#it’s always been one of my favorite tropes but when you hand it to MASH where they already do substandard surgery… sign me up

[cuddleswinchester]

My favorite MASH thing is when they have to do field surgery with even less resources, sanitation, and time than they have at the unit. Charles longing to be back at the 4077 as he stabs a guy in the chest with a pocketknife to alleviate pressure on his collapsed lung. Hawkeye dipping bloodied hands in an almost empty basin of alcohol for half a second between patients at the aid station and knowing it doesn’t do any good. Father Mulcahy being talked through a tracheotomy over the phone. Margaret delivering a baby on a dirt floor. It just raises the stakes and shows how much these people both need and want to help, no matter what.

#mash #it’s always been one of my favorite tropes but when you hand it to MASH where they already do substandard surgery… sign me up #images from all these episodes just living in my head forever #especially Hawk at the aid station it is soooooo dusty and bloody and scary they did a great job l #surgery is not actually that bloody or scary #but take them out of the hospital and let the Drama begin!!

[sugarsfics]

Hellfire Mom

Summary: You have been deem the title of Hellfire Mom since you were a sophomore. Even after starting your own little family with your fiancé Eddie, you still make sure your extended family gets fed and loved.  

Trope: Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader 

A/N: I kinda want to make this into a series. Talking about how Eddie and reader met and little things like that. Would you peeps want that? 

Warnings: Use of Y/N, horrible writing, mentions of sex but not really, fluff, Eddie just being in love with his family.  

Word count: 1.2k 

It was Friday, Hellfire Day. You always had Fridays off for that exact reason. Hellfire. You spent the day cooking and baking for your boys, the other family. You always had the mother instinct in you. You love the idea of having a family. It came a little too soon, people would say, but it was worth it. You and Eddie have been dating since freshman year and decided to wait till Prom your senior year to lose your virginity together. Well, the condom broke, because said condom was from freshman year, and boom you were pregnant. Yes, you got stares and were that talk of the town “she is having the freaks baby” “he will probably sacrifice her and the baby” but you both ignore them. Then on a chilly day in mid-January baby girl Munson was born, Stella Munson. She’s beautiful, she has Eddie’s big brown eyes, his curly brown hair other than that she was your mini me......Speaking of your mini me she should be getting up from her nap soon. 

Right on Que you hear her little feet on the wooded floor. “Well hello baby how did you sleep” “Good” she said in her sweet small voice. “That good baby” “Up mommy” she gave that puppy dog face and grabbing hands and you caved immediately. “You ready to see daddy, and all of your uncles” “DADDY” oh yea she was a big daddy’s girl. “Ok let me finish up dinner and then we will get ready to go” “I watch Belle” “Yes you can watch Belle while I finish” Beauty and the Beast is her favorite movie. On tonight's menu, your family was having fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, homemade biscuits, and your famous homemade cookies. As you finished packing up dinner for your family, you got Stella ready, and all bundled up then headed to the car. 

You pulled into the school Stella squealed, Eddie was waiting by his van with a smile. “DADDY” you rolled down her window“My star how are you babygirl” “I good daddy” Eddie opened your door and helped you out of the car, then got Stella out and her “Hellfire backup” which has toys and things for coloring. You walked in hand in hand to the drama room and started to set up the table with the food. “Ooo what did make for us today love-” *gasp* “You made your cookies” “Yes the chocolate was finally in stock so I had to- hey hands off” “But I haven’t had your cookies in a month” “Nether has the others” “Yea but they could wait I got fiancé privileges” when you turned your back to grab the potatoes he “sneakily” grab a cookie but got caught by Stella “Daddy me cookie” “Sssh we will spit it” her little giggles fill your ears. Your favorite sound. 

Soon the boys piled in “Y/N” “Stella” “cookies” were heard throughout the room. The boys lined up as you served them, then they all settled in, in their seats to start Eddie’s campaign. In this one-shot campaign, they had to save Eddie’s the banished's fair maiden, you, and their little princess, Stella. She was so excited to be in it, she even brought out her crown from her backpack and put it on. After she ate, she climbs into Eddie’s lap, her favorite spot, and “helped” Eddie with his visual aid. You watched your family, bellies full, big smiles even mike, after a hard week this was your reward, this was your happy place.  

The night ended, the empty Tupperware put away, Stella fast asleep on Eddie’s lap. You walked out hand in hand with Eddie holding Stella, he covered her with her blanket when he stepped outside, then he put her into her car seat with a kiss on her forehead. You made sure each boy had a ride before heading to your car. You and Eddie stay until everyone was picked up. He turned to you and kissed your lips. “I missed you” “I been with you this whole time” “Yeah but you weren’t in my arms” you rolled your eyes and laughed at him “Your too cute” You kissed Eddie again then you got into your car. “I see you at home” “Yes, I’m just going to drop by Uncle Wayne’s really quick then I will be home” “Ok” then you kissed once more before you drove away. 

You and Eddie lived in a little two bedroom next to the trailer park, so he would be a few minutes behind. You got Stella out of the car, did an amazing mom move holding her and the bags all while unlocking the door. You set the bags down then grabbed her pj’s put them on then tucked her in with a kiss. You went into the kitchen and started picking it up, getting the meat out for tomorrow's dinner and breakfast. Eddie and Stella loved Saturday mornings, you make a big breakfast, and they watched Saturday morning cartoons, you brought out extra knowing the freshman boys would probably come over. After about 15 minutes you hear Eddie’s van pull up, as you were finishing washing the dishes you feel Eddie’s arm wrap around your waist. “Oh, my love I haven’t since you in forever I almost don’t remember what your face looks like” Oh Eddie how you loved his antics you turned to play along but nothing came out. Eddie held a bouquet of flowers for you. “Eddie- I- Oh- Eddie-” he chuckled “My love” he started “ Will you accompany me on a date tomorrow night” “Oh Eddie, Stella and I would love to-” “As much as I love my Star tomorrow night will just be us” “But we don’t have a babysitter” “I already got that covered” you teared up even years later you are still touched over his love for you. “Well then yes, I will accompany you tomorrow night”  

Eddie got his clothes ready to shower “So are you going to hop in with me” you looked at the time “It’s late so I will take you up on that but no funny business” “No promises” he said with a winked. After the shower you did your night routine and put on your Eddie shirt with some shorts, Eddie was just in a pair of boxers checking you out “You're so beautiful my love” “Oh stop I’m just in my pj’s” “And” *kiss* “still” *kiss* “beautiful” *kiss*. You climb into bed when arms open as Eddie jumps into bed with you, he settles in your arms with his head on your chest as your stork his hair. He tells you about his day and how that prick Jason picked on the hellfire club again, but how he did what you told him to do when he had the urge to punch his stupid face. But you were so proud of him that he controlled himself, he can’t have another fight so close to graduation. The topic then changes, and his words got lower and slower as did his breath. He got quiet for a minute, you thought he fell asleep nut he clears his throat he smiled and said “Let's have another” 

#dad!eddie x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #sugarsfics

[nyoomfruits]

Oh ! For the Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP, would you be willing to write about number 2 Royal AU, with number 98 curses for lestappen please 🙏

listen i was thinking about different curse ideas and then i suddenly remembered charles's monac curse and well... then i couldn't not write that. so!!!! driver!charles/prince!max au it is :)

prompt taken from this list, feel free to send me one!

royal au + curses

When you ask a driver what the best race to win is, they will give one of two answers; either their home Grand Prix, or Monaco. For Charles, these have always been one and the same.

And yet, he has never won.

A curse, they call it. Just dumb luck, Charles like to say.

But it still weighs on him, every year he DNF’s, every year he crashes into the barriers instead of crossing the finish line. At least he’s managed to do at least that, last year, in 2022. But this year, this year he’s determined.

He’s going to break the curse. He’s going to win.

He’s so laser focused, so all in, that he misses all the whispers around the paddock about important visitors until he slams head first into one of those visitors outside of the Ferrari motor home.

“I am so sorry,” says none other than Max Emilian, crown prince of the Netherlands.

“Oh,” Charles says, because well. He’s seen pictures of the man before, but it turns out they really don’t do him justice. Prince Max is gorgeous, with piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders and a very, very kissable mouth. “I mean, uh, I’m sorry. Your, uh, highness?”

Max laughs, the hand he used to steady Charles still on his shoulder, burning into Charles’s skin. “Please. Call me Max.”

“Right,” Charles says, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “Right, yeah Max. I can do that.”

Max sends him an amused look. “So, are you looking forward to the race?” He asks, and his hand slips off Charles’s shoulder. Charles immediately misses its warmth.

He pulls a face. “Sort of? I’ve not had the best luck in Monaco.”

“Ah, yes,” Max says, thoughtful look on his face. “The curse.” When Charles doesn’t say anything, just pulls a face, Max continues. “But you shouldn’t be worried. You’ve been driving well all season. Plus, you have pole. That’s already half the race.”

“You follow F1?” Charles asks, a little surprised. There something about Max, beyond the pretty eyes and the nice body, that is almost regal. Ethereal. It feels weird to picture him sitting on a couch in his sweatpants and a sweatshirt on Sunday’s, watching a race.

“Obsessed with it,” Max admits, almost a bit sheepish. “Begged my dad to let me drive kart when I was a kid. But apparently that wasn’t very appropriate, so,” He rubs the back of his neck, and gives Charles a ‘what can you do’ look. “Anyway, I like watching races a lot. The fast cars, the pretty boys,” He leans forward a little, and there’s suddenly an almost mischievous smile on his face, like he’s challenging Charles.

Charles blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. If he knew better, he’d say the crown prince of the Netherlands is currently flirting with him. But he knows better so that can’t be it. Right? Still. Can’t hurt to try. “Pretty boys, huh?” Charles says leaning back against the wall of the motorhome. “And do you have a favorite?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Max eyes are twinkling, and he’s leaning forward, his arm suddenly right next to Charles’s head, his face inching closer and closer.

Charles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then suddenly there’s a pair of lips on his, hands on his waist gently pressing him into the wall, and he forgets how to breath for a second.

His hands shoot up to land on Max’s arm, his bicep, and for a moment he lets himself be kissed, loses himself in the moment. But then Max is pulling away, smiling softly at him.

“What was that for?” Charles asks, eyes wide and mouth kiss swollen.

Max shrugs. “Good luck charm, I guess.”

“Oh,” Charles says. Wants to say more. Wants to do it again. But then a harried Ferrari employee is rounding the corner and spots them, and starts yelling at Charles in rapid Italian about how he was supposed to be in the garage like ten minutes ago, and Max is being pulled in another direction by his security detail, and the moment is broken.

(It’s not until later, much later, when he’s on the top step of the podium, hoisting the trophy in the air, that he remembers.

The thing about curses, is that they can be broken. And the most common way, the best way, is true love’s first kiss.

Charles is feeling very excited about the Zandvoort Grand Prix, all of a sudden.)

#lestappen #this is #so silly #drabble

[usamamoweek2024]

Meet the Creators - Wishwars

What username(s) and platform(s) can folx find you on? (Please include links!)

@wishwars- can find stories on AO3 or FFN (links in platform names)

(Fun Fact) What is your favorite kind of potato?

Garlic mashed <3

How long have you been creating works in fandom spaces? How long have you been active in the SM fandom?

I started reading SM fanfiction in 2014 and writing it in 2016. How time flies!

What type(s) of creative works do you usually make? (fanfics, digital art, cosplay)

I write fanfic (while being in awe of those who also create things with their hands)

What do you enjoy about creating for the SM fandom?

This was the very first fandom I was ever a part of, and I'm still just so amazed not only by the creativity of its fans, but also their generosity. There is also just something about the enduring message of love that exists in SM that makes me feel so happy and full inside when I get the chance to contribute in some way to the world it created!

Are you strictly UsaMamo or do you create for other pairings as well?

While I write other side relationships, UsaMamo is my OTP, so I always feature them at the center of my stories.

What inspires you to create works for Usagi and Mamoru?

Their relationship and the tropes it supports have followed me into many of my other fandoms--a sunny personality that actually also has a lot of trauma to work through and the seemingly dark, brooding personality that secretly has a big heart--and I can't get enough of it! They just fit so well together!

Do you tend to work on multiple projects (WIPs) simultaneously or try to finish one at a time?

I have a lot of WIPs in folders on my computer that I never publish... in part because I have fics I have published that I want to actually finish and if I start too many, I won't finish any...

Do you prefer large projects (chaptered fics, webtoons/zines, highly detailed art) or small projects (one-shots or simple art)?

I love to read one-shots and while I have written a few, I often get drawn more to chaptered fics, which give me more space to tell the stories I want to.

Are there any common themes, situations, tropes, or mediums in your work?

I basically always write non-senshi fics, and I'm not actually sure why... I think I just really like focusing in on the emotional aspect of their characterizations in AUs without having to also keep up with the added details of their other lives. I also quite enjoy writing fics where they aren't already in a relationship--it's the pining angst that really gets me!

Is there anything you haven’t explored artistically and would like to try?

Maybe someday I could try writing a fic that does have them as senshi. I've read so many that I love, and it could be a fun challenge!

#sailor moon #usamamoweek2023 #meet the creators #usagi x mamoru #usamamo

[interact-if]

Day 8 of the interviews! Introducing Elliot!

Elliot, author of Greenwarden & The King’s Physician

People With Disabilities Month Featured Author

Immerse yourself in the world of Greenwarden as a reluctant monster hunter, assigned to a mysterious case of a missing child deep in the Appalachians. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, you must play a cat and mouse game with something beyond your understanding. Just try not to lose yourself in the process.

