#and instead was maybe fear related but in a slightly different way

[beanofthequeens]

Maybe a hot take, but I kind of really hope tmagp is not actually super connected to the tma universe. Like I like the cameos and such, but I'd really love it if somehow they managed to create an even more tragic +terrifying universe for us to enjoy. I'd love if the institute and its mysteries are actually different from the one in tma. I really like the characters and the themes, and sometimes I get a little annoyed at people who just try to connect every small thing to tma.

#i know that there are direct connections #like the institute and tape recorders #but somehow it feels different #and idk i think id actually enjoy it more if it wasn't just the same “oopsie the fears are trying to take over this world too ooooh spooky” #and instead was maybe fear related but in a slightly different way #like maybe the fears aren't sentient but ppl in power are using them to make themselves more powerful #idk #its just my hope #tmagp posting #tmagp thoughts #tmagp #tma podcast #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives

[stick-ball]

pspspspsp Kevin's trauma and his choice to stay with Thea, why her why not someone else? How does it work considering his characters as whole books/ec , does it make sense or just feel "random"

<Picks you up like a little cat and smooches your head.>

This responce has been sped up by the people who asked Nora on twitter to break Kevin and Thea up, making me see red KillBill style, so:

For me, Kevin's and Thea's relationship makes perfect sense. Maybe it's the realist in me, maybe its the idealist in me, I don't care. When it comes to Kevin's traumas, I think that since most people can't really relate to a majority of them, they get all hung up on the one they most definately can, as in, his mommy issues. When we relate to something, it becomes a really big deal. And here we go! Thea/Kevin suddenly is feared to be toxic instead of being seen for what I think it is: finding love in a hopeless place.

The main issue i see discussed is the disproportion of power at the beginning of the relationship. The main concern is the age difference. I personally don't really get the hate about the age gap between them, because if you read the extra content you will know that while they met when Kevin was 14 and Thea 18, it's not like anything happened between them at that age? First, Kevin saw her as an impressive player, when he did actually see her. That wasn't all that often bcs from what I understand from the EC, Kevin and Riko trained with the Ravens sometimes before they joined the team but a big part of their training happened without them, as well as their life growing up was more detached from the Uni students than people seem to think. And honestly, do you think Tetsuji would just let all the freshmen know they signed into the Yakuza sportsTM? Methinks not, but be delulu if you want I guess. 💋

So anyway, from the EC, it seems like Kevin had a crush slowly build up for Thea over the years, growing from his appreciation of her skill and athletism. Considering how cold that guy is, it probably took him some time to realise, after his irritation at her romances (yeah hello she was dating people her age when Kevin was mooning for here as a pathetic teenage boy, bye bye Thea haters) with other teammates started having nothing to do with the fact it could result in the teams distraction during the game, bcs of their hormones and feelings, and turned to conscious jelousy. And here I have to applaud young Kevin because he did not even realise he was distracted from the game by being jealous. Knowing how oblivious Kevin can be about non exy issues, it likely took quite a while.

So what's next? The "getting together"? Kevin and Thea only started having a sort of physical relationship when Kevin and Riko were already freshmen for Edgar Allan, at 18/19.

Whoever wants to fight me on this being a toxic age gap, what exactly is your angle?

Anyway, Kevin was the one to initiate their relationship, after Riko was done with his distraction from the game and his focus on picking fights with Thea, and told him to sleep with her and get it out of his system. (And that's how i met your mother.) It wasn't much more than that for a long time, because having a relationship on a 12 hrs day/night full of training and uni and juggling two other teams on top of that as well as celebrity status literally sounds like the most insane schedule ever, so it's insane they even managed to talk privately at all.

Now, we circle back to the question, why Thea? Why not someone else? Well, first and fucking foremost, because Nora Sakavic said so. Second of all, because Jung and Freud weren't as stupid as imternet memes would have you believe. (Read their books, read all the books please, i can rec you like a 100 psychology texts, dont be shy)

To keep it short, we do base our attraction on the role models we have, one way or another. I saw enough of my friends pick partners that have the exact character quirks that make them just slightly like an after image of their guardians. Kevin doesn't really have a father model, but his mother? She's always going to be a huge part of his life, is it really so weird and dangerous, that he got infautated with a strong, driven, 4 years older woman, who's incredibly talented and just as determined as him? I don't think so. Is it unhealthy? Is it unsafe? As much as life is, I guess, no one is perfect, but I think he could've done much much worse for himself.

