#who has that comic about how the world is fucking terrible. and you’re like. making comics. been really feeling it lately

[brother-emperors]

a view from the Tañon strait :) and also my desk, since this is a desk post lmao

Cleopatra 1963 was on TV last night and ohhhhhh my god Richard Burton’s Mark Antony is everything to me for real. I wrote an Antony comic a million years ago, junked it because I don’t care about him, but I’m not immune to Richard Burton’s Antony in love and despair. like, I was frantically writing scenes in my notebook during commercial break, I was on Twitter talking about how much I love this film, etc. unparalleled. show stopping.

in other news, Trikaranos ch 1 should be up sometime this month or at the start of the next! I also have some Italian renaissance comics I want to knock out of my WIP folder. low key kind of thinking of turning the DMBJ au into a little side project for when I get tired of thinking about the implications of Roman coins and taxes or whatever, but I’ll probably attempt that as a combination of rough pencil comics and prose if I do it because it would strictly be For Fun 🤔 we’ll see! there’s some original comic stuff I want to tackle before the end of the year too. augh. the passage of time

#desk posting #who has that comic about how the world is fucking terrible. and you’re like. making comics. been really feeling it lately #like nothing is enough the political leaders of the world are a horrible and on top of everything else. I’m making comics??? #I was taking to a friend about it and it’s like. well. that’s how life goes. the contradicting multitudes of existence #anyway. I’m making suman and then hot chocolate before I get started on work for the day. wahoo. #also! a little peak inside my studies sketchbook! and my beloved Mitsubishi pencil that is rapidly getting shorter lmao #I quit using mechanical pencils last fall and I’m having a blast #no real reason I just prefer the feeling of pencils that require sharpening

[vrisrezis]

Hi! I hope you're having a nice night or day. May I request the bnha class 1-a characters you write for + the types of people they'd hate to be around? Basically just the people they can't stand, whether it's platonically or romantically. Thank you!

(Some manga spoilers in shoji and aoyamas part)

Izuku can stand mean people, if the treatment he received from kacchan for so long is anything to go by. But you’d have to be a special kind of mean, the kinda mean that doesn’t come from a place of some form of mistreatment, or some inferiority complex, or even because you just don’t know any better. He cannot stand people that will just pick on others for the sake of it. In his eyes, kacchan is a good person, even if he was a bit cruel in his younger days. But he hates a person that’s clearly terrible, through and through, and there’s no true reason behind it, you’re just straight up terrible. Like a comic book villain with no character depth, just straight up, no morales, just a terrible human being.

Kacchan can’t stand people he sees as weak. As he grows, his idea of weak changes. Nowadays, he can’t stand somebody who talks big and then cowers when it comes to a fight, or has the audacity to look down on others when they’re as pathetic as a koalas entire fucking existence is. (I fucking hate koalas holy shit.) Hes no stranger to putting up a front for other people, but he’s still real about who he is and he hates anyone that plays pretend for the world. He does not hide behind a facade, even if he can’t be honest about how he feels, even if he has to act tough, he’s not a liar about who he truly is and what his ideals are. He hates somebody that is too ashamed of themselves to be honest about who they truly are. Because to him, that’s fear. And to him, letting fear control you like that, to that point, is weakness.

Shoto can’t stand people that are inconsiderate and selfish. The reason he adores his class so much is because he sees the good in everyone, their kindness, their selflessness, how considerate they are of eachother, even bakugou is in his own way. But somebody that simply doesn’t care for anyone but themselves reminds him all too well about why his family fell apart to begin with, because his father was selfish and far too focused on himself and what he wanted. If you tend to be selfish but show remorse for it, and are trying to be better, he wouldn’t mind you so much. He minds people that are unapologetically selfish and simply don’t care for others. To him, it’s a dangerous trait for anyone to have.

Ejirou hates anyone that isn’t an honest person, compulsive liars annoy him and he can’t stand being around somebody he can’t trust. Ejirou is an honest guy, and is pretty much an open book. So he doesn’t understand how people could ever pride themselves in being fake. It’s completely foreign to him and he’ll never understand. He doesn’t mind small lies, and it’s not like he’s gonna deny lies all together but he can’t trust somebody who consistently lies about things. Important things or even things that don’t matter, if it’s constant he doesn’t like it, simply put.

Denki hates being around people that are overly snobby. He really can’t stand being around overly confident rich kids (bakugou doesn’t count because he isn’t snobby lol). It’s not like he minds his rich friends, he likes em! Maybe he’s a little jealous but that’s all! But he really can’t stand somebody snobby and judge-mental just because people happen to have less than you or whatever the reason may be for your bitchiness. He doesn’t mind somebody that’s bitchy, he deals with bakugou on a everyday basis. However, he does mind somebody that’s bitchy just because they happen to be rich and often brag about the money they have.

Sero cannot stand people that prey on the weak in order to make themselves feel better. How pathetic do you have to be? Honestly, nothing makes him more angry and it’s partially why he wants to be a pro hero so much. He wants to protect others from the likes of people that abuse their power and pick on those in weaker positions. He wants to be a person high in power, but for the good reasons. He would despise bakugou in junior high, but at the same time he is all for people changing and becoming better people. Seeing you first hand be a shit person to the “weak” would seriously piss him off.

Ochako hates people that simply revel in hatred, who enjoy it. She thinks it’s sad, people like that probably don’t have much going for them and don’t have much to enjoy in life if they enjoy hating others and others hating them. While she may sympathize with you she still can’t stand you, and everything it is you stand for. She can’t be around somebody that brings drama everywhere they go and is always itching for a fight, or to hurt other peoples feelings. It’s so attention seeking it’s embarrassing. If she didn’t feel so bad for you, she’d tell you off a lot more.

Mina can’t find it in her to hate most people, but she will say she cannot stand people that are… well… sadistic. Even in a sexual manner and even if it’s a consensual thing she just… hates it. Like way more than the average person. She thinks you’re horrible.. so HORRIBLE for enjoying peoples suffering and while that’s how most people would feel she has a special hatred for people like that and it makes her stomach turn and it makes her feel so unpleasant, even if it’s just bullying and poking fun, if you enjoy doing that so much, for the sake of just seeing somebody cry it sickens her.

Momo can’t stand people with next to no manners. The kinda people that would pick their nose in a public space, those kinda people just disgust her. A lot more petty than everyone else on this list but she was raised a certain way and she just can’t believe that some people aren’t the same? Most people on this list would find it gross but not enough to hate them, but momo finds herself really being unable to be your friend because who does that so openly? She doesn’t even hate bakugou like that, and he’s rude as hell. She doesn’t even mind him that much but even she can get annoyed with some of the conversations she overhears him have. She’s not a snob or anything, she just values politeness a lot.

Jirou can’t stand people that make fun of people for their interests. A personal thing she’s always hated, she used to always get made fun of for wanting to be a pro, whilst having a passion for music. It’s caused her to have some issues with it herself, so she just hates anyone that makes fun of people for enjoying something they love. They’re not doing anything wrong! It’s not a crime to have a hobby. She understands criticisms of different things people enjoy, but shitting on somebody for their interests isn’t rocking at all, in her opinion.

Tsu can’t stand people that don’t listen. If it’s an accident, she can get over it cause she knows it’s not their fault, but if it’s because you clearly don’t care and it’s on purpose it can be upsetting because it’s clear you don’t care about how she feels or what she has to say. This is a pretty standard thing to hate in a person, but she hates it especially. She hates being ignored in general, so this is a bit more than just a pet peeve and she’s not against dropping you rather quickly over it either.

Tokoyami can’t stand people that act kind but secretly are just snobby assholes. The audacity you have to act like you care for others, when in reality you’re simply using them for your own benefit. The audacity you have to act kind, and when somebody realizes it? You act like a victim? Truly annoying. He hates people like that and he’s not one to shy away from calling you out on that shit either. He can never get over it, how can somebody be like that? The hawks situation, with twice really eats him up inside. Somebody he idolized so much, could he really be like that. Could he? Was he just pretending to be a carefree bird, or was he just so carefree he didn’t even care if he murdered a man? Things like this keep him up at night.

Shoji hates people that discriminate against others. Of course, everyone on this list does but naturally he has a special distain for it, as somebody that’s been hurt and discriminated against for his appearance. He will hold a special hatred for you, especially if you’re in UA with him. How could somebody aim to be a hero but be … like that?

Aoyama would hate somebody with villainous traits to them. Perhaps it’s because it reminds him of who he is. That he’s no better than a villain himself. Even if this wasn’t something he desired. He can’t stand being around people that use and abuse others. It just upsets him to his very core.

iida hates people that seek vengeance. It’s obvious why. He hates those that are vengeful, constantly looking for fights, even for the sake of others. It’s even worse if you’re being self righteous about it. It just reminds him of what he thinks is the worst mistake he ever made. He sees himself. He hates it so much it hurts to describe. So he finds himself constantly trying to change you, fix you. He knows it’s wrong though, you are who you are. He just happens to hate who you are.

Ojirou is a chill guy, you’ll find it’s very hard for him to hate people. But he hates people that are just… annoying. You’d have to be a special kinda annoying. The type to be overly two faced and talking shit about everyone you meet. Like a middle schooler. It’s just so tiring and draining to be around somebody so negative and he can’t stand it. But what he hates even more is that he’s acting like what he hates too. Because at the end of the day he acts nice, when he secretly hates your guts.

#ojirou x reader #tokoyami x reader #iida x reader #momo x reader #izuku x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #tsuyu x reader #ochako x y/n #ochako x reader #mina x reader #jirou x reader #shoji x you #shoji x reader #aoyama x reader #sero x you #sero x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari x you #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x reader #shoto todoroki x reader

[goldenqingxin]

here's a little snippet of something im working on (yes i know i havent updated LOB in a month. leave me alone) ☁︎ jercy, au where they kinda remember each other from when they're at the same place, same time. inspired by e106 at 8:28. also, percy swears like a sailor because i said so. ☁︎

“Watch out!” 

“Oh, shit–” 

He’s on the floor and he can’t feel his jaw. His fingers are tingling in a very painful way. He swears up and down he hasn’t had his life flashing before his eyes, but like, he feels like he’s dying. It hurts like hell.

“You okay?” 

The sight that greets him is nothing short of confusing– a tall, blond boy, around his age or maybe younger, with a purple shirt written SPQR on it. He stands in front of him, crouched just enough to shove his calloused hand in his face. (Why in the world is it rough like that? He looks hardly twelve but he has the fingers of a carpenter.) 

“What’s up with the shirt? Are you LARPing?” he asks, not even cursing his lack of filter this time. He’s in a freaky casino with friends who just about forgot they were on a mission to stop World War III. Not that he remembers the details much anyway…

“What’s that?” The boy asks in return. “It’s just a camp shirt.” 

Huh, almost like Camp Half-Blood’s. The leather cord on his neck rubs at the skin there. It’s bound to leave a red mark with how tight it is against his nape. 

He takes the boy’s hand to get back up on his feet. The last thing he expected was that stupidly strong grip and the sliver of a smile on the boy’s face when Percy nearly fell over. His hand starts tingling again. 

“Jason Grace,” the boy tells him cryptically. 

“Percy Jackson,” he answers, because obviously the guy told him his own name. 

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” Jason says. He has this accent, one Percy can’t really place– something between animalistic and terribly Silicon Valley. 

“And you sound like you’re definitely from L.A.” 

He’s not stupid enough to waste his time here, talking to this very pretty guy (where did that come from?) in a very strange casino, with two of his friends gods-know where. Or at least, he thinks that for half a second before–

“What kind of camp makes kids wear something from Ancient Rome?” 

His eyes drop to Jason’s hand on his hip. 

“And what the fuck is with that sword?!”

Jason’s eyes widen, like he’s about to run away. It’s not a good look on him. Percy almost backtracks, or slams his hand against his mouth just to shut himself up for one damn second, but Jason beats him to the chase. 

“You can see the gladius?” 

“Why are you saying it like you actually speak latin?” is what Percy answers with, because oh yeah, I’ve got my own sword too, but it’s named Anaklusmos or I can speak Ancient Greek, how cool is that! isn’t the best thing to reply with in this context. 

Jason looks– conflicted, at first. There’s some doubt in his stormy eyes, and they begin to resemble Annabeth’s more and more as they cloud over. 

Oh shit, Annabeth–

“I left my friends back, oh shit, I gotta be out of here as soon as I can, it’s almost the solstice..,” he mutters, more to himself than to Jason, but it finally gets a reaction out of him that isn’t a (practically) blank stare. Not that he minds. 

“Yeah, it’s tomorrow. What kind of deadline do you have in the middle of summer though? I thought classes were over.” 

The way he says it is almost comically uncertain, like he has no idea how the school system works in America. Which is, honestly, fair. Percy doesn’t either. 

Wait. 

“Tomorrow? Nah, no way. We’re the 17th. Did you hit your head too?” He laughs, more out of obligation than anything– Jason’s eyes are downright scrutinising now, and in some other context when they’re both older it would’ve been nice but right now it just scares the shit out of him. 

“No, I got here just five minutes ago. We’re the 20th.” It’s the way he says it so matter-of-factly that really gets on his nerves. 

He grabs the first person that passes by them– some scrawny kid with black hair, and asks them the date once and for all. 

His heart stops when the answer is “March 12th, 1932.” 

He glares at Jason and sees him glaring back, and that’s all it takes before they’re running to the entrance to look outside the glass doors. 

It’s pitch black, and Percy hasn’t been here for more than an hour. It was noon when he walked in.  

“The Lotus Eaters,” he mumbles. 

“Like, from the Odyssey?” Jason asks, his voice squeaky and scared. It’s the first actual emotion he sees on the guy’s face– literal fear. 

“Fuck.” 

Jason hums in agreement. 

“Well, good luck to you, man,” Percy says before bolting away back to where he last left Annabeth and Grover. He prayed for them to still be there, and for there to still be time left if they make it out of here. 

He doesn’t quite catch the small mumble of his name falling off Jason’s lips. 

It sounds great when he says it. 

#pjo #percy jackson #jason grace #jercy #peep the di angelo cameo #UNLIKE IN THE SHOW. #fanfic #wip #hes acting like a dumbass but he's 12 #its VERY hard to write the thoughts of an adhd 12yo #i tried!

[redux-iterum]

Do you have any advice to help or prevent writer's block? I have a terrible habit of starting but never completing what I write. Also really excited for the Charred Legacy!

Hello and thank you! My advice splits into two categories of writer's block, which I'll call here Classic Block and Progression Block. Classic Block refers to the block people usually mean, especially when drawing: that you can barely write three sentences before erasing it all because it's awful and you hate it, leading you to sit around stewing in frustration that your skill level is so low. Progression Block, meanwhile, is the block where the actual work of writing something to completion is a Herculean task, even if you don't hate your writing style. The distinction DOES matter, as you’ll see.

To start off, Classic Block sources from your standards of writing not matching what you perceive to be your level of ability. Maybe you used to like how you write, but now all you see is the flaws. Your skills have leveled out or lowered instead of steadily increasing in quality – at least, that’s how it feels. This leads to you not writing at all, or only getting a bit done and then abandoning it because it sucks and what’s even the point and you’ll never make anything good anyway and so on. It’s the same thing as artist’s block, just with typing.

This brand of block has similar advice in every medium of art that it appears in, which is “study and practice”. The only way to get better is to examine where your faults are at and work to fix them. If you find how you write dialog unnatural, for example, you take a look at books or scripts you enjoy the dialog of and pay close attention to how the characters talk, or you find as many advice posts on the web as possible about how to create natural-sounding conversations, or even just listen in to people chatting in the real world. Like an artist studies anatomy and feels more confident about their improving work, a writer studies all the advice they can get and applies it to their story, and continues writing for practice until they get somewhere they’re okay with. It may not be as easy as artist’s block to conquer, depending on who you are, but it is doable.

Progression Block is a different beast, and I’ve certainly felt it before on my comics and writing. This is when you’re at the beginning or starting the middle of your project and you find yourself unable to continue on to the end. Maybe you’ve lost the adrenaline that the start gave you; maybe the prospect of a long-term story is too daunting; maybe you ran out of ideas or passion; maybe you don’t like the start now and you want to rewrite it before you continue; maybe (and this is the most common one) you’ve found yourself at a part of the story you’re not that excited about and it’s difficult to get through it. Whatever the case is, you’re good at starting ideas, just not finishing them. This is extremely common, so don’t feel bad about it. I can’t count how many webcomics or fics I’ve seen left to rot after about a month of work on them. I’ve done it myself, multiple times! We’re all at risk of it.

The biggest thing to address here is that, sadly, writing is not always going to be exciting. That’s just a fact. You are not going to be riding a high the entire process. You WILL get to something that feels more like homework than fun. This is a guarantee for every single project that goes on longer than a couple pages, and sometimes even the short stuff isn’t safe. This is not a horrible thing, it’s just something you need to develop methods to overcome. Discipline is important if you want to take writing seriously. There are ways to get through this: dinner-before-desert (the promise of “I have to write this dull chapter and I’ll get to write the scene I’m really excited about”), setting small goals to get the unfun part done a bit at a time (writing 200 words a day, or a couple paragraphs, etc), finding things to appreciate (like that joke you threw in or how pretty this scenery is), and having something occupying the senses to keep flow going (listening to music, mainly) are all tools I use myself to get past potentially weeks of writing that I’m not excited about. You do need to be a little stern with yourself, but the reward of getting to the thing you’ve been dreaming of since the start is completely worth it, I can promise that. You just gotta eat your dinner first, and then we’ll get you some ice cream. One carrot at a time. You can do this.

Something that can get to people is the prospect of being “stuck” with something for months or potentially years. The size of a project can be intimidating, I understand that. You’re doing this particular thing for god knows how long, and you have to do it on a regular basis if you ever want to get anywhere with it? That’s a little scary! I get it! But that does not mean you won’t have fun, or won’t ever be finished. It took me six years to complete a comic you can read through in one day, I’ve started one I know will take me at least ten, and Iterum itself is going to be a long fucking ride I don’t dare to guess the length of. I have had the occasional sensation of leaning on a table, bracing myself on my arms, staring down at a drink and thinking “Jesus Chirst” about how long all this shit will take me.

With that issue, I’ve personally found that taking joy in the process is the best solution. “Well, I do love writing these particular characters, I’m excited to see how they’ll grow over time!” “Planning chapters is a very chill way to spend my evenings while still giving me something to think about.” “It’s so exciting to have all these secret plot developments no one but me knows yet!” And so on. Like in life, you should appreciate the Now, not constantly be fretting about Later or Before. Learn to love typing out dialog and prose! It’s doable.

Of course, you should have a few thoughts about the future. That’s where planning comes in. Some people can make up shit on the fly and write a complete, excellent novel. I am not one of those people, and not many are. Some architecture is generally necessary. When I don’t have a set general path ahead of time for me to take as I write, I give up on things because I don’t know where to go next. Create your path, however vague or exact it needs to be! My advice on planning is to start with only the most major of story beats, arrange them in the order you want or need them to happen, and add smaller connecting lines to them, then connecting even smaller lines to those lines, slowly getting more and more specific and detailed as you zoom in on the story beat-by-beat.

Another thing that might help you keep at it is finding an audience – at least, it worked for me. When I started writing for real, I was doing choose-your-own-adventure threads in forums, and then a choose-your-own-adventure webcomic, where people got to send in commands to move the story forward. I could not get anything completed on my own to save my life, but having people participating and actively waiting for me to continue the story helped me develop the discipline and work ethic required to do the projects I’m doing now (and taught me how to improvise extremely well, as a side benefit). Your audience could be one person, or ten, or a hundred. Even if they don’t comment or regularly engage with the story, just knowing that someone is there waiting to see what happens next can be a good motivator.

One final thing: you may fall into the trap many do of looking at the small bit of stuff you’ve completed, not liking it, and wanting to go back and rewrite it, because this time you’ve got the skills to do it right.

DO NOT FUCKING DO THAT.

All that’s going to do is trap you in an endless cycle of “improving” what’s already there at best, and wear you out from going over the same old ground over and over and drain your love for the story at worst. You will not be fixing anything. Put it out and move on. Don’t keep trying to rescrub the same plate until you put a hole through it. You’re going to look back and think it’s shit. That’s normal. Doesn’t mean it’s true, or that you should waste time “fixing” it. Learn to go “well, I don’t like it, but I gotta keep going”. Get it done. It will never be perfect, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can get this project done.

That’s about all the advice I can think of for now. I hope this prattling helped you, at least a little bit!

#ask #anonymous #i speak #readmore #advice #writing

[jarmes]

Harry Anderson’s Father (Homestuck: Beyond Canon Fanfic)

I gaze out upon the festering shithole of a world that lies behind the black hole. At first glance, it is identical to the victory world I left. But, with my heightened senses, I am acutely able to sense the inherent bullshittery that permeates through this planet like a cancer. The planet isn’t real, not completely. It exists as a shitty doodle on the back of reality, something that should not exist but still persists. This world is a hypothetical. It is the universe that would have existed, if I didn’t push John Egbert to restore canon to a functioning state.

Years ago, I briefly existed in this universe. The moment I realized what it was, I did the only sensible thing and killed myself so I didn’t have to spend another second in what was for all intents and purposes a terrible piece of fanfiction. That was a mistake. If I had stayed, I could have stopped the Muse from creating lackluster muppet baby players and sending them to kill me.

This world needs to be destroyed. Not just blown up, but fully erased. Its existence is a stain that makes everything I have built terrible by association. This abomination of a world is so bad it got my comic canceled. 

I pull the lever and release the Tumor. I’m not surprised when it doesn’t fall from my battleship, down to the non-canon version of Earth C and obliterate it. That would be boring.

I march out onto the deck of my battleship. A teenager is standing on the edge, ripping apart the wires in the bombing mechanism’s control panel. He has white hair, with that trademark Lalonde curl and Jake’s bad teeth. John and Roxy’s kid. I don’t know his name, nor do I care to know.

> Be Harry Anderson Egbert

You watch as that Dirk Strider, that terrifying and handsome son of a bitch, marches towards you. He draws his badass katana and you raise your pathetic garden sheers. Your hands tremble as you sense the incredible goddamn menace emanating off the literal God you have decided to fuck with.

HARRY: you’re that guy my mom told me about. the one with the stupid shades.

DIRK: It is a shame that the kids these days do not understand how kickass ironic anime shades are.

HARRY: how do they stay on your face? double-sided tape?

DIRK: There are more important things to discuss than the intricacies of my clothing. Such as, your attempt at disarming my weapon.

HARRY: i’m not going to let you blow up my world and kill everyone.

DIRK: That isn’t really your choice.

Dirk Strider moves so fast you can’t process it. One second, he’s twenty feet away, the next, he has his katana held against your throat. You feel a drop of cold sweat drip down your neck and split apart as it touches the edge of Dirk’s blade.

DIRK: I’m going to explain something very simple to you. You are not a real human being.

DIRK: You are a shadow of a person from a world that should not exist. You canonically do not exist.

DIRK: People who exist get to foil the big bad’s plans. People who exist occasionally get to impact the plot.

DIRK: Unfortunately, you are a drama kid OC from someone’s Tumblr page who is just sentient enough to feel fear.

The sucker punch from John knocks Dirk flat on his ass.

What.

No.

I don’t get taken by surprise anymore. I’m omniscient and fairly close to omnipotent. It should be impossible for someone to get the jump on me, and yet, I have just been walloped by John Egbert. He appeared in front of me and punched me in the face, so hard that I feel my molars coming loose.

He got here using his Retcon powers. I can see the white outline hanging around his silhouette.

HARRY: dad?

JOHN: harry anderson! i’m so proud of you.

JOHN: military sabotage is basically the highest form of prank.

JOHN: i mean your mom would probably be mad about this, but i’m incredibly proud.

HARRY: dad, i’m trying to stop him from killing everyone i’ve ever met. can we please delay the father-son pep talk until after this is over?

JOHN: oh yeah i can do that.

John turns to face me. He’s wearing his God Tier outfit, which hasn’t grown in the two and a half decades he’s been wearing it and is two sizes too small. He looks like an idiot.

JOHN: hi dirk. can you please stop trying to kill my son.

JOHN: and also stop trying to destroy the world while you're at it.

DIRK: You know he isn’t real.

DIRK: His existence, like the existence of every other person on that planet, is paradoxical.

DIRK: You’re from this world, but you are at least a version of a character who existed in canon.

DIRK: Your son doesn’t have that going for him.

JOHN: i know.

The child looks up at his father with confusion. John doesn’t take his gaze off me.

JOHN: so what?

DIRK: What do you mean, so what?

DIRK: This entire universe is a non-canon abomination.

JOHN: i know but i don’t really care, you know?

DIRK: Of course you don’t care. You’re the version of John who abandoned the world and let it decay into a twisted shadow of canon.

DIRK: If you cared, you would have died fighting Lord English.

DIRK: Instead, you created this aberration.

DIRK: This is the universe of dog dicks, clowns sucking on titties, and Vriska 2: Electric Boogaloo.

JOHN: yeah, but it’s also the universe where my son exists.

JOHN: i don’t really get this canon stuff.

JOHN: i mean, everyone tells me that this world isn’t real.

JOHN: and for a long time, i believed that.

JOHN: i stopped spending time with Roxy or Harry Anderson or anyone else because i knew they weren’t real.

JOHN: but i think i was just depressed.

JOHN: i’m better now. i’m not hiding from the world anymore.

JOHN: harry anderson is my son and i love him.

John reaches over and grabs his son, pulling him into a hug. Harry Anderson tries to shove him away, but eventually relents and allows his father to hug him.

I decide I’ve had enough of this sappy horseshit and stab John Egbert in the throat. The blade goes in easily. Too easily. I jump back as John transforms into wind.

He reforms above Dirk and slams his hammer down, smashing a hole in the deck. The dice in the hammer's bubble bounce around. When they land, a dozen horses appear, summoned by magic, and trample Dirk Strider.

HARRY: dad? are you...cool?

I dash forward, slicing John across the chest. As my blade tears through his flesh, a sudden burst of wind knocks Dirk away. John flies forward and smashes his hammer down on Dirk’s skull.

I focus on the bouncing dice. I see in my mind what they must be and it becomes so. Eight dice land with the one facing up. The Pop-a-matic Vrillyhoo Hammer explodes in John’s hand, taking his arm with it. As John clutches his stump, his son attempts to stab me in the back. I easily sidestep him and knock his sheers away with my sword.

Harry’s fist surrounds with black tendrils as he punches me in the stomach. It hurts, more than I expected, but I’ve long since ascended beyond the point where pain affects me. I grab him by the throat and lift him up, crushing his throat with my bare hands. A stab through the skull would have killed him instantly, but it wouldn’t have been cruel enough. After all, I’m the villain. It behooves me to be menacing.

Harry Anderson Egbert scratches at the back of my hand with his fingernails, trying to tear away my iron grasp. He struggles to breathe. An ironic end, for the son of the Heir of Breath. His eyes roll back in his head as he falls unconscious.

A tornado erupts from John Egbert. The spinning blue wind tears the battleship to pieces. Canons and chunks of metal fall down towards Earth C as Drik loses his grip on Harry. John flies forward and slams his hammer into Dirk’s chest.

I get it now. My domination of the narration normally allows me control over the actions of others. Not complete, but enough to guide things towards the necessary outcome. Except, John Egbert hasn’t been bound by canon in years, not since he touched the Ultimate Weapon. I can’t control him.

He slams the hammer into me and my sword slips from my grasp and begins falling towards the planet. John isn’t a fighter. He doesn’t realize how strong he is. His wind is strong enough to tear apart planets and right now 100% of it is concentrated in crushing me into a fine red paste.

Of course, this is exactly what I planned for. John is so distracted on hurting me that he doesn’t pay attention to his son falling down from heaven, abandoned like Icarus after venturing close to the sun. He doesn’t pay attention to my katana as it stabs through the sky. The tornado holding me in place shoots it down like a rocket. I can’t control John, but I can control my sword. I guide it like a missile to its destination in Harry Anderson Egbert’s chest.

JOHN: harry anderson!

John takes his attention off me for the briefest of moments, giving me the time to stab my fingers into his chest. He screams as I grab hold of his heart. Magenta bolts of lightning flow from my hand into John Egbert’s body. The lightning saws through the metaphysical connection points, severing John’s soul from his body. As I tear him apart from the inside, a light breaks through his chest, so bright it would blind me if I wasn’t wearing my kickass anime shades. The light is shaped like a house. The Ultimate Weapon, the source of John’s bullshit retcon powers, hidden away within his body.

John transforms into wind. The wind dives after Harry Anderson as he falls from space. John reforms around his son and cradles him as he slowly descends down to the ground. They land in the middle of a field.

JOHN: it’s okay! it’s going to be okay!

John blubbers like a baby as he cradles the bloody soon-to-be corpse of his brat. The kid tries to say something, but he only gets out gurgles due to the sword in his lung. I decide to be nice and remove it. I appear behind John and, with a single movement, faster than the eye can see, draw the sword from Harry’s body and swing it, cleaving off John Egbert’s head.

Harry crashes down in the grass as John’s body falls over. I hold out my sword and skewer John’s head as it lands, the tip of my blade coming out of his eye. In another plane of existence, a grandfather clock’s pendulum swings between two judgments, Heroic and Just. I put my hand on the scale, forcing John’s death to be heroic.

As I wipe John’s blood from my sword using my cape, I feel the scissors stab me in the back. Damnit. I was distracted by controlling the clock and forgot about Harry. He’s injured, but has his teeth gritted in anger. He clutches a large pair of shears, made out of thin black tendrils. A weapon made out of pure Doom that pokes out of the heart symbol on my shirt, having gone through the black lump of coal that is my actual heart.

Harry Anderson is the Bard of Doom. He’s a destroyer, just like me, and Doom is his weapon. This terrible planet, the insurmountable odds, the hole in his chest, the death of his father, all of these things make him stronger. He concentrates the power of the Candy timeline into his tendrils.

The Doom spreads through my body. My flesh rots away, bit by bit. It feels just like it did when the Stardust consumed me. Before it’s too late, I cut my own head off.

Harry Anderson struggles to breath as he crawls towards his father’s corpse.

HARRY: this is stupid.

HARRY: you don’t talk for me for years and then the first time you actually try and give a shit about me you die.

HARRY: you’re a god. gods don’t die. get up.

HARRY: please.

DIRK: That isn’t going to happen.

I look down upon the injured child, my arms crossed. If it wasn’t such a cliche, I would call him pathetic. I can’t die, not really. I have long since transcended beyond a physical being. I exist as a disembodied consciousness existing outside of any universe, who interacts with others by puppeteering a physical form. It is trivial for me to conjure another body out of nothingness.

I raise my hand into the air. A large ball of energy appears above my palm, growing larger until it blocks out any light from the sun. The death ball I have summoned is made out of pure, concentrated destruction. It will tear apart the souls of this putrid rock and restore the purity it has taken from my canon. And it won’t take twenty goddamn episodes to do so.

I toss the death ball. Harry holds out his hands, firing all of the energy he can muster in a doomed attempt to hold back the ball. He thinks he’s the brave shonen protagonist fighting for his home, but he isn’t. He’s a crappy OC who should have never existed. This isn’t death. It’s a mercy.

Blue wind wraps around the ball of energy. It disappears, pulled out of reality by John’s retcon powers.

Fuck.

I turn around to see John’s corpse hovering five feet off the ground. His head is still gone, but in its place sits a skull made of wind wearing John’s glasses. The light from the Ultimate Weapon is brighter than it has ever been.

John punches himself in the chest. A thousand different copies of his arm appear around Dirk, pummeling his new body to a bloody pulp.

I swing my sword but an arm grabs it and retcons it out of existence.

I hold out my hands and fire my electricity. It begins ripping the Ultimate Weapon out of John’s chest but the lightning stops when another fist hits Dirk in the stomach. John holds his hand out and his wind flies into the portal on his chest.

None of this is happening. I refuse to let it happen and thus it does not. I’m the narrator. That’s why the fucking text is orange.

The wind spreads through the source code of canon, wiping the text color clean.

DIRK: What did you do?

DIRK: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?

The light from the Ultimate Weapon shines on Dirk. He screams as he is dragged in. He appears in an empty white box, where he will remain for a very long time. He pounds on the walls of his cage.

DIRK: LET ME OUT!

DIRK: LET ME OUT!

The thing that defeated Dirk Strider walks over to Harry Anderson Egbert. He waves his hand and his son’s wounds disappear, erased from ever having happened.

JOHN: my father died when I was young.

JOHN: it was really hard on me. i guess it’s gonna be pretty hard on you.

JOHN: and now i’m realizing how much must have sucked that he didn’t get to watch his son grow up.

John fades away into wind and disappears.

HARRY: dad?

No answer comes.

#homestuck #homestuck 2 #hsbc #homestuck beyond canon #hs2 #harry anderson egbert #john egbert #dirk strider #homestuck epilogues

[kudzucataclysm]

answering this portion of the q from earlier-

There’s honestly plenty of potential ‘bad’ takes about SE and the story’s characters that anyone out there can make- maybe they make assumptions based off the trigger warnings or themes, maybe they see my little doodles and mini comics about just how fucked up these characters are and it’s not their cup of tea, etc etc. Weirdly enough tho, that’s something that i’m looking…forward to seeing? Like just the potential drama and arguments over certain things/plotlines/characters in this story sounds like it’d be juicy. I can see a future me holding a glass of wine laughing maniacally at the computer screen all giddy with excitement over it. or something idk-

BUT specific takes….here’s a rough list (ALL COMPLETELY HYPOTHETICAL):

“Lack of wholesome queer characters and plotlines” or something along those lines. Something to the tune of “i’m using fiction to escape reality so i don’t want any queer stories to be edgy and dark and violent, i want all the characters to be pure cinnamon rolls who’ve never done anything wrong EVER”, and just make assumptions about SE over the majority of the cast being queer AND horrible people. Like if SE isn’t your thing, that’s fine. But if someone were to say that its shit for including darker themes then I’d feel like they’d need to retake some highschool english classes or something

“This story puts queer people in a negative light” Shocking development at 1am EST…QUEER PEOPLE CAN BE EVIL AND DO HORRIBLE BAD THINGS!!! THE HORROR

“Why isn’t everyone’s identity and pronouns spelled out for me from the moment they’re introduced” cause immmm lazyyyyy and don’t really consider their identities as super ultra mega important in a way-

“WHY ARE THERE SLURS!!! WHY ARE SOME OF THE CHARACTERS RACIST!!!!!! THIS IS CONDONING-“ the world ended in the 1960s and everything got worse from there. the door is that way 👉🏼

“Everyone in this story is fucked up. Nobodies normal, all of these characters are just terrible, horrible people, how do i root for them” then i’ve accomplished SOMETHING that i’ve wanted to do FOREVER-

“Why is the protagonist such a crybaby”. He’s 14 and a little bit fucked up okay. and he IS a baby so THERE

“Why is the protagonist boring” Cuz i’m tired of the ‘uwu powerless softie turns out to be the son of fucking GOD all along’ trope in a way. Dez is important in his own way and this just makes the story more interesting when cosmic forces are pushing down on him and his bestie and he kinda has to go a little loco to deal with it

“Why is the protagonist chubby/fat, it just isn’t realistic for the setting and type of story” what if i killed you violently with a rock

“The Martians aren’t realistic and their biology/culture/behavior is confusing” yes it’s meant to be. They’re artificially created, their eyeballs function as ovaries, their blood is literal oil and they go off like nukes when they die. It’s meant to be kind of stupid and self indulgent and their origins are a mystery to themselves

“The Martians do incest? That means you SUPPORT incest!!!” No, absolutely not. The story doesn’t even make it in a positive light, it’s very much a product of their oddly misogynistic, mysterious culture, and isn’t touched upon too much in the story. Also they’re aliens and don’t follow the same biological rules as humans at ALL.

“Francis is terrible trans rep” SHE’S MEANT TO BE TERRIBLE

“Francis’s alcoholism is condoning underage drinking” Okay man

“Everything is way too convoluted and there’s just too much going on, who would want to read this” MEEEEEEEEE!!!! I WANNA READ THIS

“This story glorifies child abusers cuz of the existence of a character like Thursday and how he’s often portrayed-” Are you hearing yourself rn. stop and think. for a Moment ✋🏼🛑

“I can’t believe you’re trying to paint Friday/Hammond as a good person for-“ when. When did I say that. I’ve been explicitly saying that they’re both wrong this entire time-

“Having the man-eating Martians and Chimera be brown skinned is racist” shore thangggg buddy

that’s all i can think of off the top of my head rn…tbh i think the fake ones from before are a lot better than these ones LOL

#talking and blathering #shattered earth #in a weird way. oh well! #hope no one sees this-

[mandapellie]

My Mind & Me

The thought “You’re not good enough” has echoed in my mind for years and I’m not sure who said it to me first, myself or a family member. As a tween/teenager I went through some hard times, and I wasn’t the best at mentally handling those situations. The more I went through, the more depressed I would become. I hoped my depression would go away or at least get better as I got older, but today even still, depression finds me and has latched on to me like a leech.  

I think about depression like this: all my negative thoughts, emotions, feelings and things I’ve gone through- I have compressed them all into a tiny box, like a pandora’s box just waiting to escape. When I’m feeling good, I’m good, but when depression hits, the remnants of what is inside that tiny, compressed box leaks outside of mind and into my depressive state I go. Sometimes, nothing triggers my depression and other times, someone can say something to me that reminds me of my childhood or says something that triggers my self-worth. On the topic of self-worth and self-love, I have come a long and profound way. I’ve shown the world, on Tiktok, that body positivity is something to be proud of and I’m not ashamed of it. I even go as far to tell people they also can move past their own insecurities like I’m some kind of influencer! My body has always been my biggest insecurity, probably because my biological father’s family made nasty comments about it. As time has gone by and the older, I become, I really could care less what my body looks like anymore, but when depression is in town-well that’s null and void. When I'm in the thick of it, I try to remember things that help me out of this state, but it just feels like I’m grasping at straws to fill in the void of what is missing. Even though there is nothing missing from my life. The Funny thing about depression, it has no rhyme or reason for it. It can be unpredictable and honestly it is fucking annoying.  

I’m currently gazing out the window searching for something that isn’t out there, a sign maybe? A sign that I will wake up tomorrow and be out of this depressive roller-coaster ride I’m on. Therapy seems like the logical next step, but I know me. I know I’ll brush it off and say “I’m fine, I don’t need it” when deep down, maybe it could help me. Shit maybe that’s my answer, but again, I know myself better. I would rather everyone else around me be okay than myself. I’m no Mother Teresa, but I do try to make sure the people around me are okay. I’ve learned to put myself last, probably because of my mom, now she is the next Mother Teresa. She would give the shirt off her back just because that’s who she is. She could be in the desert and have one last sip of water and give it to someone else in need. She’s selfless that way. Gazing out the window again but this time, my eyes are swelled up with tears thinking about my mother. She deserves the world. I remember when I was little, not so little but maybe like ten years old or so, we went to the mall and there was this beautiful store with fancy shimmery figurines. I wanted to buy something for my mom so badly, I started to tear up and I was overcome with emotion, because my mom deserved something so exquisite and fancy, but I couldn’t give it to her. She deserves the world. I want to make certain no one interoperates this part incorrectly; I don’t blame my mom for anything, hell her selflessness is one of my favorite qualities about her. My purpose of adding my mom into this part of my story is to showcase where I learned how to be selfless. Again, I'm not on her level of super selfless, but I do try. Okay back to depression, I know I almost forgot too! Depression is like a rollercoaster of emotions, one minute you’re feeling normal and the next you’re on the verge of crying yourself to sleep. This next part talks about attempting suicide, terribly and perhaps comically, but attempting suicide, nevertheless. Three times I’ve attempted to unalive myself. The first time was with pain medication, nothing major just the classic over the counter generic version of Tylenol. I took about nine pills, it did absolutely nothing to me. The next time, there’s no safe way to say “I tried to slit my wrists” so there it is. Because I wasn’t absolutely certain I wanted to die, I didn’t use a knife; I used a staple strip and grazed it repeatedly on my wrists until I saw blood. I basically gave myself the equivalent of a paper cut on my wrist. Again, it did nothing to me, except I had to wear thick bracelets until they healed. The third and last time I tried to unlive myself was by drowning. Again, because I wasn’t absolutely certain I wanted to leave this world; I did this in the bathtub. I basically held my breath until I couldn’t hold it anymore, I tried to hold myself down, but popped right back up like a ball in water. Nothing happened to me except I learned I could only hold my breath for about 45 seconds without needing to come up for air. Which is kind of shitty when you consider yourself a good swimmer and all you can do is hold your breath for a measly 45 seconds.

Gazing out the window again, it’s now getting dark now, but I feel a sense of relief in this moment. Typing my thoughts into words that I now can edit and reread is therapeutic for me. Depression will always be a part of me, but it’s up to me how I respond to it. Depression made me do stupid and idiotic things when I was a tween/teenager. From cutting myself, to my three attempts, I’m so glad I’m still here.  

I wouldn’t have my daughter, who I love with every single fiber of my being. I wouldn’t be married to the man I have loved since I was thirteen years old. I wouldn’t have my mom who literally gave me life and made so many sacrifices that I have just begun to understand. I wouldn’t have seen my mom find her soulmate in my stepdad or have been able to call him my dad. I would have missed my grandma, who opened her home to me so I could go to a better school or had gone on our first trip to Aruba together. I would have missed my uncle being so proud of me for graduating from the same high school he went to and him finding his love who was up the street from him. I would have missed my cousin turning twenty-one years old and having our first drinks together as a family and then her graduating from her associate degree. I would have missed my youngest cousin turning eighteen years old and graduating high school. I would have missed my aunt’s beautiful wedding and marrying the “best damn uncle” who treats her like the queen she is.  I would have missed my step-dads parents and family become my family. I would have missed all of this.

Decisions, especially feelings of sadness, depression, or worthlessness; should never be made on these temporary emotions. Give yourself permission to feel those emotions, but don’t stay there. Give yourself permission to experiment with how to cope with your emotions. If therapy isn’t for you try to; Sing, dance, exercise, read, write, call or message friends or family; Anything that keeps you here. Remember depression is a temporary state of mind and the rollercoaster will stop soon, so throw your arms up and enjoy the ride.   xo Amanda  

Call or text 9-8-8 the mental health hotline  

#depression #988hotline #mentalheathawareness

[donotalwaysbebatman]

Nightwing #104 (A)

This writer needs to be thrown into the sun. It’s like the more freedom they give him, the more special he thinks he is, and the more pointless and terrible his stories become. I mean, you can even see it in the artist - who’s usually flawless - and how clearly bored he is of the entire script, drawing all these characters to be so stiff and emotionless, not even bothering to have fun with action scenes, which are usually his favorite. Every single time, everyone is just kind of standing there. Not that there’s much room in the script for anything except people standing around, for a lot of the panels.

So Dick gets handed superpowers, just because the writer was like, hurhur, it would be so cool if Dick had superpowers, which like, no? The entire point of the Batfamily is that they don’t have superpowers and have to solve the same problems without them. If you wanted a character with superpowers, it should’ve been one of the other ones, you know, the ones who do have superpowers. Okay, well, because he doesn’t usually have them, obviously Dick will do something new and interesting with them, right? No. He just does the exact same thing that would happen in the background of a random superhero’s comic to illustrate them having a normal day, and it has about the same emotional impact.

(More racist, though. I mean I know this author fucking hates asians, but like. Why did it need to be Americans specifically ‘saving the poor oppressed asians from themselves!!’ when it could easily have been set in an unspecified location, or multiple world locations could’ve been used, or it could’ve been somewhere in America where yeah actually bad things do happen, or just. Skip that entire page completely. It added nothing. Except maybe to prove to us that the writer knows what country Bangkok is in?)

Yeah so it’s just. What would Dick do if he had superpowers. Which, maybe if it weren’t trying to also have three other storylines in one fucking comic, could’ve been interesting. Except probably not, because the answer seems to be, “normal superhero things that would be boring in Superman comics also” and that’s the other thing. Who reads Nightwing for it to constantly be all about Superman??? Stop putting them in there!!! And that’s not even the only time Dick is sidelined in his own story, putting way too much about other characters in a story that already has a main character, it’s in the title. If it isn’t from his perspective, you’re not doing it right!!!

I would say, if you want to write about Superman, write Superman, and if you want to write about the Titans multiperspective, write Titans, but they already let him do that, and he keeps making those ones about Nightwing instead, like learn to write, dude.

Also there was this whole intentionally cliffhanger moment where Dick adopted a baby, which annoyed me because I was like, Dick already has plenty of children pick one of those (he can’t stand nonwhite characters unless he made them up and controls their entire backstory that’s why), and also, why do we need stories where Dick just identically mimics Bruce’s story? Except then she’s immediately written out and Dick isn’t even going to pretend to be her parent. So what was the point? Not to mention it’s a throwaway line instead of an actual conclusion to the arc, because, surprise surprise, this guy doesn’t care about the feelings of a black girl or think of her as more than a prop. At least give us something. But no, she’s just passive and okay with whatever random thing happens and let’s never think about her again because who cares. Why write the story at all, then?

Way too much of it is a leadin to Titans, which I don’t plan to read, because I do not trust this writer at all at this point. Like it’s cool to leave breadcrumbs, but if you can’t put the story where the story is meant to go, maybe put down a few projects and concentrate on what you can do. Or just. Stop writing forever! That would be super cool too!

But the superpowers thing is concluded “and then he easily defeated everyone with his superpowers” okay? Why didn’t you just not give him superpowers, and he easily defeated them with his preparedness, logic, extreme tactical prowess, observation, elite training, technology, etc. like he usually does? If fighting them wasn’t the point, why include it? It’s not like there’s any emotional turmoil. If Dick wanted superpowers there’s been plenty of places he could’ve gotten them, except that would be boring.

Nope, we don’t even have the most basic ass boring conclusion, like superpowers go to someone’s head. Or someone still has to be in touch with regular people. Or I have skills on my own, and I’m proud of them, and I’m good enough all by myself. Or there are downsides to superpowers. Or anything! He just has them and then he doesn’t! Nothing happened at either point! Also the fucking writer forgot his own fucking OC also has powers! She’s so inconsistently characterized because he literally doesn’t care about her!

It all culminates in a big moving speech except that the speech is short and not moving! Like if you were building up to that, why didn’t you even write the part you clearly designed the whole story just so you could write a boring speech to make Nightwing seem special!!

In conclusion, literally every part of this issue could’ve just been tossed and you wouldn’t lose anything from the arc.

[silkscream]

SWEETEST KILL | PART ONE: DELIRIUM

pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

warnings: mentions of mental illness, angst, almost-smut, not mcu or comics-canon because the world is my oyster 

wc: 3.8k

summary: you meet spider-man for the first time.

a/n: feedback is appreciated!!!! i’ve read this about thirty times and i cannot any longer. this is more like a prologue if anything so i’ll post another chapter sooner than later <3

also!! all my graphics/promo insinuates the reader is asian because cindy moon is korean-american, but there are no mentions to appearance or ethnicity in the fic itself. (except height) the reader is essentially a mix of my own oc plus cindy moon’s character.

↳ series masterlist / main masterlist / taglist

↳ part two: verdict

You don’t mean to stare at the back of Peter Parker’s brown curls, because, in your defense, he does have a big head. He’s as charming as he is angel-headed, an underdog who has seemed to grow out of his graceless middle school ways. Lately, his aura has manifested into a lightning bolt that hit you square in the heart. Your senses have been attuned to him lately like he holds the other end of your red string.

For some reason, even though you’ve known Peter for all of grade school, you see him differently now. You’re hyper-aware of his presence when he walks past your locker. You feel his eyes on you in class even though you’re seated five seats away from him. You notice his disappearances during the Academic Decathlon trip to Europe. You also notice that Peter’s arms look veinier now, his eyes gleam differently, and he is most likely extremely, inexorably, superlatively in love with Michelle Jones.

You don’t know why this makes you feel angry. You think you must be delusional — the crush you had on Peter Parker in middle school faded away throughout the years. Sure, he was the first boy to hold your hand. Even though it wasn’t in a necessarily romantic context, you figured that as you grew up, your infatuation with him was purely incidental. He was your crash course in adolescent limerence, but the feelings have long dissipated, you think.

You’re terribly wrong.

Somewhere along the journey of teenage dread and banality, you find yourself attached to the boy no matter what, always feeling a magnetic wave surge between the two of you. You didn’t know why and you couldn’t do anything to control it. Was it the horror of teenage hormones that made you look at Peter in that peculiar way?

High school was an amalgamation of girlish limbs, stretch marks, panic attacks, maladaptive daydreams, palms squeezing taut flesh, academic prison, and now, countless dreams about Peter Parker. It didn’t help that you had an eidetic memory, so the mere fact of his existence would conjure memories that were equivalent to a 4k-quality supercut pervading your brain, a parasite of infatuation.

You thought the cursed genetic mutation that God (or whatever the fuck that radioactive spider was) decided to bestow upon you was bad enough to tack on to the purgatory that was puberty. Now, you had the classic bane of teenage mediocrity. A pathetic, intrusive, annoying crush on a white boy.

You don’t know why, but Peter Parker started taking over your mind like ivy on a tree ever since the first week of senior year. The two of you hadn’t shared any classes since freshman year. You weren't even sure if Peter considered you a friend.

It’s a weird, electric feeling, the way Peter makes you feel. Despite barely speaking to one another, other than casual quips during Decathlon, you feel like all of your synapses are chaotically bouncing around your nervous system when the boy is in the same room as you. When you make eye contact, it feels like an entire conversation has already happened through glances. You think that if your heart rate gets any faster during a school day, you ought to ask your psychiatrist to up your dosage of Xanax.

It’s been three years since the spider bite and you want to gratefully forget how your body’s changed since then, especially because the Blip had made it so you were caught in the void for five years. Now, you’re eighteen and you contemplate death every time you attempt to spin webs in your dim bedroom because of your tendency accidentally fuck up the ceiling paint with your sticky palms.

You haven’t told anyone about Silk. Not a soul. You are so used to being alone that you don’t dare follow through with the usual “awakened as a mutated superhuman” narrative. All you did was wake up with heightened senses that only extrapolated your anxiety disorder and what felt like a new set of slender limbs.

You didn’t have any best friends to tell when you’d gotten bitten, and you sure for hell never going to tell Betty, who at an eighth-grade game of spin-the-bottle inside Flash Thompson’s basement, decided to tell the boy about your past crush on him. The “crush”  in question was actually one you had for Flash at age nine, a time when you were stupid and small and smitten for two weeks tops before he spit gum in your hair on purpose during recess. Betty did not mention any of this. This is why, moments later, when the bottle was spun and landed on you, Flash kissed you square on the mouth, to which you punched him square in the eye. No, maybe Betty Brant was a bad option.

Betty Brant was good for some things, like being the closest thing to a best friend to you since the sixth grade despite the two of you being polar opposites. She was certainly talented at dragging you out of your dark lair and forcing you to participate in normal social activities, such as shopping, irregular yoga classes that depended on the fluctuating balance of her membership card at HAUS OF YOGI, and doing her damn best to play matchmaker (she insists that the cashier at your favorite boba shop has his eyes on you).

__

The reflection staring back at you is familiar, but tainted by frills and pastels.

“Betty, homecoming isn’t for weeks,” you mutter.

“It’s really important to be prepared! Also, look at you! I could eat you up,” she gushes, gripping your forearm tightly and smoothing a pink, manicured hand across the silk chiffon magenta skirt of the dress you’re wearing.

“Yes, because I look like a fucking cupcake.”

“A sexy cupcake,” she winks.

After combatting her berating, you don’t leave with anything from the boutique except a pair of sunglasses. Nursing a coffee in your hand, you go back and forth with Betty about possible Halloween costumes.

“Well, Ned and I might wanna go as Ash and Pikachu, but if not, we should definitely go as the Shining twins!” Betty suggests. You shrug in indifference.

“I was thinking of covering myself in fake blood and calling it a day.”

“Ooooh, hot. Very you. Do you think anyone’s gonna ask you to homecoming?”

Betty leans towards you, her syrupy-sweet smile genuine and lighting up all her features. Betty is the kind of person who makes you binge romantic comedies with her, after decorating cottage core-themed cupcakes in her kitchen with old Taylor Swift playing in the background. You’re happy that she has Ned, but the contrast of her bubbly outlook on life makes you feel like Daria.

“Probably not,” you attest, people-watching the sidewalk from across the street. You notice MJ walking out of the record shop. Locking eyes, she waves at you sheepishly. Betty turns her head.

“What about MJ?”

“What about her?”

“I dunno, I don’t discriminate. But I’m saying there is something very fruity about her.”

“Are you implying there’s also something fruity about me?”

Betty smiles, giving you a knowing look. You scoff.

“Okay, well, regardless, I’m sure she’s going with Peter Parker. Those two ogle at each other every chance they get.” You try not to convey any kind of vexation in your voice.

Betty opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by the roar of teenagers nearby. The rowdy boys look a few years younger than you, crowded around themselves like a cult-like blob of hoodies and Jansport backpacks. They move like they’re one being, slowly dispersing to reveal a red and blue figure.

Spider-Man is smack in the middle of them. His body language mirrors that of the teenage boys, though his composure and posture make him the obvious center of attention, the celebrity that these boys worship. They all take turns rotating various items for him to sign, from their ratty sneakers to the back of their portable video game consoles.

You can’t tell if you’re certain but you swear he looks right at you. You blink before confirming and he’s fast enough to dismiss his crowd of fans, swinging away on the street. You watch him wave towards you and Betty, though the people at the café around you also happen to be squealing in awe at the sighting of the masked man.

Maybe if you were naive, you would bask in the same fame that Spider-Man does, but having your powers truthfully makes you want to crawl into a hole. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you were on top of a building, crowds below you screaming your name to celebrate your honor.

You have no intention of being a superhero, but you practice acrobatics just in case. You’ve gotten good at swinging around the city in your weird suit made out of your own web fluid, which Betty would probably call avant-garde. You only swing when you can’t sleep, usually before the sun rises. Even though the city never sleeps, you swing fast enough for normal people to assume your lithe figure to be a bird. You’ve gotten so graceful at it over the years that you wonder if you would enjoy ballet.

It’s incredible what five feet and seven inches of a mutated Spider-girl can do with her body. You swing through the city with your new suit, a sewing project that you’d been working on in the late hours of the night. There have been news articles in the past and viral Reddit threads about a new female masked vigilante with similar powers to Spider-Man. Now with this suit, the speculations will come again, but with the query of a hero.

Maybe it was pompous to make your own suit at all. You don’t want to consider yourself a hero because besides halting basic robberies and subduing scummy men, you want to stay as human as possible. It makes you feel guilty, sometimes, but you justify this with Spider-Man’s existence. New York only had room for one Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Person.

Your Silk-sense floods your body immediately. Your ears perk up approximately two seconds later to the sound of a body hitting the pavement with a thump. You look down to the alleyway and see a blurry figure stumbling and limping up a closed dumpster. The stranger shoots a web toward the next building and swings through the air, fast enough for you to consider that you’re seeing a mirage. You hear a snapping sound and see a broken spider-web caught in the air, with the body flying through the air. You catch him immediately with the webs spurting from your fingertips. You adjust your mask as you examine the stranger, now cocooned into a silky chrysalis. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s Spider-Man.

“Hey, wait… you…” Spider-Man pants as he attempts to squirm out of his safety net.

“Um, are you okay?”

“You’re like… me,” the hero says plainly.

“Oh. Haha. That I am,” you reply awkwardly.

There were thoughts in the back of your mind over the years that maybe you should reach out to Spider-Man, that you should get to know him and follow his wing so that he can train you. But then you thought about the responsibilities that would come with that, and you decide that Silk was a secret best kept to yourself. You aren’t sure what to do now in the presence of New York’s favorite masked hero.

Spider-Man is able to break out of the cocoon and get to the rooftop where you are from the fire escape. He clutches his side and groans as he takes a step closer to you. The nerve-wracking afterthought of having to take care of someone else floods your mind and you curse at your selfishness. You can’t stay reserved all the time. An arduous bruise is flowering under Spider-Man’s suit, and he’s trying his best not to reveal it to you. What if you’re a villain?

“Are… are you okay to make it back… wherever you came from?” you question worriedly.

Spider-Man breathes out from his mask and peers at your face, staring at your eyes. He swears he’s seen you before, but he’s currently too sluggish from his injuries and his night of patrol to get a clear look at you, especially as you recoil into the shadows.

“Yeah, probably,” he coughs. “Who are you? I’ve… never seen you before.”

“Um… call me Silk,” you stammer. You reflexively cross your arms over your chest in cowardice.

When Spider-Man takes a step towards you, your body shakes with something that feels like a voltage of electricity. You’ve felt this sensation before. Heat permeates through your veins and you’re not sure what does it. Yes, you notice the suited man in front of you and how his physique is enough for any woman to get on her knees, but the gravity that pulls you towards him is definitely something else entirely. It’s currently knotting your stomach.

“Silk,” Spider-Man repeats after you. Hearing your name come out of his mouth makes you shiver. You aren’t sure if it’s an illusion, but the rooftop you’re both on feels like it’s tilting. The equilibrium between you two is threatening to break and you’d be relieved to just let yourself fall into the abyss.

“Hey, my apartment is nearby. Do… do you need somewhere to stay until you get better? You seem like you’re in bad shape,” you suggest shyly, unsure of what your boundaries are with this person. Just from the sound of his saccharine voice, you want to do whatever you can to comfort him.

“Are you planning on killing me by any chance?” Spidey’s eyes expand like a cartoon.

“No.”

The softness in your voice makes him give in.

__

Peter knows this is a stupid idea, but his judgment is clouded by your smell, and God, the mere existence of your body being in such a close radius to his makes his body heat up to the point of oblivion. He knows he should walk away and make it back to the apartment so that he can rest and tell Mr. Stark about your little meet-cute later. But your eyes drink him in.

He likes your room. He likes your vintage clippings of nude women from Playboy, your band posters of musicians he’s never heard of, and the dozens of pastel-colored drawings on your wall. In the dimness of your room, he thinks he could stay here forever.

Peter lies on your throw pillows, feeling silly that he’s still taking on the role of his alter ego when he really feels like he’s on an impromptu Tinder date. The glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling aren’t as bright as they were before, but it’s enough to scatter the darkness like a decoration of freckles. He browses your walls for something personal, like a photograph, but there’s nothing telling. A diminutive radio is perched on top of your dresser along with a various array of mismatched knick-knacks that bring the same kind of eclectic comfort a thrift store would give.

He tries to count as evenly as possible as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom, but the seconds feel agonizingly slow. One spider-man, two spider-man, three.

He doesn’t know why he feels on edge, or maybe wired, or was it anxiety? No matter what, the stability of his usual level-headed self is swapped for a state of frantic curiosity.

You return and blink at him shyly.

“Are you doing okay?”

Peter nods fervently.

“Yes, thank you. Um. Are you?”

The sound of your laugh calms him down. You nod. The awkward tension between the two of you is encapsulated in one large fragile bubble that wouldn’t be hard to pop. You look at him with your big eyes, raking over his muscular body on your bed.

Peter had felt drunk the whole time he followed you home like a stray cat, but now you’re close enough for him to breathe in your scent and examine the shape of your eyes. He knows those eyes. The speculation in his mind haunts him.

Rather than facing it, the cowardly intrusions in his mind force him to ask you arbitrary questions, like how you made your suit and what had happened to make you into something like him. You’re not very good at answering these questions. It almost feels like too much to be near you because he can hear the rhythm of your beating heart so clearly. He could make a song out of it if he wanted to.

“Why’re you being so sweet to me?” Peter murmurs.

You don’t expect him to ask this. Wasn’t being a good samaritan all about helping your neighbors? Plus, he’s Spider-Man. You’re positive any girl would love to be in your shoes right now.

“You’re hurt,” you say simply.

You shift closer to him so that the two of you are thigh to thigh. To your humiliation, he hears you audibly gasp when he grazes your knee with his hand.

You’re slightly uncomfortable when he probes you about your spider bite and you spare the gory details. Instead, you retract from yourself, asking him about the Avengers and what it’s like to always be in the public’s eye.

“How come I never heard about you?” Peter lilts.

“Oh, babe, you’re probably the first to know.”

“Really?” His eyes amplify again.

“Yeah. When this… happened to me, I didn’t know who to tell. Um, you’re basically the only person who knows. And you don’t even know me,” you laugh dryly and quietly.

Quietness looms over the two of you.

“Sorry, I’m not really sure how to talk to Spider-Man.”

“Please, call me Spidey. Spider-Man is my father’s name,” Peter jokes, eyes lighting up his features (he wishes you could see) when he hears your laugh.

Twenty minutes pass (yes, he’s mentally counting) and by now he is absolutely sure he cannot resist his urges. It makes him feel like such a fucking boy. He already knows the ins and outs and the birds and the bees, thanks to painfully embarrassing lectures in the past years by Aunt May, but he feels shame in how even the sight of you makes his stomach flip over.

The tiny cut on Peter’s bottom lip makes his mouth taste more metallic than he expects. Despite feeling inebriated, he feels highly attuned to all his senses at the same time. He breathes deeply, savoring the smell of your rose-scented incense billowing a line of smoke.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice soft, almost lush.

Your eyelashes flutter rapidly like bat wings when he holds your jaw and tugs down your mask. Peter isn’t surprised by the face he sees at all. He curses under his breath.

“What?” Hurt flashes in your eyes very quickly, so you avoid eye contact with the hero.

“Nononono,” Peter pleads. “I’m sorry. You’re just– you’re really, um, pretty.”

Christ, Was he fucking thirteen?

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” You wonder if whatever superhero handbook that exists in the world offers advice on other superheroes hitting on you. Or if you were being deceived. Maybe this is a test.

He’s grateful you can’t see his face underneath this mask. He’s sure he’s flushed with eyes dilated like a goddamn teenager, and then he mentally curses again when he realizes that’s exactly what he is.

“Can… can I try something?” Spider-Man’s voice is desperate but barely audible. He’s shy all of a sudden.

“’s long as you don’t murder me, I guess,” you mumble, pliant in your tone.

“I won’t. Close your eyes.”

You submit to his requests and you can count every second that passes inside this universe as if you’re waiting to get out of school. You’re hyper-aware of Spider-Man and how his head is inching closer to you, hand perched under your jaw, and you stay still for him. He could break you like fine China if he wanted to. For some reason, you think you’d be okay with it.

The soft flesh of warm lips meets yours. You gasp slightly but reciprocate. The taste of him is electrifying enough to heat your blood immediately, arousal flooding your core to your surprise.

“Tell me… You want me… To stop,” mumbles Peter. His eyes are screwed shut under his mask. If he had a clearer head, he’d pull his mask back down to hide his pink mouth and flee your room immediately.

“Why would I?” you breathe in between kisses.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop.”

“So don’t.”

With that, Peter groans as he palms the curves of your body and pulls you closer to him. You imagine his touch like ink spilling into a glass of water, spinning and curdling into itself until the color pervades the entirety of it. Peter feels feverish with his lips on yours, a tantalizing delirium.

It surprises him, his lack of gentleness and apprehension. It surprises you that you let him snake his gloved fingers to your center as it saturates with wet heat, delighting your knotted insides as he puts just the right amount of pressure on your aching core. You’re mewling, whining for more, and clawing at Peter’s jaw and clothed clavicle.

It’s like a ballroom dance, the way you lift your arms for him so that he can undress you with roused determination, suit falling from your shoulders like feathers. His Spider-man eyes expand and it makes you want to laugh — how was this vigilante so utterly boyish?

Slowly, Peter closes the gap between you two again and now you’re straddling his lap, too drunk off his lecherous touch to think even remotely straight. It’s when he palms your breast that his breaths grow even more ragged, wolf teeth nipping at your collarbone. You hiss sharply at the contact.

Your senses are flooded with frenzied avidity, which aptly replaces the angst that’s permeated your body from the past week. There’s a release you’re craving, a cursed catharsis, and he’s not even inside you yet. Hunger makes you a modern girl, doesn’t it?

It takes everything in Peter’s power to break the trance.

He doesn’t mean to shove you or push you that forcefully, even. You’ve stumbled back towards the edge of your bed as Peter backs away slowly. You blink at him and notice how out of place he looks in your room. He pulls his mask down quickly.

You’re convinced that perhaps this is a fever dream. In your bones, you know that when you wake up the next morning, the curve of Peter’s pink mouth will be ingrained in your brain permanently. You sigh.

“I’m– I’m sorry,” Spider-Man attempts. “I didn’t want to do anything we’d regret.”

You pull your knees to your chest and shift uncomfortably. “Right.”

“Not that– not that you’d be a mistake or anything, I– um. I really fucking like the way you make me feel. Even if it’s too much,” he confides, carefully stumbling over his words. His brain is going a million miles an hour. “But this feels… dangerous.”

“What’s your name?” you ask softly. To your disappointment, he shakes his head.

“I’m really sorry. I think I should go. I’ll look for you again another time… if you’re willing,” he whispers.

An awkward beat. He doesn’t say goodbye, but you know he says it with the tilt of his head. You imagine his human eyes, how they’re probably bright and pleading at you right now. Opening your window, he shoots a web, and with a thwick, he disappears immediately.

You don’t fall asleep easily that night.

Chapter Management

____

taglist: @mellithevirgo @icoldee @namoreno​

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x silk!reader #silk!reader #cindy moon #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader

[hotwings0203]

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

#dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha imagines #bnha smut #mha smut #yandere dabi #tw: noncon #touya #bnha touya #touya todoroki #Dabi #dabi x reader

[i-am-robie]

For me, one of the most inexplicable things in s5 was Lena working with Lex—the rest of it I could mostly swallow because here is a woman scorned, a woman hurt, who can’t see past her own anger. Here’s as close as I could get.

[INTRO PICKING UP MOMENTS AFTER THE END OF 5.19 Kara and Lena are alone in the lab while the rest of the team tries to figure out their next move (I don’t really care how this happens, it just does for my purposes okay? I’m not a fucking script writer.)]

“I wanted him back.” Lena’s voice feels like a gunshot even to her in the silence of the lab. Kara is sitting across from her, tinkering with a table, but she looks at Lena as if Lena has shoved her.

“What?” 

“My…” Lena swallows, “my brother. I wanted him back.”

Kara stares at her. This is the closest they’ve gotten to talking about before since Kara made it clear to her that she didn’t want to have that discussion. And maybe that was only hours ago, but that was before she shook Lena’s hand, before she said she was ready to hear Lena’s apology, before she asked if Lena was ready to work with her again, and the only thing Lena wants in the world, maybe even more than for this never to have happened, is for Kara to understand why she did it. 

“He saved me, you know? I shot him, for…” Lena stumbles (you goes unsaid), “I killed him, and when the anti-monitor brought him back, Lex made a deal that I would—” she thinks about how to describe it. “Survive is the wrong word I think—but that I would be as I had been when you saved the world.”

Kara is quiet, her face stuck somewhere between wariness and pain, like she’s not sure where Lena is going with this but knows, instinctively, that it will hurt. Still, she doesn’t try to stop her and that’s all the invitation that Lena needs to continue. She needs to get this out so that at least—if Kara doesn’t really forgive her, if Kara never lets her back in (lets her back in the way she’d let Lena in before Lena understood what that meant)—at least Kara will know the Gordian knot that Lena tied herself into. And, maybe, she’ll see why it took Lena so long to cut through it, why it took Lena so long to see the truth, even if that truth is, in the end, so very simple. 

Lena clears her throat and steels herself to continue. “It was catastrophically naive, I know. I mean, I killed Lex to stop him. Why would I ever walk willingly back to him?” She swallows, but her mouth is dry and her throat feels like sandpaper. She fixes her gaze on the table in front of her. “But you have to understand: when I shot him, I wasn’t killing my brother. I was killing what he had become—who he had become,” she corrects herself, because Lex turned himself into a monster, but Lena knows enough to understand that monsters are men, too. “That’s how I could do it. How I did it.”

Kara remains silent when Lena looks up at her, it doesn’t feel like an invitation to continue, per se, but it isn’t a request for her to stop.

“And then I woke up in a world where he was a hero, where he said he had changed, where he was on your side. And I thought, I thought what if Non Nocere could save not just me or the world, what if it could save Lex?” There’s a pressure to her speech now, although Kara’s quiet, Lena is aware that at any moment Kara will cut her off. “Because sure, the world was fundamentally changed, history as we knew it had never happened, but that potential...it’s like physics.” Lena looks down at her hands, remembers the energy thrumming through them when it had occurred to her. “The potential energy of his rage, of his monomaniacism, his megalomania: it was all still there waiting to be expressed, like water behind a dam,” she lets out a bitter laugh and looks away again. “I never stopped believing that he was capable of horrible, terrible things. I just hoped that maybe if I worked well enough, if I solved it quickly enough, that I wouldn’t have to lose him twice. And maybe no one else would suffer.”

She feels unmoored. It’s a familiar feeling, really, the only constant since her world came apart. This feeling is what Hope had been about: creating something to keep her head above water, to keep her from drowning until she could learn to breathe underwater. Lena casts around the lab for something to anchor herself.

There’s nothing but Kara. 

“I didn’t lose him again, in the end.” She lets out a sigh, shakes her head. “I’d never gotten him back in the first place. It was an illusion. But...but I did lose someone.”

Kara brings her eyebrows together at that, a tiny crinkle forming to match the small frown on her face.

“You,” Lena breathes the word out. “I lost you, Kara...The first time was when I didn’t believe that you could love me and lie to me about Supergirl. Except that I could have gotten you back then, if I’d been willing to see you, to listen to you, to let go of the worst parts of myself. Because it was those parts of me that convinced me you were gone. And you weren’t. Not yet.”

“We—“ Lena takes a breath, twists her fingers together, the pressure just to the point of pain to ground her. “Our relationship would have been salvageable, maybe, if I hadn’t decided that a world that didn’t need Supergirl was the way to fix my hurt. And it wasn’t the right way, it never could have been; the stated goal of Non Nocere might have been about making it so that no one could hurt anyone else, but really it was about making it so you couldn’t hurt me again. You’re not the first person to hurt me.” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh because that feels like an understatement so enormous it really is almost comical. “Sometimes it feels like my heart has been broken by everyone I’ve ever loved—I don’t know why...”

Lena trails off because part of her does know why Kara is different, and she’s not ready to say it aloud (she’ll probably never say it aloud) but she can’t commit to the untruth. “I needed something that would protect me from you because I knew eventually I’d let you back in, and I didn’t trust you not to hurt me again.”

Kara opens her mouth, but Lena holds up a hand to stop her. “So I made horrible, selfish choices because at that point it didn’t matter what you thought of me. I imprisoned Eve and I stole Myriad and I used kryptonite on you,” her sins are pouring out, it’s nothing Kara doesn’t know, and Lena isn’t in search of absolution, but she wants Kara to see that she knows what she did, that she’s not trying to bury it or deny it or gloss over it, “and when Lex brought me in, I worked with him. And that led to the second time that I lost you because it caused you to give up on me. I rationalized, of course, that it didn’t matter if you thought I was just another Luthor, or if you thought me capable of the same atrocities that Lex was—is—because what I was working on would make it so that no one would be capable of that. Not me, not him...not you.”

“Lena, I—” Kara starts, but they’re interrupted as Nia and Alex clatter back into the lab.

“We’ve got to get to the fortress.”

#for me this is what was missing from the first episode: because Kara does know what's in Lena's heart but I wanted to hear it #and honestly there's so much still unsaid between the two of them. it's *clenches fist* a lot. #anyway I blame all the time spent we had to spend last year trying to think about Lena's point of view since the fucking writers gave us a #whole bunch of half assed nonsense #the best business bitch i know #robie writes

[in-tua-deep]

Are you into my hero academia? What about an AU or crossover with tua?

UHHHH I am technically, like, peripherally? I watched some seasons of the show like two or three years ago and since then have simply absorbed all content through osmosis, reading fanfiction that has canon events, and my sister telling me about the arcs of her fav characters lmao

so a crossover hmmm

First of all you'd have to like, establish whether bnha is an alternate universe or just The Future If No Apocalypse with quirks being traced back to the descendants of the kids born without mothers

So let's say it's that - the glowing baby was the "first quirk" but the truth is people had powers before that. But - well, the Umbrella Academy was obviously a marketing gimmick to those in the future! There were even comics based on them

In the future, you might find some of those comics in museum exhibits dedicated to depictions of powers in the pre-quirk era, but they're just fun depictions and much less popular than, oh, DC or MCU comics which are also in the exhibits!

End of s2 doesn't happen I guess in this au?? No sparrow academy at least lmao. So, the Umbrella Academy stop the apocalypse (again) and the Commission threat is? Neutralized? Whatever. They decide to jump back to the future

Five warns them that time travel is a crapshoot, that he has no fucking idea when they'll land beyond some nebulous "future" because Five can at least control the direction if not exactly how long

Also, Five is like. Super tired. Incredibly tired. Homeboy still has a healing gut wound, time traveled twice, has been jumping all over the place, gotten even more injured, experienced paradox psychosis, and managed to undo time all in the space of like, two weeks. There actually more than that but we don't have time to get into how fucking tired Five is from his ~Month of Hell

Like genuinely this is like putting someone almost delirious from lack of sleep in the driver's seat of a car and expecting to get to your destination in one piece

But hey, the siblings are like "do it uwu" and Five has sacrificed everything for them already so why not get behind the wheel again

So Five jumps them, and of course something goes wrong because Five has pushed his powers like a great big rubber band and honestly it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip and it snapped back to hit him

So here be the umbrella academy: spilled out into the future like a cup of bad coffee.

Five probably isn't in too good of shape tbh, like they're hundreds of years in the future (but hey at least confirmation of no apocalypse am I right) in a world full of superpowers and Five is like. bleeding from his ears and nose probably idk

Let's handwave a little bit - Reginald made them all polyglots so the squad all speak varying levels of Japanese. Allison is the best at it, Five is second best but tends to use more archaic words bc he had missions in Japan back when he was with the commission, and Klaus is third best.

(Ben is the worst bc he decided when he was 16-and-dead that he didn't have to do anything regarding lessons and maintenance and hasn't given a shit since - but also he's dead so)

So you have a bunch of weird adults with a bleeding child in like, an alley who have appeared from nowhere

so of course heroes get involved

Anyway, the squad get taken in and Five is conscious but like, barely? And he's not going to let himself get separated from his siblings again fuck-you-officer and there is a lot of confusion

anyway detective tsukauchi ends up getting involved and ends up having to hear this batshit story and be like "...truth." which sends all kinds of people scrambling because fucking time travel? Like yeah, it's been theorized to be a possible quirk but there's no recorded cases of any sort of time travel that is for more than 24 hours let alone hundreds of years

"I'm an adult." Five says sourly, "I just happened to be returned to my 13 year old body when I time traveled one time."

"True." Tsukauchi says, feeling his soul leave his body, but like. absently. the way he does when he's called in at 2am after getting off of work at midnight.

"I'm 58." Five says.

"Lie." Tsukauchi says, because this is a headcanon hill I will die on.

"I'm probably 58, but it was hard to keep track. I'm at least 50." Five corrects.

"True." Tsukauchi sighs like these six (seven? they keep referring to another sibling and Klaus said 'ghost' like that was fine and it registered as true and Tsukauchi is not nearly paid enough for this) are not giving him a migraine by just existing

on the bright side there's like, probably protocols in place for individuals who are Legally Chronologically Adults but thanks to quirks are Not Physically Or Not Mentally Adults with tests to determine if the individual needs a guardian or not

though i'm gonna be honest idk if Five would pass the test bc he literally cannot take care of himself at all, has never paid taxes or understands how to exist legally, and also his emotional maturity is stunted as all hell. also like. we don't actually know how much being in his thirteen-year-old body affects his mental state but yeAH Five is vibing

anyway Tsukauchi probably phones a friend on this bullshit because Time Travel Child alone is probably enough for the Hero Commission to be like "find a way to control and use it or nuke it from orbit" and that's not even touching whatever the fuck Klaus is doing (shit gets real once 'dead men tell no tales' stops being true) let ALONE Allison's whole deal

on the bright side like, at least Vanya isn't getting side-eyed that much bc Big Destructive Quirks aren't exactly unknown? if vanya wanted to i guess quirk suppressors exist for that until extensive training on how to control a super powerful quirk happens

Tsukauchi in the group chat: Aizawa please I am literally begging you to take this bullshit on

Aizawa: in this economy? with my class?

RatGod: lol we'll take them ;3c

Aizawa: no

Anyway they probably end up having to live at UA while Five insists on trying to get them home still and everyone else is like "oh hey we used to be child soldiers as well! (:" and Aizawa is like "i hate everything about this and everything about all of you but also like nedzu is making me interact with you so :/"

nedzu is out here vibing like "lol i just don't want the hero commission to get their little paws on these time traveling fuckers, i think you should make then teaching assistants or something"

honestly the siblings are probably like. figuring out how to function in the bnha universe and getting like, legally registered and stuff while Five ferally refuses bc that's like saying he's giving up on getting them home and he can do this

Recovery girl tries to heal him a little when he arrives and he passes out for two weeks like, immediately bc homeboy is running on fumes and spite at this point

also i think on principle it would be REALLY FUNNY if the squad got to tag along with the class bc like. Five is thirteen and the class are all 15. this does not sound like a large age gap. anyone who has interacted with teenagers know that the class would squint at Five and be like "who is this sassy lost middle schooler."

I feel like when I was a sophomore we were still like "freshman... babie" even though we were literally only one year older.

i think the difference between the umbrella academy and school kids would be pretty funny like. objectively the bnha kids are lowkey child soldiers?? like they're 15 and fighting villains but like, there's all this red tape and laws and stuff but,,, deku still be breaking his limbs in a child fighting ring against equally superpowered children for like. entertainment and sponsorships sooo

but also like Five would be like "oh cool when is the experimentation class"

"the what"

"you know, when your powers are pushed real hard by putting you in different terrible situations while your dad and sibling stand by with clipboards writing down the exact voltage it takes before you can't use your powers anymore when being electrocuted"

"hound dog's office is right there. therapy is available to you at any time. i need you to know this."

all might calls Luther "my boy" like one (1) time and Luther just breaks down crying probably because he is starved for positive attention

klaus and midnight get along like a literal house on fire, aizawa tried his best to keep them apart for as long as possible but god damn

(klaus: your name is shimura nana??

all might: immediately dies choking on blood)

i feel it absolutely necessary to point out that aizawa, present mic, and midnight are all like, 30? and the umbrella academy are all between 29-early 30s? they are PEERS but like. the umbrella academy are more chaotic due to childhood trauma

the umbrella academy probably get offered to like. also train to be heroes. i mean,, there HAS to be some sort of track for people who change careers right?? you don't have to cement your future as a hero when you're 15 i'm sure there must be something and the squad already have experience if they want to go be legal heroes

diego probably does at least?? diego just vibes honestly. diego gets momo to make knives during a team exercise and they just go feral on everyone else and it ends with diego highfiving momo and someone getting way to close to being stabbed for comfort

Five might just be. legally enrolled as an Actual Student? But also i think it's funny to picture the entire squad just. all in the back of the classroom with luther trying to fit into a high school desk as they take notes on the laws of The Future surrounding heroics

every word out of the umbrella academy's mouths just make everyone more concerned on principal but like, five and klaus are probably the worst offenders. Klaus just says whatever comes to mind with no filter and Five doesn't get what people would consider to be abnormal anymore like

Five: yeah our dad bought us when we were babies and experimented on us throughout our childhood in order to make an elite team of child soldiers superheroes, it happens

Todoroki: ...have you heard of quirk marriages?

izuku probably has an aneurism bc he's is the only person who might recognize them from the comics because you know ya boy extensively researched the idea of heroics in pre-quirk eras (batman was an inspiration alright???) and might dredge up a memory of a less popular comic series

Five: I can time travel but it is very hard, which is why we are hundreds of years in the future. And why I look like a child.

Kaminari: so are you a kid or not?

Five, serenely: whatever is most convenient for me at any given moment

Mina: hell yeah game the system

they have a brief lesson on astronomy and Luther raises his hand like "ooh! i was isolated on the moon for four years and did SO MUCH research" and then just gets up and starts infodumping like way too much information on the moon

Izuku sitting there like "damn if quirks hadn't popped up we could have achieved so much in terms of space travel. please tell me more giant man who lived in pre-quirk era."

Vanya finds out about the quirkless and is like "oh mood that genuinely sounds like my childhood, being ordinary in a house full of extraordinary people, and then i found out that i did have powers but only much later in life after i had already been emotionally scarred by the experience"

deku: vanya we have so much in common

iida and uraraka: concerned noises

aizawa: hound dog. therapy with hound dog for all of you.

there's probably some conflict with like, the hero commission wanting to get their hands on the time travelers?? but probably especially five and klaus as a) time travel and b) ghosts (the hc def has bodies they would like to stay buried)

five has a pavlovian reaction to anything with 'commission' in the name and hates them on site, probably plays into his age in order to become a ward of UA or something to protect him from the commission a little bit.

(this makes nedzu Five's legal guardian. aizawa has his resignation papers all prepped in a drawer marked 'in case of emergency' but let's be real, if nedzu wants to take over the world aizawa should probably be on the rat-bear's side of things :/)

five: ah, i do recall the inhumane experimentation that we were subjected to

nedzu, who was experimented on: haha same hat! want me to dig up the location of reginald hargreeves's remains so you can spit on them?

klaus: nah no worries we dumped them out in the courtyard unceremoniously like, a while back. how long ago varies for each of us because of time travel!

luther: you said hound dog's office was down the hall and to the right?

on the bright side, Luther probably feels like. way less self conscious about his body, partially bc of his fighting and all that in the 60s but also bc !! now he genuinely doesn't feel like a freak. no one even gives him a second glance. one of the teachers looks like a slab of cement with a face. gang orca looks Like That. there is literally a student with an entire bird head and goth aesthetic. Luther does not stick out at all

allison and shinso bond over having "villainous" voice-based quirks

allison and shinso having worn muzzles at some point in their youth as punishment 🤝

aizawa probably helps train vanya as well with the whole, being able to erase a world ending quirk safely thing he's got going on which makes for a very nice safety net

i don't think vanya would want to be a hero at the end of things though. maybe the assistant teacher in the music class or something?? all vanya wants is to be able to not end the world

i feel like as time goes by, five brings up trying to get home less and less. part of that is because like,,, genuinely what do they have to go back to?? Allison has Claire, but like. I'm 100% sure the first thing she did in the future was try track down Claire's records and found out Claire was like. fine. became an adult, had a family, probably became the ancestor of the first "quirked" kids who officially popped up after light baby. had a good life, died at an old age etc. etc.

they start settling into the bnha world with like, "we can always hop aboard the five express into where the fuck ever" as a plan Z if things go completely pear shaped (again)

i'mma be real, five himself doesn't give a fuck as long as there is a) no apocalypse and b) his family is alive. Like that's it. His bar is so incredibly low and yet his life keeps fucking trying to limbo under it

i just think it would be funny to have like, Five trying to get along with his "peers" and make friends while the siblings do the same but like, in the staff room

also think it would be funny for five to just walk into the staff room and get coffee occasionally.

a teacher: why is a student in here -

Five, sipping coffee: i'm an adult

nedzu like "what kind of guardian would i be if i didn't teach my new son all the tunnels around ua so he can pop out wherever"

five like "hey new dad can i put stashes of supplies all around ua of weapons, money, food, and other assorted things that might be useful if one needed to fight or make a run for it" and nedzu is like "haha just put your list of what supplies you want in your go bags on my desk and i'll critique it later!"

anyway a bnha/tua crossover would be incredibly chaotic but probably very funny

#long post #far tua long #tua bnha crossover #what kind of disaster is this #there are so many characters in bnha to even consider #there is no more apocalypse so five either chills the fuck out or his paranoia ramps up to an eleven #or both! #five teleporting into nedzu's office like: hey i wrote a 52 page potential contingency plan for if x happens #and nedzu is like 'wonderful!' and gives it back to five the next day with corrections and critiques in red ink #klaus ben and ghost!nana get along like a house on fire even if she keeps telling klaus that he's too skinny #ben: klaus is an absolute fucking idiot with zero braincells #nana nodding sagely while looking at all might: ah yes i know the exact type #diego and snipe become absolute bros like ride or die because why not #luther gets positive reinforcement and goes to therapy #also thirteen listens patiently to luther infodumping about space because i think that would be nice #five is either like 'i'm only thirteen uwu' or 'i'm fifty eight' and there is nothing in between - only what is most convenient #i feel like kaminari and mina vibe with five's brand of chaos #iida doesn't know whether to murder five for being a gremlin and disobeying so many rules or to be respectful bc five is technically old #aizawa is SO TIRED y'all #aizawa thinks vanya is going to be the good hargreeves but PSYCHE all the hargreeves are equally chaotic in different ways #five calls nedzu 'dad' for the sole reason that it makes every teacher and/or hero in earshot cringe in automatic fear #klaus also calls nedzu dad because he just thinks it's funny #five and nedzu have similar coping mechanisms so they vibe but nedzu also vibes with klaus's sense of chaotic humor #five gets talked into healthier coping mechanisms by way of 'keeping his cover' or 'preventing the hc from getting their hands on you' #aka five is not allowed to drink alcohol #five HAS gone to midnight and been like 'hey teach knock me the fuck out my brain is working overdrive and i need to not be awake anymore'

[unpretty]

~astielle askdump with spoilers up to chapter 24 starts here~

anonymous asked:

"then once you get to the faewild you have to not piss off the fairy king, and instead convince him to give you a shot. sometimes there are intermediate steps here where you have to prove you got gud, because he doesn’t bother booting up the goddess gacha for scrublords."... so Vaelon skipped like an entire chapter/quest with a single charisma check?

it turns out in this universe if you put everything you have into charisma at the expense of all else you become comically overpowered and only clinical depression can nerf you

@driftward asked:

I think I see the spirits of the originals in their descendents; Karzarul, of course, who has not changed as much as they would like to think they have, and perhaps with enough denial they can be loved after all. Lynette in Leonas, the part where if he cannot have it on his own terms he does not want it at all. And Vaelon in Minnow, who shows her love for all things through collections and wanderings, but does not want the responsibility that often comes with attachments

anonymous asked:

"Stay with me? No war, no fighting. Let the world think you’re asleep a little longer. Until I pick one of every flower and eat every edible thing, take a feather from every kind of bird, map the whole world and catch a thousand fallen stars." You make me think that maybe I could love the world, reading stories until I hold the heart of every little thing in my memories

@eriquin asked:

Lynette: No matter how hot I find the monster I will not fuck the monster because he is a monster. .... hmmmm wonder how that's related to Ari's kinks. Nope, can't mean anything.

every single trio encountering each other for more than five minutes: i hope this doesn't awaken anything in me

@ivylaughed asked:

After reading the most recent Astielle chapters and then doing yet another reread, I'm thinking Leonas's threatening speech about Toast in Chapter 8 was reassuring to Karzarul, whether consciously or subconsciously. "Oh good, this one knows how to deal with loss. She knows how to live and keep on living."

@ivylaughed asked:

Sorry not sorry for two Astielle asks in one day, this story has eaten my brain and I think I've reread it three times in the past week. BUT. Leonas coughing up flowers and dandelion fluff is totally deliberately isn't it? He's got it bad.

he's got a terminal case of shoujo aesthetics for sure

just look at how often minnow notes the length of his fingers

anonymous asked:

......that shit hurted and now I'm all in my Karzarul feels again. how could you do this to me

anonymous asked:

Karzarul can eat my problems if you know what I mean (sorry)

if we've learned anything it's that you could probably just ask apropos of nothing and that would work out

anonymous asked:

Ohhhh. I've been wondering where the terms and conditions were.

only one man can be trusted to keep them safe and he probably drinks tadpoles through a boba straw

anonymous asked:

Well that answers Leonas' question about how he got so good at dreams.

karzarul making a dream flower: what, like it's hard?

karzarul trying to make a new form: WHERE DID THESE ARMS COME FROM

@onwardmotley asked:

I know Ari is probably right about Malgath and Kelruil but I actually have been in fandoms where fully-consensual vivisection is on the table as a fun romantic thing between two mad scientists, including holding someone's heart in your hands, so like. Maybe Karzarul just shouldn't kinkshame people idk.

canonically it is open to interpretation but in my head while they had a very unhealthy relationship karzarul really did just kinkshame that man to death

@onwardmotley asked:

Also a very heartfelt RIP to all the heroes and heirs who came all prepped to avenge their fallen partners and spouses and got thirsty Karzarul. "I'm not so terrible as my reputation would have you believe" "You never take me dancing anymore" good lord.

the fact that karzarul doesn't understand why violet is Like That gets funnier all the time

@windmillcrusader asked:

delighted to learn that karzarul has a multi phase boss fight. it’s what he deserves

@phasestab asked:

There is something intensely erotic about a man who knows how to structure himself a good boss fight.

despite what SOME COMICS would have you believe he is NOT easy!! he doesn't show off his final form in the first fight!!! he's gonna make sure you can last until PHASE FOUR!!! ... unless you use the glitch where if you use the kiss emoji he goes into final form immediately. but that's cheating.

(i like to imagine that if the starlight heroes games were real they would be old-school nintendo hard and the majority of the fandom would tell you that you don't need to beat the final boss battle to be a true fan because almost no one gets past phase two, at least not in the ORIGINALS, these new games are TOO EASY and also they didn't remember the sprites having so much hip action)

@asimovsideburns asked:

god I’m also just. SO head in hands about the fact that there’s a whole legend about how the three are fated to kill each other by the will of the gods and it’s just. WRONG. just completely wrong!! and like I’m going to have to reread but I remember Minnow early on being like “I won’t kill you” and Ari being like “we have to kill each other” and Minnow being like “well then I’ll kill you later, and the gods won’t take vengeance on us for not fighting because we’re just putting it off for a bit” and I’m like. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

"the reason we're always killing each other is because it's fate and can't be helped because the goddesses hate me and don't want me to be happy and thinking i could be happy actually just makes it worse so it's better to just really lean into it" - a reliable source

@flyingseacow asked:

Don't mind me, just rereading the whole story after chapter 23/24 giving so much new context:- Chapter 3 = “He is not your prince,” Ari said. “Astielle is not your kingdom. The Hero need be loyal to no one.” - AHHHH- "it felt offensive to treat a Tauril as a collection of other animal parts, rather than a whole monster with all his own parts - HAH! - “She should be mine, if she’s anyone’s.”“You’re not the first Heir to think so,” - Uuugh, and this was just chapter 3, rereading this might hurt

minnow's trying not to commit a microaggression while karzarul's out here hot-gluing regular sized bat wings onto a bear

anonymous asked:

Oh no. He's why she can't sing in front of others, why she panics when asked to sing. And poor Leonas, no wonder his memories are all of blood and death, when Flynn was the longest they'd ever spoken (lol) after he killed Lynette. "In the earliest reincarnation cycles, I. Made a lot of mistakes." Karzarul, King of All Monsters and also King of Understatements.

has finally met his match in "he has a lot of problems" minnow

@ultragenta asked:

HEY KITTY?? UH, HEY, HEY KITTY???? DOES MINNOW FEELING WEIRD ABT SINGING IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH, SAY, THE FIVE OR SIX TIMES HER SOUL '''REMEMBERS''' A GIANT TERRIFYING STRANGER HOLDING A BLADE TO HER THROAT AND DEMANDING SHE SING OR DIE???? KITTY????? DID YOU HVE TO HURT ME THAT WAY SPECIFICALLY KITTY?????????

maybe she just has regular stage fright! we'll never know!! and neither will karzarul!!!

#original #writeblogging #astielleblogging #astielle spoilers #asdjasdjk originally said 25 bc that's. what i'm working on.

[crazyw3irdo]

I see you’re also a Riddler fan. I gotta ask, how do you feel about his portrayal in the upcoming pattinson batman movie?

anon my beloved thank you so much for giving me this opportunity because i have ranted about this to multiple people irl but i don’t think i’ve fully lost it on this blog yet. long angry rant under the cut.

TLDR: i hate it

first of all, i can’t talk about what they’ve done to my beloved puzzle doofus without addressing the larger problem that dc movies have as a whole: the “dark and edgy” factor. i’ve done a bit of a rant on this in my tags recently here but that was really just a side point to what i was talking about at that moment. basically, fans want characters to be happy. movie makers continue to not understand that. i’d thought the dceu was moving more towards the actual fun stuff lately- shazam, birds of prey, and the suicide squad were all amazing- but as much as i love robert pattinson and think he’ll do a great job it’s not. it’s not looking good. i don’t want another grimdark movie. i want fun.

when i first heard that ed was gonna be the main villain i was just. very concerned. like. i would love to see him in a movie. i would love my good riddle boy getting to be funny and over the top but i just wasn’t sure if they were going in that direction and just… it’s clear that’s not it. and it’s not even in a direction i could understand?? like i knew in my core they wouldn’t let him be camp, but to jump so far into. whatever the hell that outfit is was just entirely unexpected.

i know comics can change canon characterization around from comic to comic and that combined with various fanon interpretations that how everyone looks at specific characters can be different, so i’d like to quickly take a moment to express my ideal form of the riddler that might just include a lot of projecting:

he’s a guy who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. he’s a guy who wishes he had someone on his level. he just wants attention. he does like batman, he respects him, he thinks that since batman can solve his riddles that maybe he isn’t as lonely as he thinks, but batman still locks him in arkham and as smart as he is he doesn’t understand why. he’s like a child acting out because it’s the only way he knows how to get attention. he’s a gifted kid with burnout. he struggles so much socially that he tries to reject society by focusing on riddles and intelligence but still wants that social attention. he’s a campy theatre kid that loves showing off. he’s a smug little bastard trying his best. he pouts when he doesn’t get what he wants. he’s autistic. he’s gay but nobody wants him. he and oswald are divorced.

i know i likely won’t ever get my ideal riddler, but really just what hurts me the most is there are so many ways to make him edgy and just out of character enough that would still work so much better than whatever this is. make him a snobbish asshole in a clean pressed suit sneering at those below him, make him a rejected loner who wants to prove the world wrong through any means necessary, make him a jigsaw-like character with deadly escape rooms, hell make him an r/iamverysmart “you say you want to improve society and yet you still live in it? checkmate. i am very intelligent.” and it’d still be better than whatever the fuck this is.

and good god the costume. the fucking costume. edward has fucking standards. what the absolute fuck were they thinking? i get if you don’t want him looking like the jim carrey version or the early comics where he had that amazingly terrible skintight bright green spandex, i don’t expect him to wear that, but in almost every other version of the riddler he wears a suit. that’s his thing.

look at the arkham & telltale games versions. look at how good these are. he’s not even wearing a suit in arkham knight, but it still works

yeah they’re not live action, but you know what riddler looked fucking amazing in live action?

i have very mixed feelings about the gotham tv show, especially for someone who never watched it, but just look at his fucking suits. it’s amazing. they’re iconic. they’re beautiful.

what the fuck is this. who is this and what did they do to my little riddle lad. i hate this. it’d be better if he was in secondhand party city onceler cosplay.

#dc #edward nygma #look at how they massacred my boy

[beckyblah]

I've been scrolling through your blog a bit and fell in love with your superhero au can I have some crumbs for it please?

asdfgh i’m not sure what kind of crumbs you’re looking for, but sure! I basically had the idea for this AU back in late June when Tommy was talking about how he’s exactly like spiderman, and I thought, “yeah but the spiderman that all of NYC hates and has the police after him lol.” Which basically led me down the rabbit hole of like... thinking about how if the dsmp WERE in a Marvel or DC setting, that Dream - especially at the beginning - would be this sort of Lex Luthor, runs-the-government, fake-hero type guy. Which positions him as this well-funded, super-strong, government type guy and the bench trio as scrappy, anti-establishment kids who get slapped with a villain label. I’m definitely more western comic book inspired than I am like, BNHA inspired or something.

Weird world-building stuff is that I thought it would be very in-character for Dream to want to limit and control people’s abilities. So I think the SMP government has a pretty tight grasp on parahumans and lots of regulations on who can use their abilites and how. People need licenses, and need to be on a registry etc. Think Marvel’s Mutant Registration or Superhero Registration Act - especially in its comic form where it locks down anyone from using their powers. So the bench trio work in direct opposition that Act, and end up fighting muggers and murderers just as much as the end up robbing gas stations for spare cash. They don’t kill, but they also need to pay bills and make a buck somehow! In their spare time, they try to show the world just how two-faced the superhero system is. And Dream fucking despises that.

After that I really wanted to draw Sam and Ponk because I love them and I love their story very much! I think Ponk is this kind of lame and silly villain who robs banks for fun and convenience stores for their banger slushies but never kills anyone. Meanwhile Sam is part of this pseudo-military, homeland security sort of government operation that is SMP Superheroes and he’s on a hard downward spiral. He’s in charge of maintaining and operating the parahuman superprison, but is also expected to uphold parahuman laws. That’s why I gave him a more armored, riot-police sort of vibe! He’s the parahuman fuzz. He made Ponk’s first set of legs before he knew Ponk was a villain. When Ponk revealed himself, it caused a huge fight. Ponk ended up trying to prove how being a hero and being the warden was affecting Sam which, well, led to the arm situation.

I have plans for Phil, Niki, and Techno, who are major anti-government anarchists. Phil is a former hero from before Dream managed to get his fingers into every pie in the government. The bench trio and the syndicate end up clashing quite often because of their lack of regard for civilian and especially non-parahuman lives. I’m not sure what Wilbur is up to, but I think maybe L’Manburg was sort of this X-Men Genosha sort of thing where it was going to be a parahuman paradise and Wilbur was this Magneto-esque terrorist with good intentions and terrible execution. His downfall and vilification was what led Phil to join up with Techno and become an anarchist in the first place.

Oh my god this is getting so long and I’m hard rambling so I’m gonna stop now but huresih idk if I’ll ever do more with this because I’m not a writer but if I manage to wrangle my motivation, I’d love to make a few short comics in this AU.

#not art #ask #long post #I think? #oh my god im so sorry to ramble at you all #i'm making it all up as I go! #last thought: jack manifold... villain or hero? I argue that he is a government hero! #Quackity is also a tough one #hmmmmm #thoughts #idk #I know everyone makes Punz a mercenary but consider instead: government contractor lol #he knows who pays his bills and is steady work and also that he is in danger of being locked up in the Vault if he doesn't work for the #government #superhero AU #superpower au

[awsuntanz]

a ramble about helium chapter 4 (and dakota’s wonderful characterization)

its 4am, forgive me for any mistakes. i’ve never written anything like this before, aha.

All of these quotes are from Chapter 4 of @heytherestilinski‘s fic Helium!

The way Dakota (the author) fleshes out conflict and allows their painfully realistic characterization to shine is so...perfect. I find myself heavily relating to Dream, George, and even Sapnap at times. 

Here are some lines that I didn’t think would stick out to me (but did):

After a quiet moment, to his soaring heart’s approval, George speaks up again.

This entire kitchen scene portrays that feeling of having a conversation with someone who matters to you. Whether it would classify as something important to someone else or not is irrelevant- to you, in that moment, it feels like you’re holding the world. It’s soft, and tender. You don’t want it to fall flat. You don’t want to let it go. (This scene may or may not have encouraged me to say goodnight to a special someone I was thinking of while reading this).

Sapnap dumps the responsibility of the cart back onto Dream. As he walks past him, he says, “You suck at flirting.”

I really enjoyed the stupid banter between Dream and Sapnap at the grocery store. It not only served as some nice comic relief that kept our guard down before the conflict at the end of the chapter, but it’s also something us readers would definitely hear from (and say to) our friends in real life. Good comic relief is something that eases us in naturally and allows us to immerse ourselves and enjoy the moment while maintaining that element of surprise that keeps us interested :)

He turns away from Dream. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dream may be less controlled in his emotions and impulses, but he is very open in sharing them. George has more of a filter on everything. Controlled. Not wanting to push Dream (or maybe even himself) off the edge.

“You wanted to this morning,” he says, low.

“Yeah, because we were in your house, not the middle of the grocery store.”  

Rejection. Denial. George’s response holds some truth to it, but comes off as a haphazard excuse at the same time. He doesn’t appreciate the way Dream pushes for that direct confrontation and frankness when it comes to approaching their situation (and honestly? Neither would I). 

George halts to face him again, with a half-whisper, “Not exactly the best place to ambush me, Dream.” 

I like the use of the word ambush here because of the strong negative connotation it implies. It’s as if he’s saying that Dream sought out to make him uncomfortable. As if this was pre-planned and intentional, and not another one one of his silly impulses.

Dream stares at him wildly. “I didn’t ambush you. You brought up your expectations, not me.” His voice grows tight. “Are you seriously still going to act like this?”

We’ve had enough of “Dream, why? Dream, no! Dream, quit being an idiot!” from the readers. This time, he takes that blame and tosses it over to George instead. Conflict grows stronger.

“Like I’m—I’m this stumbling idiot who forces you into every bad situation,” he says. “It’s exhausting, and doesn't make me feel good about myself, and—” He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “It’d be nice if you took some responsibility, for once. That’s all.”

God, I’m so guilty of how George does this to Dream. Taking responsibility isn’t very fun when you feel like the other person is constantly making irrational, immature, and as we’ve established earlier, overall impulsive decisions when it comes to what they say and do. We assume that the other person should be able to understand us- We’ve put up with them for all this time, haven’t we?

Realizing that having a mentality like this is toxic and draining to the other person as well is... difficult. It’s difficult to remember that they’re trying, and that they genuinely care about you too. The very same things that make them irritating are what make them a loving and caring person as well. It takes growth from the both of you to learn and understand each other. And growth takes time.

It’s 4AM at the time I’m writing this, and I’m far too tired to quote the entire phone scene, so I’m going to assume you’ve read it. 

A few lines from George:

“Can...can you stay on, for a bit? Can we just talk?”

“Please, Dream.”

“I just want to hear your voice.”

A few lines from Dream:

“George.”

“Stop,” he warned. “Stop that.”

“Don’t say that.”  //  “What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck, George. Why are you doing this to me?”

The reason Dream brings this up is because it highlights a moment where their general character roles in the fic are switched. In this scenario, it highlights a moment of hypocrisy. George is desperate, and vulnerable. The phone call dialogue showcases him doing something that he knows he shouldn’t be doing. “Can we not talk about this? Can we pretend this phone call didn’t happen?”

Now, plenty of ugly nights and long weeks later, he steps closer to George in the grocery aisle as an unconcerned passerby skirts around their cart and conflict.  

I’m not sure why I like this line. It feels like a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, your conflict is small. Insignificant to the rest of the world, mattering to you two and only you two. Makes everything a bit more personal, I guess.

He looms over him, wishing he could melt the bristling anger from his brown eyes, and wishing he had it in himself to be angry, too.

I relate to both sides of this. That gut-wrenching feeling of not being able to find your own anger at someone who is angry at you. The feeling of knowing that your anger is frustrating and hurting someone else, too. Either way, it feels absolutely terrible.

“You called me,” Dream recounts, even though he can tell George remembers it as vividly as he. “You talked to me.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath. “Then you got mad at me the next morning, and iced me out.”

Doing the same thing that you hated the other person for doing, and taking it out on them afterwards. Yeah.

(dakota. dream. can you pls stop calling me out through george i would really really really appreciate it thank u) /hj /lh 

“Because you let it happen,” George says, but he looks more vulnerable than before.

blame game here we go againnnnn

Dream stares down at him. “So it’s all on my shoulders,” he reiterates flatly. “It’s all my responsibility, now?” 

“Yes,” George spits, his sharpness startling them both. He meets Dream's gaze, unwavering, and recollects himself with a deep breath.

 “Yes. Because you made it your responsibility, when you sent me that text.”

George was ready to throw that blame right back into Dream’s face. When I saw that whole scene in Heat Waves, I realized how much I related to George in that particular situation. I knew it would come back, somehow. George wouldn’t be able to let something as huge as that, something that shifted the entire course of their relationship...slide so easily. Even with Dream’s eventual promise to work on himself. The whole time, I was thinking, “He’s too nice. He’s too patient,” and, “I wouldn’t be that nice. I wouldn’t be that patient. Not on the inside, at least.”

And you didn’t fail me. That final jab, although relatable- It hurt.

Now that the screens are off, the distance is gone, and the barriers are thinner than ever before, George’s flaws are becoming more transparent. We start to see other parts of his character that had only been foreshadowed in your previous work. I had no idea how Helium would unfold at the beginning, but I’m now very sure that you did not disappoint.

Seeing how you’ve evolved as a writer in both more subtle and more noticeable ways has been awesome :) I’m excited for the next chapter.

#heat waves #dreamland #helium #im very sorry if this is bad #im no fearwastaken #dnf #dreamnotfound #long post #be warned #i cant believe i did this. #kinda nervous to post #edit: ok wow this did really well #thanks to everyone <3 and dakota omg #helium analysis