Greenwarden Demo | Author’s Ko-fi | Discord | Read more about Greenwarden [here], The King’s Physician [here] & Untitled Werewolf Game [here]

Tags: Horror, Mystery, Romance

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!) 

Q1. So, tell us a little bit about the projects you're working on!

At the moment I’m working on Greenwarden, which is a horror game in two parts about a group of besties having the most terrible of times somewhere in rural Appalachia. On the coat tails of that is The King’s Physician, a fantasy political intrigue game, as well as the first in a series of new adult fantasy novels and a few planned visual novels. My middle name is Project Starter.

Q2. What has been your favorite thing about interactive fiction as a medium? What are some of the biggest challenges?

I think my favorite thing would probably be the interactivity lmao. Why write one plot when you can write eight and have them all intertwine? The hardest part of course would then be actually writing eight different not-insignificant plots and mashing them together.

Q3. What is something you're excited to explore within your work?

I’m always excited to turn tropes on their heads – it’s probably one of my favorite things, besides exploring the intersection of fantasy and reality and coming up with cool worldbuilding.

Q4. Has your disability influenced your work? Whether it's worldbuilding, the design, the process, and positive or negative--what is your advice in working with your disability and being creative?

As someone who is both neurodivergent and hard of hearing, I’m always fascinated on how I can incorporate disability activism into my own works. A good 95% of the characters I write are disabled in some way shape or form, be it through neurodivergenies or visible disabilities like using mobility/hearing/speech aids. Bautista, Nazeri, and Devin of Greenwarden fame all experience some form of disability (C-PTSD, mostly), so do Sibir and Lisandro from TKP. Since Interactive Fiction is a naturally visual medium, I think I have an easier time with it than I would have had if I had decided to, say, go into podcasting, but my own experiences as a disabled person have colored pretty much every aspect of the way I write.

Q5. What's an accessibility issue you see glazed over a lot in IF? and what accessibility features would you like to see implemented more in IF?

I think a lot of IF authors (and code people in general) who code their own games tend to gloss over the importance of accessibility settings. The most popular platform for IF games doesn’t even have the option for dyslexia-friendly fonts. Even beyond that, I think I can count on one hand the amount of disabled and neurodivergent NPCs in mainstream interactive fiction.

Q6. What is something you'd love to see in interactive fiction?

More accessibility settings! There’s a wealth of information on coding scalable and color blindness friendly/low contrast GUI for programs like Twine and Ren’Py. I think a lot of IF content creators are scared off at the prospect of extra coding, but like most things it’s a lot simpler than most AAA titles make it out to be. Be the chaos you want to see in the world. Code in low contrast and color blind GUI for fun and profit. Add in a toggle for dyslexic-friendly font. Who’s going to stop you? The government? Embrace anarchy.

Q7. Any advice to give to aspiring devs?

Make an outline! Plot out your scenes! Then remake the outline! I think that was the biggest mistake I made when I first set out to make Greenwarden – I didn’t have an in-depth outline and it set me back by noticeable miles. But also keep in mind that setbacks aren’t the end of you – even if your game takes ten years to make, you’re still making it, that’s what matters.

#if: events #People With Disabilities Month 2021 #interactive fiction

[thepartyresponsible]

For the Trope Mash-up meme: 49. Fake Married and 99. Magical Accident, and Winterhawk as the pairing.

Look. Steve meant well. Steve always means well. But when you do a favor for an oddly frail old woman who nonetheless managed to maneuver her way through miles of difficult terrain to arrive precisely at the bizarrely well-lit clearing in the dead center of the cursed woods, you have to understand that what you’re doing is playing right into the overly bored hands of the alarmingly magical requisite forest enchantress.

And when the aforementioned old crone transforms into a beautiful woman with teeth like a snake and eyes the color of spring grass and then proceeds to flirt relentlessly, you have to navigate that situation with care. You have to give a firm but polite no, thank you. You have to be clear. You have to speak rapturously of your one true love and skedaddle, obfuscating your retreat with a torrent of flowery metaphors and very declarative worshipful statements.

You absolutely do not deflect. You don’t mention any names. You do not allow yourself to be rendered a stuttering, red-faced disaster by the enchantress’ marked disinclination to cover her natural glory in anything as demeaning as clothing, and you don’t trip over a tree root while fumbling back toward the road, and you certainly don’t call desperately over your shoulder, “Oh, no, excuse me. I’m actually on my way to buy a wedding ring. For someone else. I’m very betrothed. We all are. Well, not Bucky, although I wish— well, someday. Enjoy your…sunbathing. Goodbye!”

Because this is how a love spell gets cast so that Steve’s lonely friend Bucky might find someone of his own. And this is how Bucky spends every night for a week standing on his own roof with a broom, chasing off every lovestruck dryad and werewolf and hulder the forest can spit out at him.

This is how Clint Barton, who took one look at the assembled beautiful masses scratching at Bucky’s walls and excused himself on a long-term, semi-permanent hunting trip, ends up stumbling back into town having been accosted by members of the Wild Hunt, who were desperately seeking information about Bucky’s favorite color and baked good. This is how four local youths are nearly drowned trying to catch glimpses of the gang of naiads who’ve taken to strewing themselves attractively around the stream that runs through town. The naiads obliging fish them out, and so, naturally, the next day’s near-death total is fourteen.

This is how people get desperate. An entire village, terrorized by enraptured hordes of magical forest dwellers, fluttering and flexing and calling out to Bucky all night and day.

“Can’t even drown myself,” Bucky announces, grimly, on the eighth day. “There’s a siren in the well now, too.”

“I know,” Clint says. “She wouldn’t let me draw up any water until I told her your favorite song. Don’t worry. I lied.”

This is how two desperate men conspire to assault their homecoming friend and steal the rings Steve brings back with him.

And this is how two friends spend several days being loudly, theatrically in love in public, holding hands, sharing kisses, half-screaming pet names and increasingly strange compliments at each other until the dryads and werewolves and hulder and naiads and siren and all the rest pack up and go skulking back to the forest, downtrodden and dejected, outdone by a blonde hunter who doesn’t even sing and says outlandish things like Hey, Buck! Er, um, my love? D--darling? My—hey, you, just come here, there’s a dog, and he’s getting away.

But then, strangely, the rings stay on afterwards and Clint never actually leaves Bucky’s house and they still kiss in public, even after the most optimistic of the naiads have gone back to deeper waters.

And so, ultimately, Steve concludes he was completely right and correct to do what he did, and, in the end, he learns absolutely nothing. But the villagers learn not to let him walk through the forest alone ever again.

#writing #fic #asks

[fandom-blackhole]

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Din Djarin

53. Mutual pining, 41. First kiss, 6. Bookshop AU 👀

Hope this is enough of a distraction! ❤

First of all, how dare you make me think of how cute this little AU is, because now I'm yearning for modern Din and Grogu! Second, yes darling, this is going to distract me all night lmao

53. Mutual pining

41. First kiss

6. Bookshop AU

Din Djarin x Reader

Owning your own little bookshop had its pros and cons. Some of the cons, to name a few, was worrying about making enough to keep the store open, dealing with angry people when you shop didn't carry the book they wanted, the building you were in was old and leaked every time it rained, and just the entire business side of the bookstore bored you and made your anxiety raise just thinking about it. But the pros, those more then made up for the stress of counting each penny in order to order stock. And those pros came in the form of your two favorite customers, a young boy, always dressed in the cutest green frog sweater and his father who took your breath the first time he walked into you small store. Din Djarin was handsome in a way that was devastating. Not only was he physically handsome, with brown eyes that screamed of kindness, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, hands big enough to dwarf any book in your store, and scruff that was so patchy you couldn't help but find it cute, but Din was also handsome in the way that he acted, the way he would gently talk to his son as they picked out books or as he sat in the reading nook and read to Grogu, the way he would always ask about your day, how when he saw you struggling with boxes on more than one occasion he had stepped in and moved them for you not letting you lift another box. Din was sweet and kind to you, and with every small smile he gave you, you thought your heart would burst from your chest. And his son, Grogu, was obviously in the best hands. The boy was just as polite as his father, and just as devastatingly cute. The young boy, who you always joked about being your best customer, always ran into the store with an excites wave and a smile, and almost always ran and gave you the biggest hug he could. On occasion, the little cutie would bring you a present to add to a shelf you had cleared just for him. The presents were what you'd expect a kid to give, a dandelion, a colorful leaf, a shiny rock, and once a piece of candy that Din explained he had cried over for days after seeing it before Din went and bought it for him. You cared deeply for the two, and they brightened your weeks with each visit they made.

One week, it had been raining and storming every single day with no reprieve. You had all but written off seeing the two, knowing they always walked to your shop, but there you were shocked when a tiny frog rainbooted blur came dashing towards you and wrapped your legs in a hug, quickly followed by a hushed stern voice saying, "Stop it kid, you're gonna get them all wet!"

You could only giggle and lean down to give him a proper hug, looking over towards Din, saying, "If getting wet is the price I pay for my favorite and best customer's hug, then I'll gladly take it."

Din only shook his head and gave you his small smile, making you bite the inside of your lip feeling the rush of warmth in your chest and face. The two then disappeared into the children's section, you occasionally hearing Grogu's giggle, or Din's quiet rumbling voice, making you grin as you walked around organizing shelves. Eventually, you got lost in thought, humming quietly to yourself as you worked. You hadn't noticed the set of eyes watching you, and you barely caught the throat being cleared before you bumped into what you could have almost mistaken for a bookshelf with how solid it was. When you turned to look up, eyes wide and already apologizing, you found Din's soft eyes looking at you. Din took no time brushing your apology to the side, before furrowed his brows and saying, "There is a bucket full of water in the middle of the children's section."

You sighed painfully and nodded, before turning back to your work to both somewhat distract yourself from the way his eyes were boring into you, and to keep you hands busy from nervous fidgeting, as you said, "Yeah...it leaks back there whenever it rains super hard. I just... I havent been able to get it fixed yet."

Then Din shocked you completely, he grabbed your hand, stilling it and making you look into those soulful eyes before whispering, "I can fix that."

You had tried to argue with him, telling him you'd get to it eventually and making up reason why he shouldn't, but each time he shot you down, until he was paying for the stack of books Grogu had grabbed and he had set up a weekend day he could come over to do the job.

When the weekend finally came around, it was hot and muggy from all of the rain, and Din had shown up with everything he needed, and Grogu, who you agreed to watch while he worked, the least you could do considering he was trying to work without payment. But Din had also shown up in a white t-shirt that hugged his chest and showed off his softer middle, and jeans that fit right in all of the right places, and you couldn't help but feel your mouth go dry. You had closed the store for the day, and had made a lunch for the three of you the night before, so while Din made quick work with the roof, you and Grogu played games and read books in the little reading nook. Eventually, he got hungry so you let him eat, and shortly after he dozed off looking through a hidden images book. With a smile, you tucked him gently into a more comfortable position and draped a soft quilt around his shoulder. When you turned around though your heart stopped and you felt heat rush to your face. While you had been distraction, Din had snuck into the store and watched with an aching heart as you took care of his son, falling for the soft and loving smile that graced your features as you did. When you turned around completely, you took in his form, and felt a pang of guilt with how red his face was from working in the sun, but also a pang of something else entirely as your eyes soaked in the way Din's sweat shirt clung to his chest, leaving nothing to your imagination and how his hair curled so perfectly from the dampness of sweat and the humidity.

"I finished," his soft rumble broke you from you ogling, and the heat in your face spread to your chest as you cleared your throat. "Come sit down then, I made food last night and I imagine you're hungry so eat, and I will go get you some ice water to cool off."

You rushed away, as Din checked on Grogu before settling on the floor, and reaching for the plate that was on the coffee table. You appeared seconds later, setting a glass in front of him, before sitting beside him, grabbing your own plate.

"Sorry it isn't anything fancy, but I thought that the ravioli would be something Grogu and you both may like."

"It is perfect, thank you."

The two of you ate in silence after that, both of you stealing glances at the other while they weren't looking. When you finished, you took the plates and set them aside before shyly saying, "Thank you again, Din. You have helped me so much with this favor, and if I can repay you in anyway just tell me."

"It was nothing, and you owe me nothing, I promise."

You looked over at him, a soft and kind smile showing on your face, "I feel bad not doing anything for you or paying you. There has to be something?"

Din was quiet for a few minutes, his eyes taking in your earnest and open body language, taking in how your own eyes danced around his form, and before he could think twice about it, he said, "There is one thing..."

"Anything, you only have to ask."

Din took in how perked up you were, leaning towards him in the small space that separated the two of you. Taking a deep breath for courage, Din leaned in himself, and whispered, hot breath ghosting over your face, "A kiss?"

You swallowed thickly in shock, and met his gaze, finding no teasing look, only want so soft you thought you'd melt, so you replied by softly nodding and slowly drifting your eyes shut. Then you felt it, a soft brush of plush lips against your own, before they connected fully. The kiss was quick, and loving, and you followed his lips as he pulled away. Slowly, you both looked at eachother, taking in the other's reaction, before reaching out again. You buried one of your hands in Din's sinfully soft curls, as one of his broad palms cupped your cheek. This kiss was more passionate, but not pushing. The two of you finally just enjoying the feel of the other. The kiss expressed so much love and passion that it had you addicted and never wanting to pull away. But eventually the two of you needed to leave the other for air, and as your chests both heaved slightly, Din whispered while his forehead pressed against yours, "I also wouldn't say no to a date."

Send Me Tropes

#fanfic tropes ask game #din djarin x reader #din x reader #whoever points out the reference i made gets a big kiss and all of my love

[shotgun--rider]

Fake It Till You Make It - One

A Sam x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N knows it’s a bad idea to try telling her family that she’s dating Sam Winchester. But it’s just for the week of her sister’s wedding, and it’s all fake anyway. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: plus size! Reader, background Destiel for a hot sec, fatphobic comments, Y/N’s family are demons

A/N: Has this trope probably been done five million times? Yes. Am I about to do it again? Yes. 

Your cellphone rang and you grimaced, rolling your eyes as you took in Dean’s all-too-amused expression. Your best friend may have thought your situation was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, but that didn’t mean you were of the same opinion. 

“What?” you snapped out, not bothering to read the caller ID. Who else would be calling you for the fifth time in as many hours?

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your mother.”

Here you went again, the same thing over and over. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “What do you want now, Mom?”

Bent over something under Baby’s hood, Dean snorted, shamelessly listening to your half of the conversation. He could probably hear your mother too, you thought wryly. The woman was certainly loud enough. 

“Well, listen, honey,” your mother began. “I was just talking to Jimmy...you remember Jimmy? From down the street, you used to--”

“Yes, Mom, I remember Jimmy.” you said tiredly. “Why do we care about Jimmy?” Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say. 

“For the wedding! I just asked, and Jimmy agreed to come with you.”

You let out an alarmed noise before you could stop yourself. “Mom, no.” you said firmly, with an undercurrent of panic at the thought of being trailed around by awkward Jimmy for a week. “I know it’s hard to imagine,” you drawled sarcastically, “but the vows will still be successful if I’m there without a plus one. Not like I’m the one getting married, you know.”

Still focused on the Impala, Dean’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. You seized the apple core you’d been munching on earlier and chucked it at him, feeling marginally better when it bounced off of his back. 

“Y/N L/N! You should be a little more grateful. Besides, have you even thought about how it’s going to look to Dick if you show up alone?”

“I don’t care,” you said automatically. “He’s a dick, pun absolutely intended.”

“He’s marrying your sister.”

“At least it’s not me.” 

“That miserable attitude is exactly why you’re going to die alone, young lady,” your mother snipped. “You could at least make an effort. Maybe if you just lost some weight--”

“Yeah, okay Mom.” You hung up the phone before she could get another word in, immediately flopping back onto Dean’s front lawn in defeat. “If I ever get married, it’s going to be in Vegas with Elvis, and nobody is going to know about it.” Not that you would. Given your complete inability to keep a boyfriend for longer than two months and your habit of getting hung up on guys who were completely out of your league, marriage, or a relationship of any kind didn’t seem to be in the cards. 

“Who’s Jimmy?” Dean’s green eyes were sparkling with mischief, and you let out a groan, smoothing out the skirt of your sundress as you sat back up to answer him. 

“Straight-laced, awkward, kind of greasy. Went to high school with me.” You wrinkled your nose. “My mother is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. She’d throw a fit if I actually tried to bring him home. But apparently Jimmy is a better temporary solution than being single while my sister marries my ex.” You trailed off into silence, your hand pulling absently at a few strands of grass in your best friend’s front lawn. “Maybe I should just rent a boyfriend to shut her up. That’s a thing, right? Like a non-sexual escort.”

“If you’re going to the trouble, you should also get the sex,” Dean returned, still smirking at you as he wiped grease off his hands. “Or you could take me. I would make the best fake boyfriend. And I’m free if you feed me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing at the mental image. “My mom knows you have a boyfriend,” you sighed. “Which, believe me, is a great source of sadness to her every single day.”

Dean laughed loudly, both of you glancing toward the house as the screen door swung open. “Maybe we broke up,”

“Well, she still doesn’t understand the concept of bisexuality, so as far as she’s concerned, you’d still be gay.” You rolled your eyes, long since over your mother’s narrow-minded opinions.

“Who’s gay?” Castiel inquired vaguely, making his way over to the flowerbeds. 

“Dean is,” you pointed out helpfully, prompting a wide-eyed stare from Cas. 

“Really? Dean, you should have told me!”

When you’d first met Dean’s new boyfriend, he’d been stiff and absolutely useless at sarcasm. It was always nice to see yours and Dean’s combined efforts working.

“D’you want me to ask Sammy?”

You were still laughing at Cas’s antics, and snapped your head back to Dean so fast that you were positive something popped in your neck. “W-what?”

 “I can ask Sam if he’s free that week,” Dean repeated, looking at you like he thought you were stupid. “If you want,”

You blinked, irrational panic running through you at the thought of Dean’s younger, perfect, brother. 

“It’ll shut your mom up,” Dean went on, oblivious. “Sammy wouldn’t mind.”

“Dean, I barely ever see Sam,” you protested after an awkward pause. A fact that was quite devastating, actually, not that you’d ever admit to your hopeless crush on the younger Winchester. 

Your best friend and his boyfriend shared a look. “That’s because he’s a hopeless do-gooder on top of being a hotshot lawyer,” Dean said fondly. “But I bet we could talk him out of taking a bunch of free cases for a week,”

Walking into your sister’s wedding with Sam Winchester on your arm sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. On the other hand, it would shut your mother up. She’d been vocal in her fears of you dying alone since you’d been barely out of college, sending you links to weight-loss workout videos and advertising her fixer-upper daughter to single men in the grocery store for years. Sam’s presence might even serve to stave off comments about your weight, which seemed to be the family’s second-favorite discussion topic any time they were together. 

Still, that meant pretending Sam Winchester was your boyfriend for a week, which just seemed like some masochistic form of self inflicted torture. Besides, if even you knew Sam would never go for a girl like you, how in the world were you supposed to sell it to your nosy, skeptical family?

“I was mostly kidding about the whole fake boyfriend thing, Dean,” you said wearily, not wanting to devote any more thought to the idea. 

Dean shrugged easily, sharing one more pointed look with Cas before refocusing on you. “Fair enough. You’re still staying for dinner, though, right?”

You’d have to be crazy to turn down one of Dean’s steaks. “Obviously.”

“Great,” he returned brightly. “I think Charlie’s coming.”

--

You were going to kill Dean. And Cas too, potentially, though it was entirely possible that he’d genuinely just been too preoccupied with his backyard beehive to remember the full extent of his boyfriend’s dinner plans. Because, apparently, “Charlie’s coming” actually meant, “Charlie and also Sam are coming.” 

It only took about five minutes for Dean to bring up your mother’s nonsense, prompting you to consider just face planting into the mashed potatoes in embarrassment while Charlie burst out laughing. She thought the whole thing was unbelievably hilarious, and had immediately offered herself up as a fake date. The offer was well meant, you knew, but you were only trying to get your mother to shut up, not disown you for bringing home a girlfriend.  

“I don’t need a date,” you finally huffed out, irritated with the whole thing. “I’m perfectly capable of showing up by myself. It’s not like anyone’s going to have anything to say about it that I haven’t already heard.” It was true. Your mother, and you sister and all of your aunts and uncles, for that matter, had been making the same jabs at your weight and relationship status for the past decade. You were used to it by now. 

“Doesn’t mean you should have to hear it,” Charlie shrugged. “If we’re too gay for your mother, get somebody else.”

“I tried to tell her Sammy would do it,” Dean put in unhelpfully, elbowing his brother, who had been silent up until this point. You contemplated kicking him under the table. 

“Poor Sam does not need to be subjected to my family for no good reason,” you said firmly, hoping that would be the end of it.

Sam was studying you across the table. “Or you could just ask me,” he said finally, and you felt your face heat up as you realized you’d basically been speaking for him. 

“Yes!” Charlie burst out before you could come up with a reply. “Sam doesn’t mind, do you, Sam?”

Too late, you realized Charlie was the real villain in all of this. Your old roommate, after all, was the one who knew about your little crush. You wondered if it was worth running the risk of trying to kick her under the table without hitting Cas, who thus far had remained off of your hit list. 

Sam cleared his throat roughly, looking between you, Charlie, and his plate. “No, I don’t--I mean, I don’t think Y/N really--”

“No, I do,” you blurted out, scrunching up your face immediately after the words left your lips. I do? I do? Since when? And what was it about Sam fucking Winchester that always made you act like a complete idiot? 

Dean was smirking at you across the table, and you idly wondered what would happen if you tried egging Baby. 

“Oh,” Sam brought you back out of your thoughts, looking hesitantly pleased. “Well, I just wrapped my latest case up, so I don’t mind coming up with you for that week. If you want.”

“Are you sure?” you bit your lip. There were a lot of emotions vying for your attention, but the dominating one was concern for Sam’s wellbeing. He had no idea what he was trying to agree to. 

Sam sighed, staring you down with those hazel eyes. “Y/N, you’re basically family. Of course I’m sure. You just worry about the maid of honor stuff, and I’ll watch your back. Okay?”

This was a significantly softer ending to dinner than you’d expected, but you couldn’t deny the warm feeling that rushed up inside you at his words. I’ll watch your back. Pretty much no one in your life had ever done anything of the sort, until you met Charlie, and, through her, the Winchesters. You’d known Dean for months before you finally met Sam, and of course he was perfect. 

It was easy with Dean, since he’d been the big brother you’d never had from day one. Sure, he wasn’t bad looking (seriously those boys won some kind of genetic lottery, you swore) but it just wasn’t like that. And then Sam had shown up and he was six and a half feet of walking perfection. 

And now he was smiling reassuringly at you across the dinner table, having just agreed to pose as your completely fake boyfriend in front of your god awful family. Well, at least you’d be able to pinpoint the exact moment your life went completely sideways, if you ever had to look back.

-- 

Two anxiety-filled weeks later found you in Sam’s car, because subjecting his long legs to your tiny vehicle for a seven hour drive just seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. You were driving at his insistence, and Sam was in the passenger seat with a legal pad on his legs like he thought he was going to take notes.

“Sam,” you whined out, “is this really necessary? Can’t we just... you know, lie?” Since the whole thing is a big fat giant lie anyway. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you, and it just wasn’t fair how sexy that made him look. “Y/N, you’re the one that kept trying to warn me about getting cross examined by your mother,”

“Such a lawyer,” you huffed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Let’s write our fake love story,” You batted your eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, punching a surprised laugh out of Sam. He watched your antics in amusement for a moment, and then refocused, absently playing with a pen in his long fingers. 

“Okay, how did we meet?”

You cocked your head to one side. “My mom knows who you are,” you explained. “Vaguely, but she knows you’re Dean’s brother. We can just tell them how we actually met and stuff,”

Sam smirked at you. “You tell your mother about me?”

You made a face at him, smacking his arm as the heat of embarrassment suffused your entire body. “Just in passing, don’t go getting a big head. Well,” you made a show of studying him, “a bigger head,”

He looked affronted, running a hand briefly through his hair. “Okay, fine, we met because of Dean. Where did I take you on our first date?”

“Why did you have to take me out? What if I took you out?” You were mostly arguing for the sake of arguing, trying to keep yourself from thinking too hard as you imagined a fake life with Sam that had never happened and never would. He thought of you as family, he’d said as much, and you had to remember that. 

“Because I had been waiting forever to ask you out, and I had all the good date ideas saved up,” Sam answered immediately.

“O-okay,” you said hesitantly, jarred by the conviction in his statement. But that was the point, wasn’t it? You were trying to sell it, and Sam was obviously a good actor. And unfairly attractive. And kind. And...and oh god. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel harder as you thought about the unexpected trial he hadn’t signed up for. “Sam, can you golf?”

He shrugged. “I know how it’s supposed to work. I’m just...not that good at actually getting the balls in the holes.”

If Dean were here, he would have taken that opportunity to make a lewd joke. As it was, you just winced. “My dad is going to force you to go golfing,” you explained tiredly. “I should have thought of that, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s no big deal, Y/N,” Sam assured you easily. “I don’t mind. Besides, I want to meet your dad,”

You blinked at him, almost missing a turn in the process. “You actually want to meet my family? Sam, they’re terrible. Well, my dad’s probably the least awful of the bunch. Mostly he just hides. But Ruby will definitely try hitting on you, even though she’s supposed to be getting married, and Dick will try hitting on everything with legs, which is just gross, and Gramma Lilith is gonna give you the speech about how you could do so much better, and my Uncle Az is going to start Googling you and making weird threats, probably…” you trailed off in a huff. “It could be worse, I guess. At least if Uncle Fergus shows up everybody’ll start yelling at him instead. One can hope. He’s pretty harmless,” you shrugged, “if sometimes high. And my mother will probably just stick to the usual fat girl comments, so…”

Sam’s quiet laughter at your descriptions trailed off. “Y/N, you know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

You just shrugged again, deflecting. “Oh, come on, Sam, you don’t have to pretend like you think I’m a size two or something,”

“I’m...not,” Sam sounded genuinely confused, and you risked a glance over at him in the passenger seat. Oddly enough, he didn’t look like he was lying. Huh. “I think you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t want to have to pretend not to be affected by that, and this was maybe the first time in your life you’d actually been grateful to see the turnoff for your family’s old estate. “Here we go,” you narrated a little shakily. “It’s a big house,” you warned, still smiling a little at the way Sam’s eyes widened. 

It had been a given that the wedding would take place at your Aunt Abaddon’s old estate house, which no one was quite sure how she’d acquired and which no one questioned. The only fun of the house was watching people’s reactions on the rare occasion that you brought someone here. 

“I’ll get the bags,” Sam said vacantly, still staring at the house, and you chuckled softly, getting out of the car in a rush. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt important that you got to your family before Sam did, to put yourself between them, though at this point you weren’t quite sure who was being shielded from whom. 