Why did Kevin decide to stay with Thea? I would find it pretty obvious, because she doesn't actually need him. She built herself, but she wants him. Even if she will never have the same fame and recognition in her career that he does. Being wanted this way must be really new for Kevin, who was always a trophy to show off because of his legacy, always a property. But Thea is not competing with him, she doesnt want to own him either. I believe his mother is as much of a role model to her, as to him. So, they have sex, when they want to, they talk - when they feel like it. They don't, well fucking fine, so they don't, they fall in love anyway. It's okay if exy comes first in the beginning, considering both spent a lot of time in cult mentality, I think neither is all that bothered as long as its not obsessive (we could discuss how reasonable it was of Kevin to ghost her for over a year and not tell her about how he broke his hand but thats a whole other essay).

What's really wild to me, is that I think the power imbalance in this relationship is the opposite of what many may think.

Kevin holds all the cards. Thea joined the Ravens as a 18 years old talented athlete, she was one of the only girls on the team, and the Nest was not a place to make friends, on top of that it was a mafia cult. She had everything to prove there, and no way of being prepared for all the grooming. On top of that, she knew nothing of the Moriyamas or even of what actually went down with the whole Perfect Court thing. Kevin knew everything, on top of that, up until he left, he had nothing to prove. He ghosted her, is it so hard to believe she accepted his cold shoulder in this dynamic, in which she obviously is not at the top of the foodchain? He kept secrets from her, is it really so hard to believe she was angry? I think neither of them was ready for neither what life at the nest was like, or for a relationship when it happened, but I also think they are incredibly lucky that they have eachother, their shared passion for exy, their daughter, their dog and friends from the dog park who can't talk about exy to save their lives.

I think Kevin was incredibly lucky for finding Thea, because maybe she did not know everything, maybe it wasn't easy for them, but they understood that Rikos death wasn't a one dimensional victory, that it was just as much of a tragedy for them, for Kevin. I'm happy with the canon and I wish more people appreciated this ship, as its very soothing.

As an ending fun fact, did you know I am the only person to make a playlist for Thea Muldani in all of spotify? Pretty insane if you ask me.

#i hope this is okay #i dont have the brainpower for big words left #but this essay is like a thrid of what i have to say about them xd #i refrained from adding citations to ec bcs this is just a fandom thesis #phenomental #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #kevin day #thea muldani #kevin and thea meta #thea muldani meta #kevin day meta #nora sakavic #best ask ever

[kingofthewilderwest]

Hi I was wondering do you have any hcs on dragon classes ?

also I was wondering are we allowed to send in our own hcs ? Love to hear your thoughts on them ^^

Hi there! Wonderful to chat! ^.^

You are always free to message me on anything fandommy, though friendly heads up: I'm unreliable responding. I read everything and appreciate everything and want to respond to everything, but alas, I'm busy and flaky.

My one big headcanon regarding Dragon Classes is that they are not phylogenetically reliable. I prefer looking at Dragon Classes through a cultural framework. Vikings, fictional or no, are not Twenty-First Century scientists! The Vikings created their own categories based upon their world framework. While they have good knowledge, they do not come from a modern biological taxonomic mindset.

This explains why:

Dragons in the same classes are disparate. The Monstrous Nightmare and the Fireworms of the Stoker Class don't share life / reproduction cycles, social behaviors, or even the number of legs.

Classes contain "four elements" type characteristics. We have a fire class (Stoker Class), water class (Tidal Class), and rock class (Boulder Class - though with their unique rock-eating abilities, are going to have more phylogenetic relation). Biologic relations of animals are not dependent on whether they adapted to water.

Other classes are based upon a main feature or impression. Tracker Class - oh hey, these animals track well! Sharp class - look, spiky! This is like me lumping a hedgehog and echidna together. There's understandable reason to... doesn't mean I'm portraying genetic relation.

Mystery Class is based on knowing little about the dragons. This is not a shared biological trait. This is a miscellaneous "To Be Learned More About" category. Unsurprisingly, Mystery Class dragons have a wide range of appearances and abilities.

[Gestures at the entire Fear Class deal.]

This headcanon also delves into why dragons change classes. Vikings categorize dragons based upon their understanding. But not every human being will agree with one another. Not every society will agree with one another. And not every society will process their understanding by the same flowchart.

This means I think there is observable variation if you sail from one Viking island to the next on how they classify dragons. One naturalist will argue 'til the end of time that Nadders are Sharp Class. Another nerd on the same island will insist they're Tracker. Everyone else in town Does Not Give A Crap.

Different societies, depending on their level of cultural contact with one another, will have slightly different paradigms or classifications. Viking cities at opposite ends of an archipelago will probably have the least similar agreement. Maybe one region has a Sky Class. Another region puts the Triple Stryke in the Sharp Class.

Some dragons are reliably classified as one thing. For a hypothetical example: the Gronckle is Boulder Class for every culture that has Boulder Class, and just about everyone has a Boulder Class. Other dragons, there's more variation in how the peoples classify them. Yet other dragons get put in two classes simultaneously by some Viking groups (other Viking groups say you can't have dragons in two categories at once).

Isolated societies (Wingmaidens?) sometimes have an entirely different way of thinking about and categorizing dragons than the Tracker, Stoker, Tidal, etc. system.

Dragon Classes are not as regimented, firm, 'hard factual', and essential as we are treating them through our framework of categorization. The Vikings might look at Dragon Classes more loosely, fluidly, inessentially, characteristically / descriptively instead of as innate physical identity, etc.

#httyd #How to Train Your Dragon #analysis #my analysis #ask #ask me #ladydoe8 #dragon #dragons #faq #DreamWorks Dragons

[theghostbunnie]

Hey, I just want you to know I really like your work! It's beautiful and really creative, and I think you understand these characters to a T, cause your headcanons are extremely in character.

Speaking of which: do you have any headcanons for David and Gwen, both individually and as friends?

AAAAAAAAAAAA TYSM THAT'S SO SWEET 💖💖💖💖 I tried to awnser this the other day but realized I was multiple paragraphs into a character analysis and not HCs (if any of you guys left me an ask and I haven't awnsered it yet I still always appreciate it I probably just plan to draw something for it or haven't got the time rn)

When David says something like "before nature took me against her bosom I was in clown school in france" (I'm not kidding he says bosom lmaooo) but he knew he loved nature at age 10, so either he was there before age 10 or the nature not yet embracing him bit meant he was withheld from it. Either his mother sent him there (cannonicaly doesn't have a dad) or he had the WEIRDEST college "figure yourself out, experiment" phase and I'm guessing the latter. He had a sudden spark of a new special interest and wanted to try pursuing it but his clowning instructor(?) scared him out of it after awhile.

I HC David wanted to be a clown bc he loved all the family friendly etiquette rules especially, ontop of the obvious making people happy and entertained.

David cannonicaly loves the zodiac signs and allthat and potential hot take but that man is a Sagittarius ♐.

David is stubborn and I feel this is an obvious fact about him but I wanna go further in depth with a HC that sometimes if he doesn't like something he won't just be in a general ol denial about it, he will full heartedly actually believe hisown truth instead.

Maybe not a "David as an individual" HC but I like to believe he respects, and likes QM's company alot! (When the man isn't being *too* off-putting) like when he's telling that ghost story about respecting your elders we see a cabin with a framed picture of silhouettes that look like QM were related to them and even the book in the story has that octopus God on it. So I assumed that was actually a real place somewhere in the woods David saw at one point/QM took him to. Either during his time as an employee or a camper himself. Also Quarter Master seems *at times* to be annoyed at David. Not like body language or facial exspressions I just get that vibe from his attitude and phrasing. He lied when he told him "fighting animals is apart of his culture" to get him to leave him alone about it I just know it.

Gwen is an anime watching "otaku" or atleast had a phase and has probably watched unheard of semi f*tish series that only lasted 10-12 episodes with really long title names. Genuinely rewatching the show so much of her screentime is hating her job in different ways or reading, writing, or playing VR 🌽. Or being a hopeless romantic. (She could've stayed with Graggle but only liked him for her monster f*tish and to romanticize herself as this YA novel MC)

She definitely LOVES x reader fics and takes on a slightly new persona in her fantasies.

I HC her with a bit of stage fright and her love for music being casual instead of a passion, that ontop of wanting to make something for herself is why she didn't piggyback off her dad's career and go into music. His career did atleast pay for whatever degree she wanted to persue (how she was able to get so many) and her fear of wasted potential is what made her have so many to begin with.

She partially willingly puts herself into positions where she gets burnt out to the point she's gotten kinda used to it.

So that's kinda why she can call it out early in David and tell him when he needs to have a break in that one EP.

David offering Gwen to read one of her stories she writes to the campers leads me to either believe he doesn't know what she writes is 🌽 or that and she also shares her sfw writing with him to get his opinion. (Which is nearly always positive but I feel like people forget David has his moments even if HE'S unaware of em) like "This chapter is excellent, Gwen!! Gosh, I'm just on the edge of my seat!! And there's only half the grammar mistakes of last time! :DD" and he fully means that as a compliment.

David also definitely got Gwen into astrology. She only cares about learning facts about her own, finding out the birthdays of celebrity and fictional characters and then seeing if they're compatible. Woman with identity issues? Eats it up.

They both loved Bob Ross before they met and it was one of the first things they bonded over as they were becoming friends. I HC Gwen was chipper at the job at the very first bit but it QUICKLY wore her down, David going off that first impression kept his excited team-loving liking of her, where as Gwen as she got to know him over those first weeks grew really annoyed with him as a coworker, but once getting to know him further than that the friendship started to become mutual.

#camp camp #camp campbell #campcamp #fandom #hcs #character headcanons #headcannons #camp camp hcs #camp camp headcanons #camp camp fandom #fictional characters #gwen cc #cc gwen #gwen camp camp #camp camp gwen #cc david #david cc #david camp camp #camp camp david

[sleepyditto]

Emotion, pretty much a Scaramouche- based fic

So with all the drip that has been happening, it rekindled my spark to write especially for Scara since he has been someone I have want to be writing for for a while but didn't have the time or ideas to before. So here it is, a short fic but I hope it does a bit considering I haven't written in 78 years-

NOTE: This fic is based on my speculation of Scaramouche's new personality, not an accurate representation of it, that will come in 3.2 or 3.3. Also I partially based this prompt on the description given on his drip marketing post-

Genre: idk maybe fluff but im not rlly sure-

The plains of Tatarasuna had seen its fair share of tragedies, particularly one with an unmarked grave and had been nearly lost to the passage of time. At least not for a certain wanderer, who on his quest to rebuild his identity, decided to pay his respects to one of the few people in his life that he had actually found a way to care for. You being included as one of the few people, for walking together with him to re-discover himself after his failure in Sumeru. Naturally, he brought you along to witness him in a vulnerable moment relating to his past.

A nearby farmer had caught the sight of the wanderer himself and had trembled at his unnatural disposition, but something about your presence there gave a slightly more humane disposition to it.

“Not to fear, for he is only here to wander.”

As you both approached the grave to pay respects, the wanderer himself had contemplated upon the meaning of human emotion, on how he still had retained grief for a long lost friend and love for you despite his lack of such. To give in to such may be inferior, but it also provided him with a different perspective that he craved to be a part of him.

The times you had stuck by him, regardless of his dismissive demeanour. He could have not understood what drove humans to pursue things he initially could not comprehend. Yet now, with a new purpose, maybe he was starting to.

As you two left the grave in night, you decided to hint to your boyfriend on how much he had changed. The Wanderer wasn’t usually fond of your antics, but given it was you and under such circumstances, he simply remarked,

“I probably don’t get what you mean but, if it’s you, I rather have it that way instead.”

And you would rather be it that way too.

A/N: I’ll probably go and write more fics soon, I’m more free with exams over besides

#scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche genshin impact

[auroraeternal]

What’s you’re favorite pieces of media? Games? Shows? Movies? Music?

Hi Cris! I actually have before in my pinned post list with my fav media, but I removed it bcs I think this post is too big. Sorry for late reply again :/ For music (bcs its my most favorite of all media so its easiest to answer): I created two Spotify playlists - one with my fav songs of all genres and other dedicated purely to black metal and related to it other genres (because I have some ick when its mixes with other music, idk why :/). second playlist may be too hard, I understand this. For games: The Sims 3 and Medieval, VTMB (ofc), Stardew Valley, Silent Hill 2&3, Alice: Madness Returns, Skyrim, GTA SA, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (I know that visual novels is a slightly different thing, but it was the only one that I don't think its boring for me XD). Also, I used to love Civilization VI, Minecraft, Detroit: Become human (but I watched it on yt because I don't have PS4 at the moment it came out), Plague Inc, Mortal Combat and old school mobile and Flash games (now I have Flashpoint installed). I'm interested in these games, but I haven't played them yet, I've only watched videos and/or read articles about them: F.E.A.R, Hitman (newer games size are insanely huge, maybe I try Blood Money instead), Fatal Frame, Postal 1&2, Painkiller (its OST is the GOAT), Cry of fear, videogame version of I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream (also original book is really good!).

For movies/tv shows: I have a longer list of what I WANT to watch than a list of what I like :D but my favorite genres are horror/thriller, science fiction, detectives (true crime too!, but not in romanticizing way), dramas (including historical) and documentaries. Also I love some "serious" or darker comics adaptations like The Dark Knight or The Crow. For more specific names, then: American Mary, Perfect Blue (I actually not really into anime/manga but love this one), The Act (TV show about Gypsy-Rose Blanchard), Devil Wears Prada, Marie-Antoinette (2006), Until the Light Takes Us (black metal documentary) and some more, I'm not good at remembering movies. I want to watch: Saw movies, Thirteen, Ginger Snaps, Jennifer's Body, Pearl, Fleabag, From Dusk Till Dawn, Pulp Fiction, The Godfather, American Horror Story, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Junji Ito Collection, and many more. Also I want to rewatch The Handmaid's Tale (and/or read the book). For books: again, I have the same problem like with the movies, but here situation is slightly better, bcs I downloaded a bunch of books that I want to read in my phone :D I mostly google recommendations or classics of genres/themes that I interested in, and my favorite genres are the same as the movies. The last books I read were Writer and suicide (not sure if this one exist in English, use translator. It was recommended to me by my friend) and Little Mushroom (BL post-apocalyptic novel, recommended to me by other friend xd).

Thank u for good asks, luv u 💗

#ask #personal #this post is so long duh

[subiysu-chan]

Peony headcanons be upon ye!!

I think she cut her own hair. Maybe out of shame, maybe because of practicality, maybe in a fit of rage (lol same). I just imagine her having short hair. Prior to cutting, it was long and wavy instead of aggressively curly and she styled it in tight hairstyles, buns, braids etc. Unless she didn't get any sleep or was in a rush, then she went with messy hair without putting much thought into her appearance. I think she might look down on girls who wear lots of makeup and stuff. Her eyes are hooded and she always has eyebags, regardless of how long she sleeps. She doesn't sleep much and can function on like 6hrs of sleep and not need more. An early bird and organized person, but also needs those 2 hours of early waking up to calm down from frequent nightmares. Dresses in white a lot but it's mostly school uniform and basic clothes. Doesn't mind wearing black though, she doesn't think about it much.

If she were in Gryffindor and Harry's age, she would be roommates with Hermione, Parvati and Lavender. While Parvati wouldn't have much against her (because her parents probably migrated to England after the wizard war), Lavender would. She is written as shallow and judgmental. Peony would ignore her and glare until she insults her honor, then she might throw hands. Hermione and Peony would be on good terms, because they would both study lots. Peony doesn't care about school much, she doesn't care about anything (kinda depression kinda pride), and because of that she feels little pressure in school so studying doesn't stress her out. It's just another chore that she can share with a nice roommate.

Peony can be a bit eerie, and she doesn't hide her name or apologize for it, so many people openly dislike her. She's mostly polite, and anxious with new people but covers that up by being super strictly polite or a bitch, no in between (depends on the other person's attitude). Hermione would like her prior to learning about her family, and then would slightly distance herself, but not cut her off completely. Peony doesn't open up much, but when she does, she talks loud and long, she's very opinionated. She's basically only like this with Neville.

Some flaws so I don't marysue her: judgmental and looks down on people, kind of unstable, a little creepy, closed off, prideful, can get reckless if her honor/family/name/friend is insulted, prone to addiction, scared of attachment (that's why she'd only get with Neville at like, 35), gets sort of sadistic when angry like she is AFTER you when she's mad

Picrews are: Makówka, Lady of Hera and Ummmmandy.

You like food headcanons, do you have any?

I mostly imagined her long haired, but would cut in during the seventh part, and like, shaved off completely, so she could use it to fake her suicide and escape from the death eaters.

I imagine she'd be more sadistic out of instinct, and having the possibility of getting away with torture would tempt her so much she would get almost insane from resisting, and might self-harm to satisfy her thirst for violence.

In the books, the school uniform are black robes.

Yes, hooded eyes and intense dark circles. (Thanks mom !).

I imagine she does take care of her appearence, mostly to look prim and proper. She'd be raised in a very old-fashioned household were torture is normal, so she would be prudish, but in a way individuals in a more open society. Has no issues with punishment related nudity , but taking a boy's hand is too indecent for her.

Would definitly have nightmares.

Also, very prideful, even arrogant and closed off.

I also think she'd be emotionally possessive, a result of growing as a pariah, she's not used to having different kinds of relationship, and one must fill multiple roles. She'd be scared of attachment with people who aren't blood-related.

Peony would despise torturers. Also, Peony would be this type of person who doesn't allow herself to fear pain or fear, but then wonders why she has nightmares, why her body always aches, why cafeine make her tremble uncontrollably.

Peony would have very skewed priority, for example being more worried about displeasing her grandmother than about being jumped in front of the entire school.

Also, the Weasley twins would bully her. I'm sorry, but they do act like jerks in canon.

Has a flair for the dramatic.

She would know for a brief time her biological parents, with her father, she managed to create a bond, with her mother...More complicated. The only reason Bellatrix would agree to get pregnant is so that her child would serve Voldemort.

Her relationship with her family is...complicated. Did attack Mad Eye Moody to protect Draco out of a sense of duty. Would be funny if Lucius or Narcissa then sent her a bag of something in gratitude.

Would be hilarious if she's invited with the Grangers.

#lestrange daughter #peony Lestrange

[yanderes-galore]

Spending halloween with demoman? maybe you get a surprise visit from Monoculus-- event related!

Okay, I took a twist with this as I did not entirely understand what you meant...? Had to make it spooky ^^ Ideas were a bit hard to think of but I managed to pull through I think.

I did an interesting take on Monoculus. Instead of a giant eye, he's more like a copy of Demoman. I thought it would be interesting. I appreciate feedback, and I am sorry this is so late.

Late Night Visit

Yandere! Demoman Short

(Halloween Event - Imitation)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Paranoia, Doppelganger, Manipulation, Gaslighting (?), Mild drinking, Murder implied, Somewhat forced relationship.

You'd think you'd find it suspicious when your friend shows up at your home late at night. Sure, you and Tavish could be considered best buds. Although... it still felt strange.

Your mind throughout the night had been tossing rational thoughts back and forth. It's Halloween night, why wouldn't he come over? Then again, wouldn't he tell you if he wished to come over?

Maybe he was injured and needed help? You look over to your friend sitting on the couch, drinking from a flask he kept. He looked like himself.

Then why did he feel... off?

Was it really all that hard to imagine him wishing to visit? Perhaps wanting to drink and celebrate Halloween in your own special way? You just wish you could quell your anxiety and enjoy time with him....

"Why so tense?" He asks, voice slightly slurring. "The scary season causing you to freak out?"

"Well... not exactly-" You huff, noticing your friend staring at you. Did his eye flash a different color? Why does he not act human tonight? Is he playing with you? "You just showed up without notice. It's 3 AM now, is everything okay?"

"'Course it is!"

He downs another drink, grinning at you.

"Just felt at the witching hour, celebrating with you would be even sweeter."

Tavish would never do something like this, would he? What kind of excuse was that? Was your mind really playing tricks on you?

"... Quit the staring, (Y/N)." Tavish grins. "You'll make me all flustered."

"Are you sure nothing is wrong?"

"(Y/N)! Dear! How many of those horror films have you been watching?"

Tavish laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong. Just enjoy this night with me! No scary monsters will get you with me here."

Reluctantly you lean into your friend, alllowing him to pick a movie. There was nothing much else to do but snack on the candy left atop the coffee table and listen to his ramblings. You tried to silence your fears with a little drink and sugar.

It didn't do much to solve the aching worry that still settled heavy in your gut.

---

Tavish ended up spending the night with you. Fall winds echoed eerily through trees as you sleep blissfully in peace. Tavish had put you in your bed, looking at you thoughtfully before walking down the hall and exiting the house.

You were never away of the ghostly glow that radiated off Tavish, too deep in your slumber to notice.

"Did you really think I didn't notice you watching?"

"Who the hell are you...? What are you doing with (Y/N)!?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"You can't keep up an act like this for long... just what are you!?"

"A creation of Merasmus. Your fellow mercs know about him, yes? I'm a copy of you, created from THAT."

The... copy of Tavish points to the other demo's eyepatch, grinning maliciously.

"... What?"

"I'm a magic copy of you, you drunkard. A copy of you that's doing a great job at fooling your little friend in there."

"Just leave (Y/N) alone! What do you want!? Why do you want to ruin me!?"

"Various things. One of which happens to be (Y/N). Perhaps even to take your place. Sure, I was once just an eyeball in that head of yours. But now I'm my OWN being. I have no use for you. Get in my way and I'll be sure to gouge the other eye."

There's the sound of Tavish's trusted Eyelander being held at the copy's neck, the real one glaring daggers into this... faker.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least try fighting you... for (Y/N)?"

The copy smiles, eye glowing a strange purple.

"You're more than welcome to try, Tavish."

While you slumber through the night, you're unaware of their being two of your friend. One magic, one all natural. You wouldn't be able to tell the difference, either.

Did it really matter who won at that point?

---

When you wake up, you groan. You're not only sleep deprived but your stomach feels like sludge. What day was it...?

"Rise and shine, (Y/N). Still tired after last night?"

You groggily look towards your friend in the doorway. Right... Tavish came over last night. You must've been so anxious over nothing-

"Hey, Tavish." You smile. "Yeah... wasn't expecting you to still be over here."

"Why wouldn't I be? Spending time with you is always a delight."

"... Is that the alcohol talking?" You laugh softly at his compliment.

"Could be, but I doubt it."

Tavish gives you a smile before gesturing to the kitchen.

"Doesn't someone as lovely as you deserve breakfast?"

Tavish was never usually this affectionate, a distant voice nags at you to be cautious. Yet, you're just overthinking things, right? Besides... actions like this felt... nice.

You didn't mind his change in behavior all of a sudden. His comments felt warm to you. His more affectionate behavior felt even more welcoming.

You weren't aware enough to notice the spell on you. You never questioned why he always stared out the window, smiling at something not there. Was that an arm in the leaves?

Tavish was your friend. With this new behavior, he could even be something more. You can trust him....

What kind of friend would you be if you didn't trust your friend?

#yandere team fortress 2 #yandere tf2 demoman #yandere demoman #panther halloween event 2022

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

A slightly different kind of debriefing. I think you can all relate to why this is happening. I still have the "Sexiest Man Alive" buzzing around in my head.😉 Your Strawberry

Debriefing

She was sitting sideways on the sofa with her legs bent. She had one arm resting on the backrest. In this position she had a good view of him. He sat a little way from her. She listened to him, answered when he asked her something or asked when she didn't understand something. However, she felt her attention to what was being said slowly waning.

Instead, she watched him, taking in every movement and facial expression. She had known him for so many years and yet the sight of him always fascinated her. He was so handsome. She would have liked to run her fingers through his hair to make it look a little more tousled. She liked the slight wave that came automatically when it was a little longer. She liked his profile with the prominent nose and the curve of his eyebrows. She liked his eyebrows especially when he playfully raised them. She liked it when he winked at her. Sometimes only very lightly, so that not everyone noticed, sometimes overtly, so that everyone really did notice. She liked the wrinkles that appeared on his forehead when he laughed heartily. She liked the gap in his teeth that was as much a part of his laugh as the look he gave her when the laugh was meant for her. His laughter catapulted her into another world, a world where only the two of them existed. She sometimes didn't know if they were there for seconds or minutes, it enchanted her so much.

She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but she found it harder and harder to follow. Her gaze continued to slide down him instead. He was wearing a turtleneck, as he often did in winter, and she thought it looked excellent on him. It emphasised his slim figure. As so often, he had rolled up his sleeves and she enjoyed the sight of his forearms. She liked it when she hooked herself to him and his arms made her feel safe. When they touched, she felt stronger and braver. His calm radiated off her, her fear disappeared. When those arms embraced her, she felt safe. She liked his hands as well, they could be so tender. She liked the way he took her hand in his, the way they walked hand in hand, the way his hands touched her. Sometimes to reassure her, sometimes to give her support, sometimes to comfort her and very often to arouse her. She liked his fingers adorning two rings as a symbol of their love. She liked it when he played the piano with them for her or when they simply turned a page. The feeling of his and her fingers intertwining still sent little jolts of electricity through her body after all this time and she felt butterflies dancing in her stomach.

Completely lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he had stopped talking and was looking at her curiously. Only his softly asked question, "Where are you?" brought her back to the present. Startled, she looked at him. "Sorry," came softly from her lips, but her gaze remained dreamy. He tilted his head and a sigh escaped her throat. She liked it very much when he did that, looking at her so tenderly. "You look like a little kitten drinking its milk very contentedly," he said with a smile. The comparison caused a delicate blush to appear on her cheeks, eliciting a laugh from him. He slid closer to her and touched her face tenderly. "What were you thinking about?" he wanted to know. "About you," she admitted. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Details?" She shook her head. "Summary?" she offered. He nodded. "I love everything about you," she said simply. "Skillful," he praised.

She bit her lower lip and looked deep into his eyes. Softly, he asked, "What do you want?" When he received no answer, he sighed. "Why is it hard for you to say it?" he asked softly. "Maybe I'm afraid you'll say no," she teased him. He narrowed his eyes. "You have that dreamy, admiring look all the time. Are you playing with me?" he asked, forebodingly. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "Forgive me," she brought to her lips. "I enjoy you," she admitted honestly. "You're driving me crazy," he growled, standing up, lifting her in his arms and marching her towards the bedroom. She pressed herself against him, laughing.

Hellooo sweet 🍓! ❤️

Okay, the first part was an ode to the beauty of this man. Did you come into my mind, took out my thoughts and wrote them? Because... oh my!

Oh Brigitte, honey, I feel you! And why don’t you just say it? 😏 Emmanuel will never say no hahaha 🤭🔥

Yup, I will be thinking about how you described him, yup. 😍🤤

Thank you so much, Strawberry! ❤️❤️❤️

#fanfic #strawberry

[nevsclowntown]

do you have any particular fic recs? 🤲 could be rdrd2, naruto, or whatever!

hi anon!♥ I've got some things I could recommend. But everyone's cup of tea is different! Maybe it's something for you too♥

Also I've read so much, I'm just gonna give you a few of my favourites each rn! Fandoms: Naruto, Red Dead Redemption and Jujutsu Kaisen ( plus two honorable mentions)

(and because this is getting long - read more under the cut!♥)

Naruto [now I've mostly read HashiMada fics and GaaLee]

Man of Dreams by ckret2

Hashirama put his highest hopes, dreams, and delusions into Konoha's creation. One was that, maybe, Madara didn't really hate him. Another was that, maybe, he didn't really love Madara. From Konoha's birth to the First Hokage's death. Onesided HashiMada.

( it's one of those fics recommended everywhere you look and really it's just THAT good. I've been losing my mind over it while reading and afterwards too. I'm still thinking about it sometimes and it's incredibly heartbreaking. Though it was written at a time where we didn't know about HashiMada's childhood story, it's still SO GOOD.)

Fading Light by Imarion

Without thinking much about it, Hashirama tilted his head slightly and something inside him purred as Madara's next breath was a shaky one. "Go ahead," followed a dangerous request that passed Hashirama's lips by itself. A thought warned him that he was losing control. Something like that had never happened before and yet goose bumps spread on his neck as Madara actually came closer after a contemptuous hiss. The Uchiha took his time to analyze his scent up close, while Hashirama had to force himself to keep his hands still with each warm breath on his scent gland. There was no way he was going to touch Madara without his permission, but for heaven's sake he wanted to do the same as the omega. It would even be enough if he could dig his hand into that black hair just once.

( It's Omegaverse HashiMada and it's been one of the reasons why I have started to draw omegaverse founders! The tension of Hashimada in this one is killing me! It's still being updated♥)

Bloodied Hands, Bruised Heart by FiresFromOurHearts

In a world where Izuna lives, rather than dying on Tobirama's blades, one would imagine that things would take a turn for the better.

Things do not. Instead, they get worse, and Hikaku watches as his clan suffers and suffers and suffers. They are dying more than they ever have in the past. Something has to change--and if no one will do it, then Hikaku must do it himself.

( It's the big bang fic I did artwork for! And WOW, Firesfromourhearts still has me gagging over the amount of lore in this fic. SO GOOD.)

Diplomatic Relations by Maldoror_Chant

Rock Lee, