#BnHA 317 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sabraeal · 1 year

Text

I posted 24,543 times in 2022

That's 2,898 more posts than 2021!

88 posts created (0%)

24,455 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bubblesthemonsterartist

@ponyregrets

@infinitelystrangemachinex

@akai-vampire

@ninox-ios

I tagged 4,603 of my posts in 2022

#ans - 586 posts

#arcane - 572 posts

#spy x family - 547 posts

#fmab - 476 posts

#twisted wonderland - 317 posts

#obiyuki - 270 posts

#hakuouki - 158 posts

#akatsuki no yona - 154 posts

#a:tla - 115 posts

#bnha - 110 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#also i love the look obi and shirayuki give each other when she's like you must find your vocation. it's two adults just being like 🙄kids

My Top Posts in 2022:

WFB, Tanbarun arc: Obi meets the real reason she had to leave everything behind.

[Read on AO3]

Obi can admit: even after spending the day with Umbrella Corp’s heir apparent, even after knowing that Richie Rich couldn’t find his ass with both hands-- but in a nice way-- he hears the tiny tyrant’s little proclamation and thinks, what’s his game?

He may not be on the fast track to Summa Cum Laude, not like Doc-- and apparently this kid, if Daddy keeps paying out that Big Pharma money to keep his grades at the top of the curve-- but Obi doesn’t need any fancy academic distinction to suss out that Raj’s celebratory kegger idea belongs straight in the ‘godawful stupid’ pile. And with the quick way Doc goes bloodless at the offer, the air’s got that tangy Calculated Insult taste to it.

That is until he squares up right in front of this Timothée Chalamet looking motherfucker and is blind-sided by his bright-eyed, dummy wide smile. Despite the vibe in this room reading like the end of a slow-burn thriller’s first act, this idiot thinks he’s doing everyone a favor. The kid somehow took one look at Annie Hall here and thought that her brand says vomits Pabst Blue Ribbon as an extracurricular. There are times where Obi considers his past gold star failures and thinks he’s nature’s worst clown, but Shenezard-- Shenezard could fill a whole car.

“Raj,” Doc chokes out, looking like she’s two steps from a body bag. “That’s very...generous of you, but you don’t really--”

“No, no.” Between blinks, Raj springs forward, seizing her hand. “Shirayuki, you are the generous one, coming here after all this time to make amends--”

“I’m not,” she reminds him, steely, like the tooth of a bear trap. Or maybe the blade of a guillotine. “I’m here to present a paper.”

“--So you must give me the opportunity to be likewise magnanimous.” One hand may be taken, but the other’s free to snap, loud as a gunshot in the empty foyer. “Sakaki, see to it.”

His lawyer ventures a weary glance, closing his briefcase with a final snap. “Mr Shenezard, you know I can’t be party to providing alcoholic beverages to underage students.”

“Right.” His fingers snap again; the brothers passing by flinch. “Brian will take care of it.”

One of them-- the tall one, built like a linebacker with boat shoes that earn the name-- sighs. “Aw man, not again.”

“I told you, dude,” the other one mutters, pushing him through the doorway. “You can’t make eye contact.”

Raj doesn’t even bat an eye, just stares down at Doc, flushed with victory. “See? Simple. Get yourself ready, Shirayuki,” he warns warmly, “for tonight you will be fêted!”

Between Princess and Prez’s egos, there’s no elbow room for any other opinions on the frat’s event committee, but even still, Obi knows there’s some logistical issues to putting together a kegger in barely five hours. It’s the sort of thing he’d worry over if he thought for one second that Doc wanted anything to do with this half-assed excuse for a hook up, but she flees the scene the moment Raj gets distracted enough to drop her hand. It’d be a shame to get all heated when she’s already hanging out a window, escaping the only way she knows how: dangerously.

Real kind of Doc to save him the hassle; if he had to concern himself with her tender feelings, why, he’d barely have time to agonizing over what to wear. Since that’s apparently how he’s going to spend the hours between dinner and drunk o’clock: staring at his backpack full of clothes and hating every stitch on them.

It’s not like he didn’t bring nice stuff; Chief had briefed him-- and Big Guy, and His Lordship, plus a hastily emailed primer from the Big Boss with a rubric for sartorial formalities-- but he can’t exactly wear a sports coat to a keg stand. Maybe CEO Barbie could wear her designer pantsuit and not get a drop on it, but Obi doesn’t have the sort of face that can wear business formal like gym shorts. And the rest of it...