You smoothed down the little sundress you’d decided to wear, grabbing your small duffel out of the backseat and hastily going up the front walk, Sam still rummaging in the trunk.

“Y/N!” Ruby opened the front door to meet you, her smile already insincere and condescending. “You’re late. We thought you weren’t coming.” She glanced behind you briefly, then smirked. “And you’re alone. I mean I figured you wouldn’t actually find a plus one, but you know you’re gonna owe me for the meal--”

“Got everything?” 

Oh thank god for Sam Winchester. You smiled tightly at your older sister, glancing briefly at your shoulder to reassure yourself that Sam was there. He was, holding a bag in each hand and a pleasant smile on his face. It was totally his false courtroom smile, but Ruby didn’t have to know that. “Ruby, this is...my boyfriend. Sam.”

Ruby blinked long eyelashes at him, processing. You figured she was torn between insulting you and flirting with him, and, as expected, the flirting won out. “Hi, Sam,” she purred. “I can’t wait to get to know you a little better,”

“Right,” Sam said flatly. “Well, I can’t wait to put these bags down, so…”

Something in Ruby’s expression soured as she looked at him, and her hand fell away from the doorframe as she stepped back, letting you both into the house. You lost no time in ducking past her, Sam right behind you. 

“There’s rooms on the second floor,” Ruby said quietly, then, “I’m up there too, just in case you get bored...”

“Great,” Sam returned, and he shifted both of the bags into one hand to put a hand on your back as you walked toward the staircase. You shivered at the touch, exhaling the frustration that was already tensing your shoulders, and started up the stairs. God, it hadn’t even been five minutes. How were you supposed to get through a whole week of this?

Sam’s warm breath on your ear startled you, and he whispered, “So, third floor?”

You turned to catch him with a mischievous spark in his hazel eyes, and nodded quickly, a little smile pulling up the corners of your mouth as you started toward the second staircase with a new energy in your step. 

“Hurry your fat ass, Y/N!” you heard Ruby shriek from somewhere below. “Everyone’s already out in the garden,”

You blew out your breath, hastily swinging open the first door you saw. The room was mercifully unoccupied, with a queen bed in the middle of the room and not much in the way of decoration. Your Aunt Abaddon had always been pretty minimalist. 

Sam shut the door behind you both, setting the bags down in a line at the foot of the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” you said quickly, figuring that it was best to get that out of the way as quickly as possible. “I’m the one that got you into this, so--”

He turned to face you with a quizzical expression. “Why would you...Y/N, you didn’t get me into anything. I said I wanted to be here. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor,”

“No,” you sighed out, defeated. “Ruby’ll probably try barging in here anyway. I don’t think she believes you’re dating someone like me. We’re adults,” you went on with more confidence than you felt, “we can share,”

Sam’s brow furrowed adorably. Stop that. “Someone like you?” He moved to stand in front of you, one hand sliding very gently along your upper arm. “She doesn’t think I’d go for someone that’s funny and clever and really pretty?”

Something in your chest eased at his words, and, before your malfunctioning brain could stop you, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his solid chest. “Thanks. She’s a bitch,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Sam’s hand migrated to gently rub over your back. “I’m beginning to get that impression,”

You stood there for a few more moments, letting yourself breathe within the safety of Sam’s arms, and then you straightened up and shook yourself. “Alright, boyfriend, ready to go meet the rest of the firing squad?”

He smiled down at you. “Whatever you say, honey bunch.”

You grimaced, but it got a laugh out of you, which you supposed had been his goal. “Absolutely not.”

“Cutie pie? Boo bear?”

“Stop it,” you threw a mock glare over your shoulder, opening the bedroom door. 

“Okay, darlin’,” Sam murmured, and somehow that one sat better than all the rest. “I’ve got your back, remember?”

You smiled back at him, letting him slide his hand in yours for the show, and you braced yourself to head back downstairs and deal with the full force of your family. 

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #x reader #reader insert #spn #series

[crimsonbluemoon]

celebrity!au, childhood friends, “sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.” - ohmtoonz

Last one for the night, and I went overboard…again. >.>

AU: CelebrityTrope: Childhood friendsPrompt: “sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.”

Pairing: Ohmtoonz 

“He really went and got famous on us, huh?” Ryan blinked away from the television he was sitting in front of, his attention floating to his mother’s face. He hadn’t been able to see her much when he went to college four years ago, since he’d ended up on the other side of the country for school. Coming home and spending the winter break with her for the first time had been something he looked forward to since November. Now, it was Christmas Eve, the night before his favorite holiday of the year. A comforting aura hung in the falling snow outside his childhood home’s window. He could smell the dinner cooking in the kitchen, bringing back fond memories of his childhood. The worn blanket from years ago still kept his frame warm, and he took another slow sip from his hot chocolate to avoid answering the question his mother had asked.

Because, as much as he wanted to believe everything was perfect, he knew one thing was still missing. 

“He said he would,” he finally mumbled, not needing to look back to the TV to know who was on it. The highlights of the Hollywood films awards from the previous week were playing, with a stunning young man sweeping several categories for the win. It was strange to see the bearded face, once chubby with baby fat and smeared with blue popsicle, holding the trophies that looked identical to the ones they’d cut out from cardboard or construction paper. 

“Luke was always a handsome boy, wasn’t he?” His mother’s knowing tone made his cheeks rise in color that he couldn’t blame on the wood stove beside him. 

“Momma,” Ryan whispered, hating the quiver in his voice. She hummed when she stepped closer to the couch, her soft hand gently patting his head. 

“I remember how he used to follow you around like a little puppy whenever you got mad at him for something reckless he did.” The memories felt like they’d happened just yesterday, despite the decade that had passed. “He’d jump his bike on a dare, or he’d sneak into some abandoned house to win some money. Used to tell you that part of the fun was seeing your face turn bright red after finding out what he did. Sure did like pulling on your tail to get your attention, didn’t he?” 

“Toonzy never let me do anything dangerous.” His shoulders fell from his flushed cheeks when she pet his hair, her motherly presence pulling down the walls he’d forced up years ago. 

“Because he didn’t know how to handle you getting hurt. Remember what happened when that kid pushed you out of that treehouse and broke your arm in the seventh grade?” He didn’t know why she was dragging him down memory lane, knowing the road was paved with pain and heartbreak. She’d been by his side as he cried, sat on the phone with him each time he ended a relationship that ‘didn’t feel the same’, and never once pushed the boundaries he set up around his childhood friend’s memories. But now, in the low light of the fireplace in the living room he’d last seen Luke in person four years ago, she did. 

“He beat the snot out of him,” Ryan answered, his smile tinged with sadness even when hearing his mother’s soft laugh.

“He was still scrawny back then, but seeing you hurt gave him more strength than superman. I think that was why he started getting in shape; to make sure nobody ever pushed you around again. And now look at him; the first gay actor to win best leading role in an action movie. He didn’t hide it one bit; wore his pride like a suit of armor. His momma should be proud, she raised him right.” 

“You had a part in that, too,” Ryan replied, remembering Luke’s acceptance speech. He hadn’t forgotten where he came from, and hearing him thank both his own and Ryan’s mother for their support had warmed his soul behind his thick walls.

“Pretty sure I wasn’t the only one mentioned from this family.” The comment was soft, like she was speaking to a skittish animal ready to bolt away. Instead, Ryan buried further into his blanket, hoping the red of the threads would conceal his blotchy skin. 

“He could have meant anyone, really it-”

“I know I didn’t raise a fool, so don’t act like one. We both heard that nickname.” Ryan’s mother pinched his cheek before pulling away. Her words floated in the air when she walked out of the room. “Don’t think he would call anyone else that.” 

After a heartbeat of silence filled the living room, Ryan closed his eyes, hiding the tears that sprouted up from the truth. His traitorous mind didn’t give him reprieve, replaying the words from the awards he’d watched days ago.

“This award means so much to me, and I have so many people to thank.  First is my momma, of course, who somehow kept me alive through my crazy years to be here. And when my momma was too tired to handle my wild ass, she sent me to momma wrecker’s house for some tough love. I owe that woman so much more than words can say. My friends, my agent, the supportive cast and crew for this movie. Of course my fans, who can’t seem to understand that it’s them who make all of this possible for me. I hope you all know how important you are. 

“But there’s one person who…I haven’t gotten to see for a while. And damn, that’s been something I’ve regretted since the moment I walked out of his living room four years ago. You know, I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. I had a dream, I worked hard to obtain it, and now I’m staring at an award I always wanted with my name on it. I’m giving every kid who was told they couldn’t be something proof that they can change their own fate whenever they want. But sometimes…I sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different. If I hadn’t walked out on him like that, if I’d picked my other dream over this one. The one where I get to tell him this to his face. 

“I love you, Ohm. This award, and every one I win after it, will always be for you. Thank you.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Toonzy?” Ryan whispered, hating the hitch in his voice from the unshed emotion. He pulled his knees to his chest, read to bury his face in them, when a voice from behind him paused his movements.

“Because I’m a coward.” For a moment, Ryan’s body froze on the couch, unsure if he’d somehow fallen asleep by the fire. But he knew that wasn’t possible; even in his dreams, he’d never let Luke call himself that. Frantic to see the truth, Ryan pushed out of his blankets, turning quickly to face the figure illuminated by the kitchen light behind him. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Luke looked sheepish, his shoulders hunched forward and grin lacking its normal confidence. “Hey.” 

“Luke…” The breathless tone he used didn’t phase him, knees bumping into the couch from his nervous movements. “What-what are you doing here?” 

“I always come back to town for Christmas Eve dinner; it’s in my contract. Your momma’s orders; I haven’t missed a single one since I was seven, after all.” 

“When you were sick with pneumonia.” It was such a stupid thing to remember, but Ryan could almost taste the feeling of loniless on his lips when thinking back to the empty seat by his side that Christmas Eve. 

“You saved me mashed potatoes cause they were my favorite. When my momma wouldn’t let you come in, you pushed them through the mailslot of my door.” Heat flushed his face at the recollection, his hands waving in the air to disperse the memory. 

“Th-that was just cause I was little. I didn’t-how was I supposed to know the tupperware would burst open when it hit the floor?” 

“Because you were always smarter than me, Ohm.” The nickname suddenly shifted the air, and the moment of light fun burnt up quicker than the logs beside Ryan. Hearing it again reminded him of the speech, his hands slow to drop to his sides and fall limp. Luke seemed to pick up on the change, his movements slow when coming around the couch. “It’s really nice to see you. I’ve been…waiting a long time for this moment.”

“You come back every year,” Ryan deflected, eyes shifting away while he took a step back. His arms crossed over his chest protectively, to shield him from Luke’s approaching body or the surge of emotions that were quickly overwhelming him at seeing his childhood lov-friend up close again. “You come back and see your momma, my momma, our old friends, and probably the whole town. Not to see-none of them told me you came back. Did you tell them to stay quiet?”

“I did.” Luke spoke like he had no shame in his sneaky ways.

“Why?” Ryan flinched when a warm hand touched his face. 

“Did you see my speech?” 

“I…did.” He knew he couldn’t lie when his cheek warmed under the smooth palm still holding it. 

“All the way until the end?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should know why I couldn’t face you yet.” The words finally broke Ryan’s resolve, and he looked up to the face that didn’t feel out of place mere inches from his. “I made a choice when we were eighteen to become an actor. You were going away to college, and I knew there was no way we’d be able to stay in touch with our lives going in different directions. I left this town, walked away from you, went after my dream, and got it. It was what I always wanted most, or…or I thought so. But I had that award in my hand last week, the one I’d always believed I needed to feel complete, and do you know the first thing that popped into my head?” 

“I don’t,” Ryan whispered, wondering if he was more foolish than his mother gave him credit for. 

“All I could think was ‘I’d give this stupid piece of metal away in a heartbeat to see Ryan’.” There was raw honesty in Luke’s voice when he peered down at Ryan, his thumb slow to roll under the lashed that had started to collect the unshed tears in Ryan’s eyes. “Ohm, I’ve loved you since the first time you called me an idiot for stealing old man Nanner’s flamingo lawn decoration when we were six. I didn’t know it was love until I realized how scared I was seeing you fall out of that treehouse. But two nights ago? That was the first time I’d ever admitted it to anyone out loud.”

“So you choose the whole world to tell?” Ryan asked, sobbing through a laugh when Luke grinned and shrugged.

“Didn’t really care about the whole world hearing it; just you.” He rubbed the tears away quickly, though Ryan knew a second set would quickly take their place. “And now, I’m here to see if there’s a chance you’ll make my second dream come true. Because this life? Being who I am, the fame and all the other stuff? It’s pointless if you’re not going to be there with me. None of this matters if I can’t kiss you for good luck or gratitude when winning another award. If I can’t just kiss you to show you I love you. I made it to the top to make sure that I was the man I needed to be when I told you this; Ryan, I am and always will be in love with you. Will you give me a chance to prove how much?” 

“You’re…You’re such an idiot, so impulsive and stupid and why did I fall in love with someone so reckless-” Ryan’s hands grabbed at Luke’s jacket desperately while he ranted over Luke’s laugh, yanking him forward to kiss him. His arms quickly wrapped around Luke’s neck, feeling his waist be yanked forward before hot lips pressed harder against his. They still needed to talk, to heal the wounds left on his soul during the years of silence between them. He needed to learn Luke again, like re-tuning a guitar left in the attic for years untouched. The damage was apparent, but not irreparable. 

Maybe this time, they could find a dream together.   

#Anonymous #Ohmtoonz #Sultry boys #Ohmwrecker #Cartoonz #Crimson drabblez #<3

[seasonofthegeek]

Forgetfully Yours

Here comes another drabble from the fanfic trope mash-up requests, featuring Ladybug and Chat Noir. The prompts are “forgotten first meeting” and “character in peril”. Thanks so much to @27percentonrottentomatoes for the ko-fi donation! 

___

He would forget her again.

It was probably a selfish thought to have as Ladybug watched Chat Noir’s body disperse into a cloud of sparkling glitter, but she couldn’t help it. She’d seen him die so many times now, seen him sacrifice himself so many times, and it only made her tired. She knew she could bring him back, but the cost was becoming too high. His memories reset with every Cure that gave him life again. It hadn’t been quite as bad when they were still young and new and his memories reset often, but now they were getting older and she’d fallen in love with a man who forgot who she was in this form every few months.

The akuma’s cackle broke off into a surprised gasp as her necklace rotted away, thanks to Chat Noir’s last act of Cataclysm before his glittery demise.  Ladybug went through the motions of catching the dark butterfly as it pulled away from the destroyed necklace and she released it with a sigh when the cleansing was complete. 

They’d made it so far this time. They had inside jokes and favorite places to meet and he knew what she liked on her pizza and they’d almost kissed...

She trudged back to her discarded Lucky Charm, ignoring the distraught victim for the time being, and threw the spotted towel up into the air with a mutter. Magical ladybugs raced around the city and the akuma’s victims popped back into existence, including Chat Noir.  

Ladybug took a moment to help the confused woman to her feet and explain that she’d been akumatized. After another citizen came to her side, Ladybug excused herself to go to her partner. He gave her the same confused look she’d seen on his handsome face too many times, but she offered her hand. 

“Thanks for your help. You must be Chat Noir.” She watched his brow furrow beneath his mask and then he glanced down his body as he always did, eyes widening slightly before he looked at her again. An easy grin fell into place and it made her heart ache.

“At your service, my Ladybug.” He took her hand and dipped low like he’d done dozens of times during their first meetings. His gaze was playful as his eyes met hers and even though she was exhausted and heartsick, she did her best to smile back at him because despite it all, it felt good to have him by her side.

___

“So I forget every time?”

Sometimes Ladybug explained what happened to Chat Noir; sometimes she didn’t. And then there were times like this one where she didn’t have a choice. Stumbling across old footage of your younger self as a superhero with no memory of it would be confusing for anyone.

She nodded and offered Chat Noir the bag of macarons she’d picked up at her parents’ bakery on the way to meet him. “We’ve met...” She trailed off and mentally added the most recent death to her tally. “Hmm, I believe this last time made number forty-two.”

He choked on the bite he’d just taken and crumbs sprayed out to fall to his lap. “I’ve died forty-two times?!”

Ladybug winced. “At least you have more than the usual nine lives for a cat.”

“I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.”

“You can do both, if you want.” She reached over and placed her hand on his. His hand stiffened and she missed the instant reciprocation they’d gotten to before, but it didn’t take long for him to turn his wrist so their fingers could slide together.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “How long have we been doing this? We looked young in that video.”

Ladybug felt the years sink in. They’d had this conversation more than a few times. “We started when we were fourteen.”

“I’ve been forgetting you since I was fourteen.” His eyes tightened. “I don’t understand...how is this possible? I can remember everything else about my life.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “For some reason, your death and the Cure bringing you back only affects your memory as far as being Chat Noir is concerned.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

He worried his bottom lip. “Do you know who I am when I’m not Chat Noir?”

“I do.”

“Ah.”

“You know who I am sometimes too.”

“But not right now.” His claws dug into the top of his thighs. “You don’t ever forget?”

“No.” She knew her answer was too quick, too flat, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be past this. She wanted to be back to laughing and cuddling and being best friends. These awkward new beginnings always twisted her stomach into knots. She knew she had to ask him what she asked him every time, and she already knew what his answer would be.

“I can take the ring,” she offered. “You can just be Adrien and then there isn’t anything to forget.”

His black ears dipped low and then he shook his head; he always did.

“No. I’ll just be more careful this time around. I can do this. I want to.”

___

Chat Noir jumped in front of an energy blast meant for her, and Ladybug was shaking as she finished off the akuma on her own. 

Thirteen months. 

They’d made it thirteen months without him dying. Thirteen months without him forgetting. Thirteen months of him falling just as much in love with her as she was with him. 

She couldn’t lose it. She wouldn’t survive this time; she could feel it in her bones.

Ladybug was ruthless as she beat down the akumatized man. She shattered the glass orb of his cane with such force that the shards flew up to shred across the skin of her cheek. She slammed her yoyo into the dark butterfly as it tried to escape and felt anger building up as she released it to the heavens. She was about to begin the Cure when a cough followed by a groan caught her attention.

Chat Noir rolled onto his back and coughed again. “I’m here,” he whispered weakly, his eyes finding hers. “Bugaboo, I’m alive.”

She fell to her knees beside him, tears streaming down her face. She had to release the Cure--and she would-- but she needed this moment. She needed to feel his chest rise under her hand and see the strained smile he gave her. 

He was okay. 

They were okay.

___

“I think you should marry me.” Chat Noir grinned widely at the surprised expression on his girlfriend’s face.

“Excuse me?”

“Marry me,” he corrected. “Don’t you wanna?”

“You can’t seriously be proposing to me while we’re sitting here stuffing our faces after a patrol,” she replied, dropping what was left of her pretzel back into its paper bag.

“Why not? I’m madly in love with you, my Mariboo.” He wiggled his brow. “And I know you’re madly in love with me.”

She hummed noncommittally but knew she was grinning like an idiot.

“Come on, say you’ll marry me. We’ll go pick out the biggest ring in the city right now.”

“You’re a nutcase, kitty.”

“Marry me, my Lady. Make me the happiest cat in all of Paris.”

The lightness she’d been feeling dropped like a lead balloon. “I can’t.”

His beaming smile wilted. “Why?”

“Because it could happen again.” She hugged herself and felt the soft pretzel she’d just eaten churn in her gut. “I can’t...I don’t know what I would do if I lost this now, and I just think marriage would...” She swallowed against the lump in her throat and shook her head. “I can’t.”

“It’s been two years.”

“I don’t think there’s a time limit.”

He took her hand in his. “We’d still be married as Marinette and Adrien. I wouldn’t forget that. Wouldn’t that be enough?”

She took in a shaking breath and half-turned so she could cup his cheek. “You’ll always be enough for me, but if you forgot as Chat, I’d lose half my life with you. I don’t know how I would cope with that.”

“Please say yes,” he pleaded, eyes glassy and voice soft.

“No,” she replied, voice even softer.

____

The first time Queen Bee appeared during an akuma attack, Ladybug mistook her for one of the bad guys.

“I’m on your team, dummy,” she spat, dodging Ladybug’s yoyo. “Chat Noir sent me.”

And thus began the parade of heroes that showed up to fight by Ladybug’s side. Sometimes she recognized the people behind the masks and sometimes she didn’t, but they’d always been sent by Chat Noir and they always fought as hard as they could. She wanted to object to Master Fu allowing it, but she couldn’t find it in her to actually do. 

And after every battle, Chat Noir would be waiting for Ladybug, a diamond ring in his hand.

And she kept saying no. 

Until one night, Ladybug went to the spot he was always waiting for her and found Adrien down on one knee with a black ring in his hand. “If this is the one that will get you to say yes, you can have it,” he said. “I think I understand now.”

Her chest tightened with the next breath. “You do?”

He looked past her at the skyline of the city thoughtfully. “I’ve been watching you risk your life over and over again and forced myself to stay out of it because I trusted the help I’d sent you. I guess after a while, I realized this must be how you feel.” He curled his free hand into a fist over his chest. “It’s terrifying watching the person you love get hurt and feel helpless. I can’t imagine what it’s been like to watch me die and come back with no memory, to have to relive that over and over.” He dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She went down to her knees in front of him and lowered the hand with the ring but kept it held between hers. “Maybe it’s time for a new chapter for both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You also proved to me that we aren’t the only ones willing to help. Maybe we can let someone else take the lead for a while.” She smiled sadly. “We deserve a chance at life, don’t we?”

“No more Chat Noir and Ladybug. I’m not sure how to feel.”

“Me neither honestly, but I think I want to give it a shot. Would that be okay?”

“Is it going to be forever?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but we can be.”

Adrien’s face brightened with a beautiful smile. “Then that’s enough for me.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

#ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #miraculous ladybug

[ellaoftarth]

j/b mash up trope prompt: florist and prison au?

Hi! Thank you so much for asking! This was a really tough one to come up with, but I ended up really liking the idea and wrote a little fic for it. It’s kinda rough and a little bit unrealistic, but I wanted to write it out. Let me know what you think! :) 

Brienne always enjoyed flowers; the way a bouquet could send a detailed message when enough thought went into it; the flowers, the colors- it all told a story. She supposed that most people who came into her shop didn’t really care that much, didn’t think about that message when they picked an arrangement. But Brienne always did. Growing up she’d imagine receiving flowers from someone. She daydreamed of figuring out what the flowers symbolized, realizing how much she’d meant to someone. But that day never came, and so she wanted to at least be a part of that for someone else.

One morning, Brienne was arranging a bouquet she’d planned to take home. Though there wasn’t anyone else at home to enjoy them, Brienne liked having flowers around; they brought life to her lonely apartment. Plus, arranging them for herself gave her a chance to explore making new arrangements without worrying about if they’d sell. This particular arrangement was full of her favorite flowers; white chrysanthemums, purple hydrangeas, red peonies, and queen anne’s lace. 

When the bell at the door chimed, Brienne looked up from the arrangement. An obscenely well-put together woman in a small pencil skirt and flowing white blouse stalked towards her, her blonde waves flowing around her face as she moved. Immediately, Brienne was acutely aware of her uniform; a dark green apron over a pair of simple black slacks and a dark grey shirt. 

Without any form of greeting, the woman got straight to the point, “I need an arrangement. I really couldn’t care less what it is. What you’re working on there it- well,” she looked at the arrangement in front of Brienne, tilting her head judgmentally, “it’ll do. You do deliveries, yes?” 

Brienne was at a loss for words. She didn’t quite want this conversation to go on longer than it needed to, so she didn’t bother telling the woman that this bouquet was not for sale. “Um, yes- yes we do. If you give us the address, one of our employees can deliver it.” Well, her only other employee would deliver it- Podrick was her only employee, but she didn’t mind. He was a good worker and always commented on how lovely her arrangements were. 

The woman barely looked Brienne in the eyes, instead she took a piece of paper out of her purse and set it on the counter. “There’s the address. You do customized messages, right? If not this has been a waste of my time.” 

“Yes, we have cards to put with the arrangements. Would you like to write it or do you want it typed?” Brienne asked. 

The woman rolled her eyes, “I’ll write it, thanks.” Brienne quickly handed her a card and envelope with a pen, and the woman hastily scribbled out a message, as if this whole endeavor was a complete inconvenience to her. She put the card in the envelope and addressed it, then handed it back to Brienne, stepping over to the cash register to suggest that she was ready to check out. 

Brienne only briefly looked at the name on the card- Jaime- before following the woman to the cash register. The woman barely looked at the total on the register, clearly wealthy enough to not have to even think about the price for a moment. After signing the bill, the woman simply said, “I need it delivered by tomorrow at the latest.” Then, she turned on her heel and stalked back out. 

Brienne was still processing the whole encounter as she picked up the paper with the address written on it. She looked away and then did a double take; apparently Jaime was in prison. 

…

While Brienne was weary about sending Pod to the prison to deliver the flowers later that afternoon, but Pod insisted that he would be able to, since they had just received an order for a wedding bouquet that Brienne needed to work on. So, Brienne sent him on his way with the bouquet that she had arranged for herself, the card stuck on a clear holder in the middle of the arrangement. 

An hour later, Pod arrived back at the shop, flowers still in hand. 

“What happened?” Brienne asked. 

Pod shrugged, “They said flowers weren’t allowed to be given to inmates. They did allow me to leave the card though, so I guess that’s something.” 

Brienne groaned; now she had to call back the woman, whom she learned was named Cersei, and notify her. Brienne looked at the number Cersei provided when she payed and sighed, dialing the number. 

“Hello?” Cersei asked, already bored of the conversation. 

“Hello, um, this is Brienne Tarth from Sapphire Isle Arrangements. I just wanted to notify you that we attempted to deliver your order, but we weren’t able to.” Brienne said hesitantly. 

Cersei’s tone darkened, “What does that mean, you were unable to?” 

“Well, apparently you can’t leave flowers for- for inmates, so we were only able to leave the card there, and our employee had to take back the arrangement.”

Cersei cut in, “But the card was delivered?” 

“Yes,” Brienne answered, then repeated, “But the arrangement couldn’t be. We are already processing your reimbursement for the arrangement, but unfortunately, the delivery fee cannot be refunded-“ 

“Whatever, that’s fine.” Cersei cut Brienne off, then hung up. 

Brienne stared at the phone, confused. While it was still in her hand, it started ringing again. Brienne answered and was met with an automated voice, “An inmate at the Westerosi Prison is attempting to call you, will you accept this call?” 

Brienne answered slowly, “Yes?” This ought to be interesting. 

There was a pause, then a voice came through the received, “Hello, is this Sapphire Isle Arrangements?” It was a man’s voice, and sounded quite pleasant and cheerful. A stark contrast to Cersei’s. 

“Yes, it is.” Brienne paused, “Who is this?” 

“Hi, this is Jaime Lannister. Who am I speaking to?” 

Should she give her name out? Brienne debated it in her head for a moment before answering “Brienne.” 

“Hi, Brienne,” Jaime greeted her again. “I was just calling to ask you a favor.” 

“A favor?” Brienne repeated. 

“Yes, if my sister, um, the unpleasant woman who probably came into your shop today, tries to send another arrangement or card or something through your shop to me, can you deny the request?”

Well that’s odd. “I’m not sure I can refuse a customer without reason. But I doubt she’d come in again since the flowers couldn’t be delivered anyways.” 

“Oh, but she got her card to me and that was enough. You see, I’ve been ignoring all of her letters and her visits so I’m guessing this was her next idea to try and contact me.” Jaime explained. 

“Oh,” was all Brienne could say. 

“Yes, well, she’s persistent. But I am, too. And I will not be contacting her any time soon. You’ve met her, so I assume you can understand at least partly why.” 

“Yes,” Brienne answered immediately, then blushed, realizing she shouldn’t have admitted that about a customer. She heard Jaime laugh. He had a nice laugh. 

“Try being related to her.” Jaime sighed, though his voice still held his laughter. “On second thought, don’t- she’s the one who put me in here.���

“What do you mean?” Brienne couldn’t help asking. Then she backtracked, “I- um, Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I should go.” 

“No, wait!” Jaime said hurriedly. After a pause he added, “You still there, Brienne?” 

“Yes,” Brienne answered, trying not to think about the way her name sounded from his voice. 

“Good,” Jaime’s voice was light, “I only have a certain number of calls I can make a week.” He continued, “It’s a long story, how I got here. But my family, our company, has been involved in a number of… shady business deals, and when it came to placing blame, they chose me. My sister was the one in particular that threw me under the bus. I’m not saying I’m innocent, but it wasn’t just me, wasn’t my choice, what all happened. My time would be a lot less in here if I were only paying for my crimes.” 

“How long are you in there?” Brienne couldn’t help but ask. She wondered why Jaime was willing to tell her as much as he already had. 

“A year.” Jaime answered. “I suppose that’s not that long, all things considered.” 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne felt bad for Jaime, though she wasn’t sure why. 

Jaime’s voice seemed more worn when he answered, “It is what it is.” 

“Thanks for telling me,” Brienne said, not wanting to hear the sadness in his voice. She continued, “It was a bit strange, interacting with your sister today. I suppose this gives me some clarity on it all.” 

Jaime’s voice was warmer, “Thanks for not hanging up, and for listening.” The two stayed on the line for half a minute or so longer, though neither of them said anything. Eventually, Brienne cleared her throat, and Jaime sighed. “Well, I suppose I better go.” 

“Alright,” Brienne said, slightly dazed by it all. “Bye, Jaime.” 

“Bye, Brienne.” 

Brienne wondered after that day and into the next week if Cersei would come back, trying to send another arrangement just to get another message to Jaime. But she never came back. Brienne still wondered about it all, though she tried to stop herself form thinking about it as much as she could. One night she caved, and googled Jaime and Cersei Lanniste. She found that everything he said was true; Jaime Lannister was being indicted for embezzelment. While the whole company was initially under investigation, an anonymous,employee presumably Cersei, tipped the detectives off that it was all caused by Jaime. There was speculation about the other members of the family in various articles Brienne read, but the investigation seemed to have stopped once Jaime was arrested. 

One morning, as Brienne was watering that same arrangement that Pod had brought back, which now resided on the windowsill of the shop window, Brienne got a call. “Sapphire Isle Arrangements, this is Brienne speaking.” 

“An inmate at the Westerosi Prison is attempting to call you, will you accept this call?” 

“Yes.” Brienne answered, sucking in a breath. The line clicked over and she said, “Hello?” 

“Hello,” Jaime’s voice responded, “is this Sapphire Isle Arrangements?” His tone was playful. 

Brienne bit back a smile, “Yes, it is. What can we do for you?” 

“Well, I’d like to send some flowers to someone.” 

Brienne’s heart dropped. Suddenly realizing that he wasn’t calling for her specifically. she felt ridiculous for even thinking that for a moment. “Ok,” she responded. 

“Great, well, they’re for a woman who works at your shop named Brienne, maybe you can help me figure out what kind of flowers to get her?” 

Brienne couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips, “I suppose. Did you have something in mind? You have to be careful, though, flowers can have lots of hidden meanings.”

“I’d love to hear about them,” Jaime answered, “It has to be the perfect arrangement.” And by the end of the call, for the first time in her life, Brienne had learned just what flowers someone intended to send her, and the meanings that went along with them. 

…

Well that’s that! I hope it was alright! 

Please feel free to request trope mashups for me to write, or even just random prompts :) I really enjoyed developing and writing this story. 

#braime

[fall-lightning]

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP: 7 & 98

Thanks for the ask! This was fun to write! This may be a little confusing, so I’m going to make a separate post explaining it. I might continue this? Let me know if y’all think I should.

(Cursed and florist)

The creaking of his joints was constant. The stiffness that came every morning when it almost felt like every change that had been forced upon him was happening at once all over again was commonplace, something he hardly batted an eye at. The way sometimes his limbs would be hard as oak and soften up to the normal muscles and tendons he was used to a moment later, making Gon question his sanity too many times. After the curse, they were all normal parts of his life. Things he expected everyday. All of that changed when he met Killua.

Working as a florist was a good way for Gon to both push back the effects of the curse and feel slightly more at peace. Ever since the incident that had cursed him in the first place, he hadn’t been okay. He could laugh it off with his friends, and sure, he had fun but… there was always something just under the surface, a feeling that he was on the edge of a cliff and just a hair away from tipping off the edge. Being surrounded by the bright colors, the fresh and sweet smells of the various kinds of flowers, and even the sounds of the wind blowing through them, were all some of the only things that could keep him grounded. The fact that he could give himself and his unselfish care to the plants was also a bonus, pushing back the curse as much as possible.

Day 1:

Gon smiled as he walked through the garden, snipping the fully-bloomed roses as he went. The florists’ shop was open, but it was too early for many visitors to be coming. Add in that today was also not near any holidays and it pretty much guaranteed that the store wouldn’t have customers for a little bit. Just as Gon was snipping the stem of another one of his precious roses, however, he heard the quiet pinging of the bell above the door, announcing the arrival of a customer.

Gon stood up, swiping his hands together to get some of the stray dirt off of his hands. Huh, weird that there’s a customer at- he checked the time- 8:30 in the morning.

“Hey, what can I do for you!” He said as he passed through the door that separated his courtyard-style garden from the main part of the store, even before he could see the customer. When his eyes landed on the man standing there, he had to fight very hard not to lose his composure. Gon had had some attractive customers, but this guy really took the cake. His features were elegant and he stood proudly, both of which gave him the appearance of a prince. When Gon spoke, the man turned toward him, turning the full force of his slightly intimidating gaze onto him. His frosty eyes were piercing, but they didn’t seem malevolent, persay. Just on edge. Some say that eyes are the window to the soul and for the first time looking into this mans eyes, Gon could fully feel the truth behind that statement.

“Yeah. You work here?” The customer replied, voice barely tinged with suspicion.

“I own this store, actually. What were you looking for today?” He replied, deciding to brush off the fact that the other had asked such a strange question. Of course Gon worked here, he was covered in dirt and he just asked how he could help!

“I wanted flowers. It’s for someone close to me, she had a special event recently.” He shifted his eyes around the store, leaning from foot to foot. He was a mystery, and it made Gon want to crack it. The someone close to him was probably a girlfriend. Oh well, it wasn’t like Gon was actually going to make a move. He hadn’t been very into dating since- the accident. Ironic, considering that was exactly what he needed for a cure.

“Do you want any specific types of flowers, or did you have colors in mind? Or maybe you want me to choose?” Gon replied, secretly hoping the other didn’t have a specific flower in mind. Picking out and arranging the flowers was one of Gons favorite parts of the job, asides from tending for the flowers.

“Er- I hadn’t really thought of any of that.” The other man looked to the side, pointedly ignoring Gon. Gon had to fight to keep in a laugh. Geez, from regal and princely to completely embarrassed. (From beautiful to adorable, Gon couldn’t stop his brain from thinking.)

“That’s fine! Maybe you can look at samples for bouquets we have, or think of her favorite flowers? I can arrange some flowers in colors she would like, but it might take a little longer.

“Well, she likes pink. A lot.” The man snorted, smiling fondly. “And blue. And maybe… white? I can wait a little, too, that’s fine with me. I’ll just chill in the corner of the room.” He was already starting to edge towards the couch near the window.

“Okay! I’ll be about thirty minutes to an hour.” Gon turned around to get started and barely caught the other waving his hand generally in his direction as if in confirmation.

Exactly thirty-four minutes later the flowers were given, the money was handed over, and the other man left. Only when he was gone did Gon realize; Oh, I never got his name.

Day 14:

(Two weeks later)

It was another two weeks before Gon saw him again. A shorter time than he had thought, though he hadn’t expected that they would ever see each other again.

When the silver-haired man stepped into the shop for the second time, he was just as beautiful as Gon had remembered. Eyes still looking around critically, just like the last time, but they were a little softer. No longer quite… suspicious and more just what looked like a habitual sweep of his surroundings.

“Oh, hey.” Gon said as he leaned forward onto the front counter. He knew he was grinning foolishly right now but he didn’t really care. “Back so soon?” He spoke like they were friends and not just two strangers who met two weeks ago during an exchange of flowers. The other didn’t seem to mind, just snorting air out of his nose quietly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He meandered over to a yellow flower to lean in and smell it. Gon burst out into laughter as the other gagged and leaned back, coughing. “What the hell is that?”

“(Smelly flower name).”

“That sounds as disgusting as it smells, great.” The customer rolled his eyes, but his lips were twitched up at the side just barely.

“What’s your name?” Gon blurted out, hardly thinking about how far off topic the question was.

“Killua. And you’re Gon.” The stranger- Killua- said. Hold on- how did Killua know his- “Nametag.” What? The confusion must have shown on Gons face, because Killua quirked an eyebrow and smiled with way too much amusement. “You looked confused. You have a nametag. It says your name.” He explained as if he were talking to a child, which with the amounts of thinking skills Gon was showing right now, wasn’t that offensive.

“Oh, right. I… guess I forgot.” He brought up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Killua just let out a quiet hum of acknowledgement before growing back to walking around the store. “Are you looking for anything specific?” Gon asked tentatively, peeking around a large leafy green plant situated in between himself and his only customer.

“Do you know anything about flower languages?” Killua glanced up from the fuschia plant he was currently admiring, seemingly ignoring Gons inquiry.

“Well, I am a florist so I would hope so.” Gon snorted. Killua looked embarrassed for the first time since Gon had met him, ears turning pink as he turned away from Gon pointedly, pretending to be very interested in a nearby flower arrangement.

“Uh, right. Um, do you know of flowers that mean pride, uh, love, and acceptance? Preferably in pink, white, and blue.” He looked up at the ceiling as if in deep thought and Gon took the opportunity to admire his gorgeous facial features. (Jawlines that sharp were bad for Gons health.)

Gon thought for a second. Flower, flower, and… flower. Beautiful and got the point across.

“Alright, I can definitely do that. You want to wait in here or do you want me to call or text you when it’s ready?” Gon offered, which was… different from how he normally dealt with customers, but he kind of wanted Killuas number.

“I have to do something, so you can text me. I’ll pick it up as soon as I can. Do you have a pen for me to write my number?” Score. Now Gon had Killuas money and his phone number, all he really wanted from a person.

Killua wrote down his number and left the shop, waving a lazy goodbye to Gon, before beginning to practically run down the sidewalk. Gon stood behind the counter for a second more, looking at Killuas phone number (he was a little too attached to a taken person) and eventually began to head to the back to collect the flowers he would need.

Forty-five frustrating minutes of trying to arrange the flowers perfectly later, Gon was finally satisfied, and he brought out his phone to text Killua. Before he could even type out a “hi” his hand seized up and sent Gon into agony. He glared down at the offending hand to see the hand nearly completely turned to a wood of some kind, he would guess oak. Gon hardly noticed the phone slip from his grasp until it landed on the floor, thudding dully. Gon tried to flex his hand, to curl it into a fist, to move his wrist, do to anything, but he found his hand unable to move.

What felt like minutes but was more likely about thirty seconds later, his hand began to be able to move and the wood softened into flesh and muscle. With the pain gone, Gon could think straight. The curse. It was getting worse. He probably only had a year left before he turned completely into oak.

With shaky fingers, Gon reached down and picked his phone off the ground, cautiously inspecting it for damage. After deeming it uninjured he opened it up and started to continue his text to Killua. It’s okay. He was going to be fine. He just had to go water the flowers out back and he would be fine. He had time.

Hey, this is Gon, the florist. Your floral arrangement is ready for pick up.

That sounds way too formal. Gon thought, and considered for a moment before adding a smiley face emoji. There. Professional but not threateningly so. He didn’t hesitate in hitting send.

It didn’t take Killua very long to get there, arriving ten minutes after the text was sent. Gon choked in a gasp when he saw the newest addition, a piercing in each ear. He had simple black studs in, but they stood out shockingly against the red ear.

“Here. Flowers. For you. That you ordered.” Go stuttered out in an uncharacteristic moment of shyness.

“Thanks.” Killua took the bouquet with a smile and brought the flowers to his nose to smell. It was a small move, but it was so cute. How could someone look so good doing something so normal?

“I like your piercing.” Gon said, gesturing at Killuas ears. Killuas eyes brightened.

“Thanks! I’ve been wanting one for a while, it will really annoy my parents. Or make them happier. Either one I’m fine with.” He shrugged. Gon grinned, heart feeling light. Killua turned to leave and Gons smile started to dip. Killua stopped abruptly and half turned towards Gon. “You have my number so, uh, you can text me sometime. If you want.” He pointedly didn’t look at Gon after the statement was out of his mouth and he turned towards the door, practically sprinting out.

Gon hadn’t felt this light, this happy, since the curse had been forced upon him. It gave him a feeling of hope. Maybe… maybe Killua was special. Maybe he could be the key to breaking the curse.

#killugon #killua #gon #florist au #curse au #answered #my writing

[cavitymagazine]

Haptic Narratives: The Absurdly R EA L Artifacts of Dale Brett / / / [part 2]

[D]: Lately though, most of my influence has come from other forms of media opposed to writing. I have found the more I write, the less I read – at least long form. Music, animated series/films - both Japanese anime and stuff like Adult Swim and internet culture - all of these things come through in my work.

[W]: Music.

[D]: Definitely music. I often try to write with a type of musical style I enjoy in mind. This is, believe it or not, one of the reasons I decided to re-commence writing fiction. I was sick and tired of googling combinations of "vaporwave + fiction + dream" or "shoegaze + literature + drugs" to try and find works that fit a certain aesthetic that did not exist. So why not create them myself? For instance, ambient and to a lesser extent dreampunk, would be the genres I was trying to build on in Faceless in Nippon. With Ultraviolet Torus it is no secret that it is my shoegaze project. As you know with our mall collaboration [cloud mall and maze/mall], this will be vaporwave-heavy in aesthetic and theme. I think these musical styles also take me right back to the original interests that I have garnered from literature: how to feel and express oneself in light of the consumerist dream, how to find meaning in the face of a constant blurring reality. I want to produce words that create a sensory experience. Words to touch your skin, words to make you see refracted colours, words to make you realise life sucks but it's all okay.

[W]: Aesthetics are important to me as well. The depth of the surface. The synthetic, simulacra. I suspect any "honest" portrayal of our day-to-day life, even a so-called "realist" presentation, would be sci-fi, at least in part. The kitchen-sink realism of today would include game realities and all sorts of "tropes" – or what one used to call tropes – of sci-fi. DeLillo’s White Noise is a big work for me, related to some of the consumerist themes. The three layers you refer to are impressive – you've put a lot of thought into where your work comes from, what it's shaped by. I've never thought in those terms really. Although "Pessoan cyberpunk nihilism" as a blurb would have me buying whatever that book is. Abe's The Box Man - I read that in I think 2015 or so. I see Abe's tone in some of your prose. That is a hard tone to tap. It's soft and dislocated. Requires a gentle hand, and a kind of amorphous thought process. In recent years I've taken influence more from video games and commercials and music than anything textual. I assumed your influences now were primarily visual. Graphic novels, anime, bad TV movies - I cull more from kitsch than I do from literature now. Would you tell me a bit about your time in Japan? And how would you describe Faceless in Nippon to a reader who knows literally nothing about it?

[W]: I relate very hard to your not being able to google, say, "vaporwave + dream + fiction" and get a hit. You had to create your hits. I feel the same way. It's like I want "Borges + USA Up All Night" or something similarly niche and not-quite-available-elsewhere. The established subgenres you mention, like dreampunk, are still these largely unexplored parks of the mind. There aren't a whole lot of titles. Do you view Faceless in Nippon as your first book and Ultraviolet Torus as a sophomore effort?

[W]: One aspect of your work that struck me right away is its sensory nature, and its desire to make complex emotions like melancholy or lostness more tangible or tactile.

[Ed.:  racetams with caffeine are ingested.]

[D]: I really like your description – “the depth of the surface.” This really fits what I’m trying to achieve with writing. I try to attain a certain sensory experience with abstract imagery, but endeavor to maintain a somewhat conventional narrative or “everyday” story underneath. For instance, Faceless in Nippon was always meant to mimic the feeling of floating in/on water, gently bobbing through society’s ambient capitalist waters attempting to find a purpose. This incorporeal imagery juxtaposed with the more straightforward vignette format and story arc of a young western male living abroad. With Ultraviolet Torus, the prose and format are more unconventional – it was designed to mimic gemstone/mineral structure and shoegaze music, with the narrative underpinning the imagery taking the form of the rise and fall of a standard relationship. I agree that even a “realist” presentation is somewhat sci-fi these days – it is unavoidable. Our friend, contemporary, and collaborator James Krendel-Clark and I have often spoken about how the only thing left for sci-fi is this almost meta-sci-fi angle, where all the tropes have become so cliché and ingrained that really any attempt at sincere “world building” is futile. It’s better to experiment in syntax and delve into what another contemporary of ours, Nick Greer, likes to call “hyper-genre”. Use the tropes, but explore them linguistically, see what they do for the reader sensorily, opposed to using them as the building blocks to create another mundane genre narrative. I have certainly done that in shorter form through the Concentric Circuits: CODA stuff on Surfaces. I think my sci-fi influence comes through in both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus, certainly in the way that I frame the setting or landscape as a character almost, similar to how Ballard and Gibson craft their prose. I have had a lot of time to think about the aforementioned literary influences. I am slightly OCD too, so I often create these massive lists and Venn diagrams and shit of artists/works with certain styles and aesthetics that overlap. I do like to think of myself as a modern-day Walter Benjamin in the way I compile notes and lists and memories that form the basis of my artistic and existential exploration. I think Benjamin would have had a hell of a time with the notes app of a smart phone.

[D]: Regarding Kobo Abe, you are correct, certainly not an easy tone to master, and one that I definitely have not. My writing is not as sound as a master like Abe, which I think is why I subconsciously fall back on the sci-fi landscape syntax/prose mentioned above and the more colloquial twenty-first century alt-lit style to strive forward in my work. I am still developing though, and hopefully, opposed to just replicating Abe’s tone, one day I will be in a position where people are speaking about a tone entirely of my own that others will use as an influence. Abe is also a good segue into other forms of media that influence written work, as he has often been an inspiration to artist’s in the visual field such as filmmakers and video game creators. It is no secret that he is Hideo Kojima’s favorite author.

[D]: Since re-commencing my fiction-writing, which was at the beginning of 2019, you are accurate in your inference that I have primarily relied on other forms of media to influence my work. I have barely read any novels at all in the last couple of years comparative to the previous decade of reading. I garner much more from music, anime, and internet culture these days. I am glad you brought up the influence of commercials – I think we certainly share an avid interest in exploring the consumerist sphere and its effects on art and society. There are a number of important moments in Faceless in Nippon dealing with commercials, products, stores and their underrated aura. Hell, I even created fictional beverages and advertisements for the book.

[D]: My time in Japan was an incredibly formative experience for me. I really only returned to my home country, Australia, when my wife became pregnant. Otherwise I would probably still be there, cruising around upper-class malls, lower-class malls, drinking massive cans of Asahi on the train, staring at LED signs from concrete overpasses at night interminably. I certainly still yearn for my time there. I did go back to visit friends recently and it was a strange experience, like I could not re-create the feelings of my time there in the past no matter how hard I strived. It became apparent that my yearnings were purely for a time in my life while stationed there, opposed to the setting itself.

[D]: I would describe Faceless in Nippon as a meditative, aqueous travelogue on what it means to exist as a middle-class person in the twenty first century, the entirety of which is set in urban Japan.

[D]: I really admire artists that have an unmistakable aesthetic stamp on their work. Auteurship, if you will. For what it’s worth, I think you are one of the few that has a singular, univocal voice in the online “outsider” lit community or whatever you want to call it. I would like to think mine is the same. That people will read it and go, “Oh fuck, that’s Dale alright.” I have been told before that my work reads like MDMA. I am exceedingly happy with that comparison. I would be pleased if that was how I was known as an artist after my “career” or whatever you want to call it is over. Basically, I want to create things that are uniquely my own, things that have not been attempted before. Another reason I think that you and I gel well together as creatives is that despite our many differences in aesthetics, we are enamored by the depth of so-called low culture and continually mash it together with the supposed “high culture” of literature. 

The "Borges + USA Up All Night" example illustrates this perfectly.

[D]: Both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus will be available at similar times. However, there is no doubt that Faceless is my first book. It is the first thing I started working on when I didn’t know it was going to be what it became. Torus was a more experimental foray into the literary field. I compiled Torus, an exploration of gemstone and dream imagery, between drafts of Faceless. I was particularly taken by crystals, shoegaze, and giddiness over my interactions with some beautiful people on the internet at the time. It proved to be a fruitful break from Faceless rewrites, as not only did I let the novel marinate and become better before publishing it, I also gave birth to another creative treasure.

[D]: Making emotive words tactile, rendering the textually intangible tangible. This is something I want to see extended even further as we continue collaborating on our mall project. I want to delicately wrench the phaser knob on these effects and really see where we can go with our adventures in the literary sensorium.

[W]: I remember you saying you wanted Faceless in Nippon to "feel like floating in water." It made me think of a novel as a kind of sensory deprivation tank, the floating and the effects. Did you think of Ultraviolet Torus as a gem, in the abstract, or was the structuring of it more precisely gemlike? James [Krendel-Clark] and I wrote the rough draft of this Blanchot-bodyhorror, broken-videogame-reality novel called Cenotaph, and much of it deals with irrational spaces and Phildickian pulp. As far as sci-fi goes, the more subjective my take, the more "sci-fi" it seems to become. Just last night I drifted between three realities - one in which I was an unemployed writer living under Covid-19, one in which I destroyed an organic ship/braincraft with a cyber-tank, and another where I trained as a druid mage in a treacherous cursed desert. Of course these last two were games and that doesn't even entail any other branching realities that came about as well with regard to books, narratives, televisual influences, lies we tell ourselves, 5G brain-attacking waves, et al. It's late and I'm stoned and tired but yeah. Nick Greer is a fascinating individual. I didn't know you knew him. We spoke about set theory once. Gödel. I read very little, yeah. Or I should say I don't sit and read a physical book as often as I used to. I read rigorously for a good 20 years. If I'm awake enough to read, I usually would want to spend that time writing, or perhaps gaming. Or dreaming. All of these beats - the fictional beverages and ads and playing metafictionally with products and whatnot - I kind of live for that shit. I do that more and more. And it's not even a critique or any kind of satire of it for me - like the low-rez haze of 1-900 commercials was a fuzzy heaven in a box for me as a kid. The K-Mart cafeteria did possess a unique and strange power. I think we're kind of on the same page here as far as we share a kind of reverence for the artificial, the things rendered meaningless through mass production, and other similar slippery intangibles. There is a wonder here that sets it apart from, say, a satirical/scathing view of consumerist life. God, yeah, your experience in Japan. I think I've experienced similar stuff. I remember a time in 2000 when Boca Raton, Florida, was kind of magical for me. I went there a few years back; it's just any place now. Such a strange thing. And sad too. This is the only kind of interview I'd conduct, one with a writer whose work I think truly good. You might've remarked upon the melancholic allure of vending machines coding out at night. Or something similar. It's that sort of sentiment I recognized straightaway as what I consider tuned-in to a cryptic aesthetic I love. I was relieved to discover your wordcraft was honed – that's usually the big problem for me liking someone's work. One of the big draws for me about your work is the stuff you're able to do that I really dig but am not really suited to pull off myself, such as the MDMA vibe, or the ennui mixed with light, hope, etc. There are a dozen or so singular voices around in the online outsider-lit community/whatever, voices I'd consider distinctive: you, Clark, Elytron Frass, Durban Moffer – a few others.

[W]: Your themes I would say demand nuance and control. We've talked about how our mall project is slow-going because it seems very painstaking, almost like etching or surgery or something. Introspective, in any case. Although I just sort of dismissed reading a second ago, I do believe that a unique body of work is made unique by a dizzying variety of blendered influences. I had that 15-year stretch in the suffering cubes to read pretty much constantly, and haphazardly, as far as selection, in a lot of ways, so my influence map is like really fucking bizarre and extensive, which I think makes my stuff appear unique, when all that is unique about it probably is my little perspective or whatever subjectivity is injected into this array of eclectic influences.

[keen2meecha]

I don't want to be "that guy," but your WIP Gifted has the same exact premise and plot as My Hero Academia.

Hi! Thanks for stopping by, “not that guy”!

In all seriousness, I want to be very clear: I’m going to believe that you’re saying this with good intentions, and thus am going to give an in-depth response to humor you. But I will only do this once - future asks of this nature will either be deleted or gently put down depending on my mood.

Okay. So, it’s definitely not inaccurate to say that gifted has a similar premise to MHA. I’ve been very open that it was the initial inspiration. That being said, there’s a major difference between the two: in the anime (I haven’t read the manga, but same thing) Midoriya gets a Quirk. In gifted, Sofia never gets a Gift. That is the one thing that has not changed and will never change. Sofia Smith will never, ever have a Gift. To let her have one would be to dishonor the spirit of the series, because I’m looking to tell a different story than the one Horikoshi is telling. Also, MHA hardly has the monopoly on ‘Superhero Schools’ - just look at the TV Tropes Page for it - nor is training to be a hero as a job - here’s the TV Tropes Page for that one. I just sort of… mashed those two together. So, to say the premise is “the exact same” is fundamentally flawed.

There’s more under the cut, about plot (no spoilers!) and worldbuilding differences. I fully expect anon to read it all, since they asked, but I’m not going to force everyone else to look at it.

Now, onto plot! I would honestly like to see your evidence for that, because I didn’t think I had shared too much about the actual plot. What did I forget that I posted? (No, seriously, my memory is terrible please tell me) But I’m more than happy to talk about it! I won’t here, because I don’t want to go on too long. But let’s do some broad overview.

For one thing, MHA takes place in Japan, while gifted takes place in America. This leads to several cultural and timeline differences. For example: MHA takes place over the course of Japan’s typical 3 term system. Falks, on the other hand, follows the two terms, and the various parts of the plotline are broken up by summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring break - a lot like Harry Potter. Midoriya and Sofia both aren’t in contact with their fathers - except while Midoriya only has his mother and the plot doesn’t really center around that, Sofia has her mother and also several aunts, multiple cousins, and there’s an entire subplot that’s heavily prevalent in the second book onwards revolving around her family. MHA has the whole AFO vs. All Might thing; gifted doesn’t have anything like that. Heroes in MHA arose naturally (as far as I’ve been able to tell) and the difference between them and the police is that police don’t have a license to use their Quirks in public, while heroes do. Heroes in gifted arose in a direct response to the police failing to protect minorities in key civil rights eras; the police can and do use their Gifts, but they focus on your basic criminals whereas Heroes have jurisdiction over Villains.

Hell, even Gifts vs, Quirks are pretty much as different as I can make them on, like, a fundamental level. Quirks developed in recent history; Gifts have been around for a long while - at least since Jesus’ time. This causes an extreme distinction in the worldbuilding between the two. For example, because of how recent of a development they are, using Quirks in public is illegal. This leads to major conflict in the show because it makes it harder for Midoriya and his friends to act when there’s danger due to potential consequences until they get their licenses. There are no such rules for Gifts, because they’re so deeply interwoven in the culture - and we see a lot of that, because Sofia being Ungifted makes her an outsider, and she takes the liberty of pointing it all out as frequently as she can without dragging down the story. Also, Quirks are pretty hand-wavey in terms of physics and mechanics - they work more by RPG-type rules, really. Gifts, on the other hand - my buddy, my dude, I’ve done so much research to make them scientifically plausible. I’ve discovered how to feasibly make light solid. I’ve done the math to figure out how many photons it would take to make an object the size of a blade of grass. I’ve read about quantum physics. I read the arsonists cookbook and got myself onto several watchlists in the process. There’s an entire concept of ‘the Ungifted Laws of Physics’ because a lot of the mechanics of Gifts are so looked-into and understood.

And, had you bothered to ask, I would acknowledge that there are some things that are super similar! Just look at Kruze vs. Bakugo! They’re both boys with short tempers, a lot of anger towards the mc that eventually goes from extreme to less so, and they both have superpowers that allow them to control explosions! Except Kruze’s dad is an asshole who is no longer in the picture, his mom is loud but not physical with him, Kruze and Sofia were actually best friends as children until Kruze [REDACTED FOR PLOT REASONS] instead of weird worshipper-worshipped (don’t get me wrong, it works for MHA - it would just be wrong in gifted for so many reasons), Kruze apologizes to Sofia and explicitly works on his issues, and Sofia’s just as angry and rude to Kruze as he is to her. “But what about their superpowers!” I hear you cry. Well, “not that guy”, had you asked, I would’ve explained that Bakugo sweats nitroglycerin - like, constantly? That boy is in a lot of danger constantly. Kruze on the other hand has the ability to activate his Gift, which releases azide through his palms. The azide mixes with and is diluted with his sweat - if he’s sweating from stress - which he usually is - it creates chlorine azide, which is a highly unstable explosive. If it’s heat sweat, it creates sodium azide, which is explosive but also heavily toxic. He has had to take and occasionally continues to take extreme measures to protect generally society from this kind of stuff. And he’s HOH. Oh, and he’s Jewish, for whatever that’s worth.

That’s not even getting into the major differences between the antagonists, from their gender to their motivations! But that would be too spoilery, so I won’t get into it now.

And finally, anon, Batman (and the Batfam) is my favorite DC superhero, and Iron Man is my favorite Marvel hero, since I was a kid. I’ve always loved superheroes without powers, and that’s really what inspired me to write this. 

Oh, and also there’s no Mineta in gifted.

#me! #gifted answers #i hope this answered your question anon (: #no but really pinpointing all of the differences was both reassuring and cathartic #let's do it again sometime #oh and sorry for the #long post #i just wanted to try and nip it in the bud now #'superhero' is the least original genre #and people have been doing what i'm doing for decades #*cough* sky high *cough* #but i suppose that doesn't matter #okay it's twenty minutes past my bedtime goodnight!

[drfitzmonster]

53 and 6 for the fanfic mash-up tropes?

mutual pining + bookshop au

kara owns a used bookstore and the apartment above it, where she lives with her cat streaky. lena comes into the bookstore one day looking for a rare first edition of a book her birth mother read to her when she was young. she’s been looking for a copy of it for years with no luck, she is desperate for it, will pay any price. 

kara doesn’t have it, but promises to keep an eye out for it. she shows lena around the store, introduces her to her cat, chats with her a little bit. lena leaves with stack of books. 

after that lena starts making regular appearances. she always has a list of books she’s looking for, and goes out of her way to have books ordered through the store, even when they are readily available for cheaper online.

each subsequent time lena comes to kara’s store she lingers a little bit longer. their talks begin to meander from books to other topics and then into their personal lives. 

as time passes their mutual unspoken attraction grows stronger, each craving the other’s company in secret, lying awake at night imagining what it would be like if they were together.

one day lena comes into the store to find kara with another woman. they are leaned in close to each other, talking quietly. lena is sure the woman is kara’s girlfriend, and her stomach sinks. she never really thought she had a chance with kara, but seeing her with someone else still hurts her.

she tries to leave before kara sees her but the bells hanging from the knob of the shop door betray her. kara smiles when she sees lena and a pang of sadness lances through lena’s chest.

kara waves her over and even though the last thing on earth she wants to do is meet the girlfriend of the woman she’s been pining for lena goes. kara seems so happy and excited to introduce them and that hurts even more.

“this is alex,” kara says

lena gives her a weak handshake and a half-hearted smile, makes some excuse and flees the bookstore. she starts crying before she’s even out the door, stays crying until she gets home and downs a tumbler of scotch.

she stops going to the bookstore after that. she passes by it almost every day but cannot force herself to go inside. a week passes, a month, then two, but the ache in her chest does not subside.

then she gets a voicemail message from kara. she’s found a copy of the book lena’s been looking for. lena is at once elated and heartbroken. she can’t not go and get it, but she knows it’s going to hurt.

she finally works up the courage a week after kara’s phone call. she enters the bookstore with a knot of dread in her stomach. the transaction is quick, stiff, emotionless, both of them holding all their feelings back. kara sticks the receipt in the book, hands it over for lena to take. their fingers do not touch.

lena doesn’t stop to look at the book until she gets back to her apartment. she slams the door, leans back against it with a thud, lets herself sink to the floor. she runs her fingers over the cover, along the spine then opens it. 

the receipt flutters to the ground and lena picks it up with a sigh, which is when she sees the note written on it.

alex is my sister. you ran off before i could explain.

have dinner with me?

xoxo, kara

lena reads the note four times before it finally sinks in. but as soon as it does she springs into action. she rushes over to the bookstore, stopping on the way to pick up chinese food from the restaurant she remembers kara saying is her favorite.

she arrives at the store to find it closed, so she goes around to the back of the building to the door of kara’s apartment, ascending the stairs two at a time. when she reaches the top she catches her breath and knocks on the door.

when kara opens it lena holds up the chinese food and asks, “is now ok?”

#supercorp #fic trope mashup game

[bigskydreaming]

Thanks to a friend I got my grubby little hands on a copy of the new New Mutants first issue first thing this morning, and I mostly really liked it? Maybe the most out of all the new Dawn of X titles so far?

Spoilers below:

The Bad:

Really really really painful clunky wow this is bad stilted exposition between Dani and Berto to catch new readers up to speed, like Previously on As The X Turns or whatever.

The Good:

Almost everything else? I know, I was surprised too.

But the characterizations were on point, Chamber and Mondo being tossed in with the rest of the classic New Mutants gang is kinda random but it works, I think.

The shout out to Synch and Monet being elsewhere doing stuff was nice, like, I would’ve loved seeing them too but its not really their book and I’m still riding the high of Ev just being alive again at all.

The New Mutants gang all living communally together in one big house on Krakoa IS MY EVERYTHING AND LITERALLY ALL I’VE EVER WANTED FOR THESE CRAZY KIDS I THINK IM GONNA CRY JUST THINKING ABOUT IT WTF. Like as many troubling implications as Dawn of X and Krakoa as a whole have, at least until I figure out how many of them are meant to be there as plot points and how many are just things that weren’t considered or else weren’t considered problems.....like, if Hickman keeps tossing out little gems like this, I am weak and I just. Its such a little thing but its SO GOOD.

Illyana being obsessed with the new Krakoan strain of coffee and willing to cut you if you try and touch her coffee is my new favorite trope.

Just Illyana in general. God, when she’s written like this, she’s one of my all time faves. Her replying to being called a demon girl with stuff like “lol its cute you think thats an insult” and her sparring match with Raza is just...gold.

Berto was my runner up fave in the issue. God, the classic Berto characterization, like this is him at his quintessential best. The casual arrogance but delivered with enough charm that its like oh Berto, instead of ugh, Berto....the assumption that he’s the one in charge in Sam’s absence, yet not even slightly offended when its later basically established that the others are just humoring him because none of them really want the job, and the second he makes an ‘executive decision’ they don’t agree with, they just go and do their own thing anyway, and Berto’s like....yeah, that tracks. Oh well.

Doug is the most interesting he’s been in...since like, ever, pretty much. And that’s even with the fact that I’ve always kinda liked him anyway.

The classic New Mutants style adventure. Like, this is the kinda thing they DID as kids, and that was like....what made them them. The X-Men are all about saving the world....the New Mutants were just a bunch of weird outcast mutant kids who were friends who never would have been friends if not for the mutant thing bringing them all together....and them just hanging out and stumbling into hijinks that turn into the most random adventures as just...them living their lives.

So to see them basically get involved in an epic space adventure that really just organically results from them being like, y’know what we’re missing? Sam. This place is awesome but its not perfect as long as he’s not here, and he’s off in Shi’ar space living with his new wife and kid, so obviously, the logical course of action is to go into space, bum a ride from Cyclops’ pirate dad, and then wind up arrested for crimes against the Space Empire because like...pirates, man. Effin space pirates.

Also, its nice to see them continuing with the whole thing where Sam totally got together and had a kid with one of the Shi’ar Imperial Guard. Like, every appearance of him since Hickman’s Avengers run basically acted like that never happened, and I didn’t read his Avengers run because eww, Avengers, I can’t do that even for Sam and Berto and I LOVE THEM, like. There are limits to even my ability to stan and thus stomach Unfortunate Canon Things. So I’ve literally never read a comic with Smasher, Sam’s new....girlfriend? Wife? Idk their relationship status. And I’m not at all invested in their relationship but I AM always a fan for any and all chances for X-characters to be allowed to have new relationships and GROW instead of cycling through the same half a dozen dynamics they’ve been stuck in for twenty plus years. 

So, I mean, I know that literally the only thing keeping Sam plus Smasher plus their new baby a thing is the fact that Hickman’s writing this title personally and of course he wanted to return to the plot point he established with Sam even if nobody since him has wanted to touch on it, but I’m not mad about it, and like. X-Men having kids is a THING with me, and Sam is A+ Daddy material and omg if you make that into a kink joke I will hurt you, YOU ALL KNOW WHAT I MEANT lmfao.

But srsly, the team being all ‘brb, we’re just going to a galaxy far far away to bug our BFF into coming back to live on Fantasy Island with us in our big communal dome house thingie’.....it honestly couldn’t feel any more classic New Mutants but still with them all grown up, like, even if I tried to come up with a more fundamentally THEM plot with all my might.

Also, never hurts to be reminded that even though Corsair is Scott’s dad, like....the dude is kinda a douche and always has been, and his characterization here is absolutely valid. Fuck that dude.

Last but not least:

The Bad but purely in an objective way that like, its not bad writing, its just I Don’t Like It, Fuck You:

As much as I’m happy to see Sam’s latest relationship status upheld and continued to be built upon, the Sam/Bobby shipper in me can’t help but be all awww, sad feels. Which Sam/Bobby, you ask? Drake or DaCosta? Either. Both. Whichever. I’m not picky!

I maintain there was room for Ev and Monet to be squeezed in there somehow if Hickman like, really TRIED, gosh darnit. And it IS a little weird to me that if he was going to mash together some members of the Gen X lineup with the classic New Mutants for this particular adventure....umm, where’s Paige? Did nobody think hey wonder if our Gen X teammate and friend Paige Guthrie wants to come with us to go see her brother and new nephew? I mean, I guess maybe she’s busy hanging out with her presumably newly resurrected little brother Jay, but given the story context, that could’ve used a mention somewhere. That’s just my personal nitpick though.

Too much focus on Rahne. With full awareness that it was only like, one scene of focus, a few pages at most, but any focus on Rahne is too much focus for me, sorry not sorry. Turns out I still hate her and like, look, I know its not actually her FAULT given that she’s a fictional character that didn’t write the story that made me hate her, but its a Thing and I think at this point I can safely say her character is ruined for me forever and I’m like....Magma should be around somewhere too, what if you just like....quietly air-lifted Rahne out of this story and dropped Amara in instead, like, INSTANT IMPROVEMENT, try it, you’ll see! I am not biased, this is totally impartial criticism!