In the background, he can hear the muffled sound of a television broadcast and the scraping of chair legs against the floor as his mentor sits down with a huff. “Been up all night, working with the police.”

“Any leads?” He’s trying not to sound desperate for information. But this is something notable. Suspicious. Most assuredly not a coincidence.

This was planned.

As if reading his mind from five-thousand miles away, Gran Torino grunts, “Nothing I can tell you.” Toshinori can practically hear the frown in his voice. “And it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Of course it is,” he immediately replies, keeping his voice low as the locker room door opens and two students walk in, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor as they head straight for the showers. “This sounds like —”

“Toshinori.” Gran Torino’s voice is sharp. “We’ve talked about this. You need to stay focused on your studies.”

Toshinori’s jaw tightens as his free hand curls into a fist. He forces himself to sit down on the nearest bench and take a deep breath before responding. They’ve had this argument before, each one as frustrating and fruitless as the last.

“It’s him. I know it is.” He listens as Gran Torino settles back into his chair, the way he makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I can help if you’d just —”

“The answer is still no.” The reply is softer than Toshinori expects, and it takes him by surprise. “He knows who you are, boy. And you’re not ready for that fight. Not yet.”

Toshinori knows he’s right. He knows. But he’s resentful of it. Even when he’s in motion, moving his body, occupying his mind, he still feels like he’s standing still, doing nothing at all. The idea of having to wait months — maybe even years — to exact justice, to do what needs to be done… He hates it.

But he swallows the words he’s so tempted to say, the protests he’s voiced again and again, and simply murmurs, “I know.”

Gran Torino heaves another sigh. “We can handle things here. You need to trust me when I tell you that. For now, take it one day at a time. Don’t let your anger win. Find something to hold onto, to keep you going.”

After promising to update him on his classes later in the week, Toshinori ends the call. For a long while, he sits there, listening to the water running in the shower stalls, nearby lockers opening and closing, clothes rustling and students talking. 

It takes an enormous amount of effort to focus on all of it and keep his mind from wandering to much darker places. But he pushes the temptation down, down, down, until he can just barely feel it.

Someday, it might not be enough. He’s not sure how long he can keep avoiding the true depth of his feelings, his fury and anguish. For now, however, it’ll have to do.

From the outside, Training Center 003 looks like a typical gymnasium. But inside, there are no bleachers. Only a concrete floor and a few metal benches shoved up against the walls. In the corner, Toshinori finds a row of lockers and claims an empty one, tossing his duffel bag inside. He wasn’t sure if he should wear his old hero costume from UA, but as he looks around at his classmates, he’s glad he didn’t. Everyone’s wearing plain gym clothes — including a familiar face that nearly causes him to trip over his own feet.

You offer a friendly wave when you notice Toshinori staring at you. As he approaches, you continue stretching, pulling your left arm across your chest. When you let it drop, he can see that you’re wearing an old National Hero Academy t-shirt, paired with navy blue volleyball shorts. 

“Hey,” he says, feeling tongue-tied and nervous. But you don’t seem to notice, your smile unchanged as you look up at him.

“I was wondering if we might end up in the same lab.” The idea of you thinking about that, about him, makes his stomach twist in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“Do you know who our instructor is?”

You nod, pulling your leg up behind you and grabbing your foot with your opposite hand. “Grimoire. He’s been teaching here for years. My advice? Don’t read his Rate My Professor reviews. They’ll scare the shit out of you.”

Toshinori raises his brows. “That bad?”

“Yep.”

“You’ll be fine, as long as you pay attention and do as he says,” an unfamiliar voice interjects.

Turning around, Toshinori meets the calm, steady gaze of another student. A friendly smile tugs at his lips as he lifts his hand in greeting. “I’m Marcus. My brother’s an alum, and he had Grimoire for Performance Lab all four years.”

“And he’s still alive and well?” you teasingly ask. “All of his limbs accounted for?”

Marcus laughs. “Yes and yes. He’s actually a pro working at the Spectro Agency downtown — Icequake.”

Toshinori recognizes that name from the research he did prior to coming here. Knowing that freshmen would have the opportunity to seek out internships in the spring, he read up on local agencies and well-known pros. Icequake has never topped the charts, but he’s popular, frequently landing coveted brand endorsements and ending up in splashy tabloid spreads.

Now that Toshinori thinks about it, he and Marcus do look alike. They have the same dark brown skin and hazel eyes, though Marcus is taller, with a thinner face and lankier build. Even his smile, albeit softer and more reserved, brings to mind the image of Icequake he spotted on the cover of a magazine at the airport, chiseled and beaming, lounging on a chaise beside a crystal clear pool.

Toshinori just manages to introduce himself before someone else runs over, throwing an arm around Marcus’s neck and nearly knocking him over. “This is who I was telling you about!” Alex gushes, wildly gesturing in Toshinori’s direction.

“Thanks, but I figured that out for myself,” Marcus patiently replies, a hint of amusement in his voice as he shrugs out of his friend’s excited grip. Glancing at Toshinori, he says, “You’ll have to forgive Alex. He’s a menace.”

Alex simply crosses his arms and huffs. “Don’t be mean. You love me. Why else would you have put up with me since the third grade, huh?” He’s traded his palm tree shorts for hot pink track pants, and he’s wearing a too-big cutoff tank with Greek letters emblazoned across the chest. Phi Delta… Toshinori thinks for a moment. Isn’t that —

“Let’s get started.”

It’s unnerving how the quiet, rasping voice somehow manages to silence the ongoing conversations, the ten students assembled turning in near-unison, wide-eyed, to look at the man who seemingly appeared out of thin air.

Nearly as tall as Toshinori and rail thin, Grimoire lives up to his eerie name. His pale skin is remarkably smooth, making it difficult to guess his age. But with high cheekbones and a dark, penetrating gaze, it’s easy to feel transfixed.

He’s wearing his hero costume, a simple, black full-body suit that’s a perfect match to his hair, which is slicked back into a tight knot and threaded with the sparsest hints of gray.

“A clarification before we begin,” he says, each word crisp and precise. “To think of this class as ‘training’ would be a naïve oversimplification.” Neatly crossing his arms across his chest, he explains, “Your ‘training’ is over. Here, you will push yourselves to your limits. Confront your limitations.” Toshinori swears the instructor’s eyes linger on him for a few seconds before he continues, “Learn what it truly means to be a hero.”

Alex mumbles something under his breath, prompting Marcus to elbow him in the stomach. Luckily for both of them, Grimoire has turned his attention to a small tablet clasped in one of his hands. But for the life of him, Toshinori has no idea where it came from.

“When I call your name, sophomores first, then freshmen, introduce yourself to the class. Include your hero name, explain your quirk, and then execute a brief demonstration.”

He looks around at the students, seeming unbothered by the handful of nervous expressions. “Should you require a specific environment, tell me.”

Toshinori isn’t sure what he means by that until the first student introduces herself. Madeline Reynolds, also known as Magmatic, with a quirk called Core Coercion. She requests a volcanic environment, and to his shock, with a few quick taps on his screen, Grimoire changes the arena.

The cement seems to shift and mold itself, almost like sentient clay, until a large area of the floor resembles a stretch of rocky earth, much like that of a volcano. Madeline makes a pulling gesture with her splayed hands, and the ground cracks open, allowing her to pull thick, steaming strands of magma into the air, winding them together with expert precision, like ribbons on a maypole.

Toshinori’s confusion must be clear on his face, because he jumps a little when Marcus speaks just beside him, keeping his voice low. “The training grounds are designed with malleable nanotech. It’s still a prototype, developed in the support labs. But it can mimic most anything, to the point where it looks and feels real.”

“So, is that actually hot, like real magma?” Toshinori murmurs, watching as Madeline concludes her demonstration. The floor shifts once more, returning to what looks like plain, ordinary concrete.

“It can be. Depends on what the instructor programs.” Marcus steps away as Grimoire turns back to the group, calling the next student’s name.

Two more students introduce themselves before Alex’s name is called. Toshinori didn’t realize he was a sophomore, but it explains how he’s already an initiated fraternity brother.

“I’m Alex Parrish. Hero name, Flashpoint. Same as my quirk.” His grin is wide and easy as he holds out his hands, palms up. “I can stockpile momentive energy and then use it in bursts.”

In the blink of an eye, there’s a loud, echoing crack that makes Toshinori instinctively wince. But then he blinks and sees that Alex now stands in the opposite corner of the training arena, waving cheerily. 

Another crack, followed by another and another, each one signaling his movement to a different part of the vast room, his body moving much too fast to be seen. Finally, he returns to his starting point and then gives a cheeky bow. Marcus slow claps while Grimoire purses his lips. But the instructor remains silent.

Marcus is the final sophomore to step forward, and he radiates calm confidence as he says, “My name is Marcus Walsh. My hero name is Oceanus, and my quirk is called Hydro Blade.”

Alex loudly whistles, and Toshinori tries and fails to conceal his smile. Beside him, however, you’re openly grinning.

When Grimoire clears his throat, Marcus continues, “I can use moisture in the air to create shapes out of water.” Lifting his hands, he moves them in a way that’s reminiscent of a sculptor molding a slab of clay. And as he does, a shape begins to form.

By the time he’s finished, he’s holding a very large sword made entirely of water. The blade is almost ridiculously large, but from the way Marcus handles it with ease, the weight doesn’t seem proportionate to the dimensions.

“Such a fucking nerd, with that Final Fantasy-ass shit,” Alex whispers. But his profanities are overflowing with pride, like a parent bragging about their child’s achievements.

With a simple flourish and only the slightest splash of water, the blade vanishes, and Marcus rejoins the group. Toshinori offers him a thumbs up, and he’s quick to smile back and mouth thanks.

Grimoire begins to call freshmen to join him up front and introduce themselves, and with every passing minute, Toshinori feels himself growing more anxious. It’s always been tricky to talk about his quirk, because… well… he can’t.

One of the first tenets Nana instilled in him after passing on One for All was that no one could know about it — or at least only a select few, like Gran Torino. Secrecy was imperative, not only because of All for One’s all-seeing presence, his operatives seeming to lurk in even the most unexpected places.

But it was also due to the fact that no other quirk functioned in the same way, capable of being passed from one person to another. Revealing the nature of One for All could compromise both the quirk and the user, making them a prime target for scientific experimentation and study.

At UA, Toshinori had managed to keep his secret, attributing his incredible strength, speed, and stamina to a basic power quirk. But the Institute required him to be more forthcoming while completing his enrollment paperwork. He only hoped that Grimoire wouldn’t be discerning enough to see right through his lie.

Two students remain, you and Toshinori, and your name is called before his. You step forward with an easy, self-assured stride. But he catches sight of your hand trembling just before you clasp it behind your back.

After repeating your name for the class, you force a smile to your face and say, “My hero name is Solar Flare. And my quirk is called Sunburst.”

You turn and murmur something to Grimoire, who bends at the waist to listen and then nods. After selecting something on his tablet, the room changes, this time in a very simple way. At the far end, three targets emerge from a section of the floor, round with traditional bullseyes marking them.

Aligning yourself with the middle target, you raise one hand, palm facing out, aim, and then —

Toshinori gasps.

He’s seen plenty of emitter quirks over the years. A former classmate and aspiring rival had an especially impressive flame quirk that nearly prevented Toshinori from making it to the first place podium at the last UA sports festival.

But he’s never seen one quite like yours.

Light radiates down your arm, growing progressively brighter until it reaches your hand and then bursts out in a wide arc. You twist your wrist at the last second, almost pinching your fingers together, and it seems to mold the light, changing its size so that it perfectly slices through the center target. It creates a clean x-shaped cut, the edges still glowing with heat.

Turning back to the class, you explain, “I can radiate solar energy and produce targeted blasts by focusing it through my arms and hands.” Lifting your hand, Toshinori can see that the skin is unbroken, completely unaffected by the heat.

In quick succession, you send a straight shot of piercing light, not unlike a bullet, through the center of the left target. And the one on the right, you engulf continuously, white hot energy connecting both you and the target until its metal base melts and the canvas cover is reduced to nothing but ash.

“But if I overuse my quirk or push myself too hard, I quickly overheat.” Toshinori can already see a faint glimmer of sweat on your brow. He wonders what might happen if you used your quirk while wearing a long sleeved shirt. Would it catch fire? Can you focus your solar energy in other parts of your body? When you overheat, how do you go about lowering your body temperature?

It’s fascinating. And he knows he’s doing a poor job of concealing his awe when you notice his lingering gaze, do a small double-take, your eyes wide, and then proceed to look flustered as you walk back towards him.

Before he can figure out what to say, his name is called. Forcing his mind to empty itself of all other thoughts, he strides to the front of the group and turns on the familiar, comfortable charm he’s so used to wrapping around himself.

“My name is Toshinori Yagi. My hero name is All Might.” His heart beats loud in his ears as he continues, “And my quirk is a simple power quirk.”

Grimoire raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t question the evasive answer. “Provide us with a demonstration, Mr. Yagi.”

Toshinori nods, trying to think of the best method for fulfilling the instructor’s request. Seeming to sense his hesitation, Grimoire waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t concern yourself with damage to the facility. I’ll handle it.”

Even with that reassurance, Toshinori decides it will be best to restrain himself, only revealing a glimpse of his full power. He walks to the center of the room, bends down, pressing his chest nearly to his knees, and then launches himself into the air at a remarkable speed.

He can distantly hear Alex whooping below, and when he glances at you, he sees that you’re transfixed, waiting to see what he does next.

Flipping in midair, he plants his feet on the domed roof and immediately pushes off, plummeting down with his arm outstretched, hand curled into a fist. It takes only a second for him to connect with the arena floor, and the pavement erupts with the force of his punch.

Fear spikes through him when he sees the debris go flying, and he’s halfway into a lunge when he notices the chunks of nanotech-infused concrete aren’t actually landing. In fact, they’re vanishing into a seamless ring of nearly-invisible portals surrounding the point where he landed.

Grimoire lowers his hand once the worst has passed and simply says, “Thank you, Mr. Yagi.”

Alex is practically bouncing up and down as Toshinori walks back to the group, and even Marcus looks impressed. It’s your bright smile, though, that makes him feel warm all over, along with the way you place your hand on his arm, stretch onto your tiptoes, and whisper, “That was amazing.”

Not good. Not great. Amazing.

He’s not sure why the distinction has him feeling so pleased and prideful, nearly distracted enough to miss the instructor’s next words.

“Much of your success as a pro hero depends  not only on  your individual skills, but also your ability to work cohesively with others, as a team.” The class is silent as Grimoire examines the group with a critical eye. “With this in mind, you’ll be paired with a fellow student. I think I’ve seen enough of your quirks and your mannerisms —” His gaze lingers on Alex, who suddenly stares down at his sneakers with renewed interest. “— to feel confident in partnering you. Mid-semester, you’ll be paired with someone else, giving you an opportunity to challenge yourself in a different way.”

He rattles off names, and students move closer to one another, reintroducing themselves to their partner and talking quietly. Toshinori is initially surprised when Alex and Marcus are paired together. He had expected Grimoire to separate them, since they’re close friends and already proved that they have a penchant for distraction. But when he considers how complementary their personalities are, the way Marcus seems to ground his much more exuberant friend, he thinks he understands the logic behind the decision.

And then he’s partnered with you — something else he didn’t expect. When he turns to look at you, he’s reassured by the pleased expression on your face, the way you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet with apparent excitement.

Grimoire’s face remains unchanged as a ripple appears in the air to the right of his hand. He reaches through the small portal, depositing his tablet elsewhere, and suddenly Toshinori recalls his prior research. The instructor’s quirk, Liminal Gates, allows him to open portals between his location and another that’s familiar to him — in this case, probably his office. He does wonder, though, where he might have deposited the rubble from Toshinori’s explosive demonstration.

“That’s all for today. But don’t become accustomed to class ending so early. I intend to use our remaining sessions together as productively as possible. With that in mind, don’t be late, and don’t waste my time.” He waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll discuss hero costumes on Thursday.”

And with that, class is dismissed. Most of the students make a break for the doors, as if they had been held hostage for the last hour. But Toshinori is content to walk beside you at a leisurely pace as you chat with Marcus, having realized you’re both in the same sociolinguistics class.

Noticing Alex’s shirt again as he joins him on his left, Toshinori finally asks, “You’re in Phi Delta?”

Alex’s whole face lights up as they step outside. “Yeah! It’s a blast, man.” He jerks his thumb at Marcus, who’s deep in conversation with you about an assigned reading on language attrition. “I even convinced him to pledge last year. The guys are all super cool, and it’s, like, the chillest frat on campus, hands down.”

“Don’t forget about Tau Kappa,” Marcus smoothly interjects before returning his attention to you, and Alex snaps his fingers.

“Oh, yeah. They take it literally, though. Most of them have ice quirks.” He snickers. “They tried to recruit Marcus because of his super famous big brother, but we snagged him instead. He can’t freeze shit anyway.”

The four of you are walking back in the direction of the dorms, occasionally passing other students on their way to one of the training grounds. It’s mid-afternoon, and the heat of the day is still thick and present, clinging to Toshinori like a second skin.

“My roommate, David Shield, mentioned Phi Delta.” He hesitates for a moment before adding, “He said I should consider pledging.”

If he thought Alex was thrilled before, this is something else entirely. “Yes!” he shouts, startling you and Marcus enough to stop you in your tracks. Alex turns to his friend and grabs his shoulders. “We’ve got a pledge.”

Toshinori holds up his hands, trying to interject. “I’m still thinking about —”

“And it’s fucking All Might!” Alex pumps his fist while doing a little dance that draws the attention — and barely-concealed laughter — of a group of girls carrying tennis rackets. “UA High sports festival phenom!”

“You really don’t need to —”

His protests are drowned out by a stream of endless chatter as Alex proceeds to go into planning overdrive. “Okay, okay, so we’re going to have to bring him to the house, and we better clean up. I’m talking actual vacuuming. Last time I was over there, Ahmad had his shit all over the place, something about a new prosthetic he’s working on. And Ciaran better have moved his freaky little plants out of the fridge, I don’t know how many times I have to tell him — Did you know one bit me when I was grabbing coffee creamer the other morning? Fucking rude.”

Toshinori gives up on trying to catch Alex’s attention just as you appear beside him, asking with amusement, “So, are you really going to pledge?”

He takes a moment to think about it, Alex’s enthusiasm aside. Dave did tell him it would be a good way to make more friends. And so far, he has no reason not to trust him — or Alex and Marcus, for that matter. More than anyone else on campus, they’ve gone out of their way to talk to him and make him feel welcome.

And so have you. Admittedly, it’s not as if you’ve had a long conversation as of yet. But the way you speak to him, like it doesn’t even matter that you’re relative strangers, like you’re already comfortable around him, like you trust him… It means a lot. More than he can fully explain.

It’s the same with Dave, who called him Toshi and invited him to laser tag. Alex, an endearing combination of fanboy and friend. Even Marcus, with his relaxed openness and helpful nature.

Realizing that you’re still waiting for an answer, Toshinori smiles — one that feels easier and more genuine than his others, nothing forced or practiced — and says, with a confidence he didn’t expect, “Yeah… I am.”

#my hero academia #mha #bnha #all might x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori x reader #mybigbangacademia

[eldritch-spouse]

Say hello to Patches.

The poor soul tasked with making sure The Clergy still works.

(Minors dni)

This peculiar dullahan is an extremely vital piece of the establishment. Without him, Krulu would have possibly twice the workload dumped in his arms. This magic-adept monster is possibly the only staff member, aside from Admin (you), to have more frequent contact with Krulu. The reason Patches is so valuable to him stems from the fact that, not only is the dullahan a brilliant mind, he also uses much more modern forms of magic- Which Krulu has been steadily absorbing in order to stay ahead of any possible threat. In turn, Patches also gets the opportunity to learn ancient powers and learn just a tiny bit more about Higher societies. It's a tentative mutuality.

This monster is in charge of bobble production and maintenance. The short of it is, "bobbles" are simple and expendable lifeforms made for the purposes of aiding the staff and entertaining the crowds. These little creatures can be bought for personal use in the highest floor of the establishment. Nonetheless, when not working on bigger projects, Patches usually has his hands full with these buggers, be it fixing, liquefying or testing them.

Patches is a very skittish and socially awkward monster. He spends his days locked in his laboratory, working himself to the bone. To the point where other staff members often joke about having already held a funeral for him once he emerges out of his floor.

Part of the reason why he seldom ever leaves the establishment is because, under the influence of the moon, older dullahan instincts of his tend to flare to life and Patches turns into someone different, does things he really regrets.

An outwardly submissive monster, Patches can strike you as a loser who won't stand up for himself. But all this sleep-deprived mess needs is just a gentle nudge for that thread-thin composure to snap.

#monster oc #monster boyfriend #terato #yandere monster #Patches oc #pinnie's art #the pumpkin munchkin

[victimized-martyr]

17,26,36

(referring to this ask game)

17. Who’s had the same pair of jeans for years and refuses to change them out?

Kyle. It’s not that he refuses to change them out, it’s that, they still fit him, and they’re not falling apart or anything. Ok, so Kyle’s not the most fashionable guy around, but it’s a non issue. That is…until Cartman makes it an issue. Cartman feels it’s his last resort because Jesus Fuck he can’t stand to see his honey pie not live up to his full potential. His baggy pants don’t do his ass justice. Really, all this trouble is for the greater good—Kyle’s cheeks deserve better.) So he drops hints and bugs him nonstop, things quickly escalate to absurd degrees because it’s South Park, until finally, Kyle caves in.

26. Which of the two is more likely to stand out in a crowd?

Why is this even a question😭 Eric Cartman is the designated attention whore of South Park. (“When you walks down the street ppl go “God damn! that’s a big Fat Ass”)

36. Who’s better at dealing with emotional trauma?

See, Kyle wants to believe he’s better equipped to deal with trauma, but the thing is he can be very insensitive and tend to approach others as he does with everything— there is a problem, and with research, a solution will present itself. It’s odd that someone as passionate as Kyle can be so…clinical about other’s emotions, yet think himself as someone open hearted and sympathetic. His rigidity and oblivion to his own and other’s (particularly, Stan’s) sadness is a direct result of this line of thinking. Kyle doesn’t let others stay in their sadness for long, so you can imagine how much more he avoids his own sadness. Kyle is largely depicted as trying to find the bright side and actively tries to move past feelings of discomfort. He doesn’t mope as Stan does, or project as Cartman does— he expels them via his activism. If not that, then his angry bursts. When South Park throws shit at him, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. Once it’s over? Well, there’s something to be learned from this experience for sure! No use in wasting tears, right??

tldr, Kyle I guess. He’s absolutely trumped Cartman in the self-awareness and introspection category, at the very least.

#asks #kyman #south park #I wrote out snippets of dialogue for the pants thing hfjfjfk it turned into a whole bit hfjfkd 😭 #I have to be rly careful w/ kyman bc they just take off and do their own thing #Literally I can see something as simple as pants/ wardrobe stuff being an episode of their wacky fucked up domestic life in SP #I feel I have more to say abt how Kyle approaches sadness and other tough feelings other than anger #there’s more to trauma than sadness obvi but anyways yeah it’s 10 am i ain’t slept goodnight