Well sure, jeans and tees would match the vibe; certainly be a step up from the early December board shorts he’s sure will be in fashion tonight, but it’s not-- not--

Hot. His Majesty said this trip would only be four days, a quick jaunt over state lines to see to it that Kihal’s momentary expulsion wasn’t in vain. Packing light seemed smart. He didn’t need to bait the hook when the only item on his itinerary was a poster session and an academic dinner.

He still doesn’t need to; his whole job here is to make sure Doc isn’t eyeing any third-story windows, not his ass. She’s six inches of leg and a drawer full of Victoria Secret away from being his type anyway, and he only came here because-- because--

Her hand had look so pale against the checkered tablecloth, so limp, like it hadn’t been held in years. Like she’d given up on someone being there to take it. He’d held it in the car-- still wet and clammy, a complete accident-- and even now it burns in his memory, the first warmth he’d felt since someone put five inches of cold steel beneath his rib cage. And stupidly, his first thought was, Doc deserves someone who would.

His second is, I’d like to be that someone.

It’s a fucking mystery why. Sure, he-- he likes her, in a real Disney Channel Original, baby’s first crush way, but this whole situation he has at Wistal is a glass shoe, set to shatter the moment he has a diploma in his hands. The last thing he needs is a reason to cling to the shards, expecting more than anyone wants to give him. Besides, he knows by now-- they could hug him and squeeze him and call hims George, but Obi’s the kind of guy who sees and open door and runs through it. There’s no point to being more friend than the job entails. Not unless he wants someone putting up flyers to find their lost Obi, at least. It’d certainly be a first.

“Right.” His palm scrub over his face, muffling out the rest of the world for just a second. That’s all he needs to remember what’s important here. “Just put something on, asshole.”

It’s a stupid thing to worry about. If these clothes didn’t smell like musty library, he wouldn’t even--

Something flutters, right at the corner of his eye. Not big enough to be a threat-- he can tell that right off, but it definitely didn’t come from his stuff. No, looks like it blew out of the trash, pushed along by the sudden burst of hot air from the vents. His mouth tilts, sliding right into a smirk. Speaking of flyers...

Phi Sigma Pi Crunch Time Kegger, this one reads; he has to squint to see the grainy oval in the center is just a photo-realistic barrel. $5 at the door. 8pm on December--

Ha, well. Look at that. It’s today. What a coincidence. Seems he’s not the only one concerned about what’s covering his ass.

See the full post

27 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

The Opposite of Shame

[Read on AO3]

It should be easy.

That’s what Zen had said they paddled the last few yards into the canals, a stream of water curled onto his palm, shaping itself into a pearl, too precious to even touch. At least, easier than what you were doing, he’d laughed, letting it splash back down into the water, splattering into Mitsuhide’s lap. After squeezing water out of vines, a whole city of it should be nothing.

And yet sweat beads at her brow when she tries to coax a trickle from its slow currents, dripping from her fingers like a recalcitrant cat. Her boots brace against the ice, and she hauls, the way laborers would, pulling and straining and still-- it flops back down to the surface, swallowed up by ripples like it never left at all.

Shirayuki sprawls right back onto her rear with a huff. That’s what she gets, bending with only half her head. Maybe if she was still ho-- where she came from, she might have managed it. There was something about knowing every vine curled around her window and every plant in the streets of Ba Sing Se that made the motions come easier to her, that made bending nearly mindless. But here...

Ba Sing Se may have been raised from stone, but there were trees there, gardens. Little window boxes where grannies raised their kitchen herbs and children tended their mother’s flowers. In Agna Qel’a, it’s all...ice. Ice and snow and water a shade warmer than freezing; a paradise for a waterbender like her, one who had always hidden her skills lest some neighbor suspect she was the Avatar. Water was next in the cycle, after all, and to see a child with green eyes bend something besides stone would bring her before of the Fire Lord faster than the Earth prince could snap. Even the ancestors would be hard pressed to say what would happen to her when he found out she was simply mixed-blood, a waterbender wearing an earthbender’s face.

And yet this is not the safe haven she imagined, the home she had yet to find. Instead it’s barren, as cold and uninviting as Master Haruka. A woman need draw no more than a dram, he’d said, voice cracking like a whip in the temple. Any more risks being unseemly.

Unseemly. She gets her feet beneath her, letting her attention slide alongside a likely stream. Haruka’s voice echoes in the confines of her skull, What does a healer need that couldn’t fit in a skein?

Healer, he said; woman, he meant. How Kiki could come from a place like this, her bending honed to a blade’s edge, and yet its Master Bender could still say to her face-- impossible.

Her teeth grit, cheeks flushed. Zen might have warned her at least. He’d made this place seem like a refuge, like heaven, like home, and now not only does she have to worry after Haruka, but even Raj--

She can’t think about that. That’s the whole purpose of this: to not think about it. Another thing that’s supposed to be easy. After all, Shirayuki forgets things all the time. Meetings, meals, sleep-- it all fades away under the sinuous stretch of leaf and vine, her fingers reaching and stems rising to meet the motion, as easy as putting on a glove.

But that’s not what it’s like here. Not when it’s so cold that algae barely blooms. Hard to lose herself when every surface reflects her face.

“Lookin’ pretty serious there.”

Shirayuki concentration shatters, easy as a plate on a pub floor. The stream of water she’s pulled-- larger than she’s ever managed before, even if it still wiggles and drips against her control-- drops, tumbling back into the canal with a plop, big enough to soak her boots.

No, both their boots.

“Ah, uh...” She doesn’t know his name; a realization that pulls her up screeching a moment too late. They’ve only met twice, after all-- once when he tried to scare her off, and again when he caught her at Laxdo. Each time he’s appeared like fog off the water, disappearing just the same way, intangible and unannounced. “Sorry.”

Satisfaction glints like a knife’s edge in that man’s eyes, as if he suspected he might get this reaction. Or worse, meant to do it.

Well, that’s what he gets, anyway, coming up on her all unaware like this, a strange man in a strange city. He’s lucky she doesn’t have her plants, otherwise he wouldn’t have much room to be giving her smirks and sly eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss.” His shoulders twitch, a distant cousin to a shrug, as he shakes off his feet. “I was asking for it sneaking up on a lady all alone like that.”

It mollifies her to hear him admit it. Just a little. “Here, let me at least--”

Her hand flicks out, ready to wick the water off him-- it’d be rude not to-- but he shuffles away with a laugh, his own warding her off.

“I said don’t worry about it.” His smile is wide, if not a little lop-sided. “You barely got me. It’ll dry off on its own.”

She frowns down, eyeing the waterline on his boots, wet splotches climbing all the way to his knees. He can say what he likes, but it’s freezing at the poles, and even dry he’ll still be cold. She should really--

Her teeth clamp down, keeping her protest locked behind them. There’s no reason for her to worry about a man that only shows up to cause her trouble. “What are you doing here?”

His grin sharpens to a point, through strangely, she’s sure it isn’t aimed at her. “My my, young miss. You may not wear a necklace like these water folk, but that question has teeth.”

She lifts her chin, stubbornly meeting his eyes. “Should it not?”

For a moment, he’s still. Not the way a person is, all hitched movements and stifled breaths, but the way eel hound does before they strike-- motionless. More like a statue than a living being.

And then his mouth splits in a grin, tongue clucking against his teeth. “And after I caught you in my arms, too. Folks just aren’t as grateful as they used to be.”

Shirayuki stares, confused. “Used to--?”

See the full post

28 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

900 Followers: Pick Your Adventure

The pairings have been chosen, and now it is time for you to choose what you would like to see! Each pairing has four options, let me know which fic you like most for your holiday gift. Voting is open from today, 8/25, to Friday evening, 8/26!

VOTE HERE

30 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

At Your Command

[Read on AO3]

Written for @kaedix‘s birthday! Kimber requested an Ella Enchanted AU, and I originally set out to write a canon universe one where Obi had the obedience curse...and I made something close to that, and yet entirely new as well...

The carriage pulls up right outside the alley; even in the street’s shadow it shimmers with shellac, like wet cobbles on a dark night. With all the hansoms that clog Port City’s arteries, it’s unremarkable, just another box among many. Save that it’s here, where no one with the money to hire a cab would be caught. And save that it’s arrived right on time, just as he’s been told it would.

A boot hedges out of the shadow, followed by a narrow limb, stretched enough to be part shade itself. The carriage merely waits, hunkering down at the alley’s mouth with all the gravitas of a fat tabby used to table scraps. It could play this game all day, its hefty shape says; could he?

He edges out the barest bit more, letting the light from The Beggar’s Barrel fall across the knife-sharp planes of his jaw. A tilt of his head sets one eyes to flash like a coin, stark beneath the low-slung band of his cap. A dangerous look, he’s been told, the kind that keeps bigger boys from trying to roll the one who’s skin and bones. That’s the thing about being skinny; all it takes is a good, feral grin, and only fools want to feel out your edges.

It gets the job done too; he’s hardly got his chin up from his collarbone when the door swings open, revealing an even deeper dark inside. “Get in.”

It strikes like a whip’s lash, the air knocked clean out of him. “Me, milord?” He gives a hearty laugh, making a good show of peering around the narrow alley. Good thing there’s not enough light to show him sweat. “You’re sure you have the right pl--?”

“You are Nanaki, aren’t you?”

His soles itch as he shuffles closer, trying to stave off the burn. Another breath or two and he’d find a long walk over hot coals more pleasant than standing here. “Today I am. Though maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like someone else...”

A shadow shifts in the dim of the cab, not small. “I have little patience for mummery. Hurry up.”

He’d likened those words once to a goad to an ass, but tonight-- tonight he has to catch himself before he stumbles. There’s not much pride in him, but what’s left refuses to meet his client on hands and knees, crawling up the steps like a cur. He’s got a reputation to keep, after all.

“Your wish,” he grits out through clenched teeth, taking those stairs in a single bound, “is my command.”

The inside is black as pitch and just as sticky, the shadows clinging to the corners as stubbornly as a stain. Still, he catches velvet beneath his palms, the cushion plump as any young miss, not the aching black lacquer benches of one of the city’s hansoms. Plain it might have looked from the outside, but this is no jumped-up merchant’s night out. Whatever money bought this is old, like the quarter itself.

He’d stretch his other senses to the task, but there’s no need; once the carriage has clopped and swayed itself to smoother cobbles, the shade snaps up. Lamp light pours in, painting the cab in gold.

Hardly necessary; this man is made of it. His business has never extended much to textiles-- too much speculation for his blood-- but the fine weave on that wool coat alone would fence enough to keep him well fed and warmly housed for a year, fingers firmly in pockets. That doesn’t even account for the linen of his shirt, or the brocade of his waist.

His fingers scour runnels through velvet. This man isn’t money, he’s a noble. No wonder even the barest command from that mouth sets him scrambling.

It’s not the first time a man more title than name has sought him out-- he’s got a reputation after all, a good one. A knife with legs, a man called him once, and he’d liked that just fine. A tidy little image; one that keeps the unsavory types from trying to stiff him. But this man-- this man looks nothing like those small, sniveling lordlings looking for a sure answer. No this one, this one--

This one could be a killer himself. If the calluses on his hands are a hint, he already was. Men don’t get ones like those from playing around in the training yard. This was a man used to fighting.

No, a man used to winning, unless he mistakes his guess. A dangerous sort to get in bed with, and a lethal one to get in business.

Well, let it never be said he passed up a bad idea when it sat itself in front of him. “Nice ride.”

The lord grunts, displeased. “Tell me how this works.”

His mouth itches the minute the words hit air. It’s not like this with everyone; most times he’s got a few moments-- maybe even a few minutes-- to dance around, to let them replace a strict order with a weaker one, maybe even slip the lead on the whole thing altogether. But his lordship here wields commands like a rider holds his reins, and oh, he’s not in the habit of letting a bucking stallion keep his head free.

“Well, I’m not sure of the mechanics.” His teeth flash, an effect lessened by the glare of the lamplight. Hard to seem so dangerous when all of him can be seen, black washed out to gray. “But the hitch the horses up front, you see, and then the driver--”

“Not the carriage,” his lordship snaps, brow furrowing like a thunderhead on a horizon. “They say you’ll do anything a man asks. Tell me how it works.”

There it is; the trap closes, and it’s steel teeth as far as the eye can see.

“Command me, mister,” he drawls, stretching his legs as long as they’ll go. It’s enough to pass beneath the bench on the other side, his lordship giving a censorious sniff. “And I must obey. That’s my gift.”

At once, the storm breaks, and with a terrible certainty, his lordship grates out, “No, boy. That’s your curse.”

It’s not that he expected business to be concluded in a rattling carriage-- that’s the sort of thing one of those merchants might do, the ones that want to curry favor with the First Prince by aping one step up on the food chain-- but he’s got to say, he doesn’t see the palace coming. A clandestine location sure, maybe even the guy’s townhouse if he’s got a misplaced sense of confidence, but most blue-bloods seem to know that you don’t flaunt your private problem solve right under the royal’s nose.

Then again, His Highness has been up wooing the North for the past few months. Turns out all those old ladies were right: when the cat’s away the mice will play. These ones just dress nicer and aim a little higher than stealing cheese.

See the full post

33 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

900 Followers & Holiday Gifts!

Way, WAY back in the early months of 2022, I got quite the influx of followers and this happened:

Which means that, as is traditional, I will be posting every Friday in December with fics of my followers’ choosing! And since last year was obiyuki focused, this year will be about non-Obiyuki pairings, including those from other fandoms! Which means I’m going to let you guys tell me what pairings you’d like to see!

From today, 8/21 to Tuesday, 8/23, I will be collecting pairing suggestions via ask! I will pick the pairings I am most interested in writing, and on 8/24 I will put those to a vote!

ASK AWAY!

33 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

6 notes · View notes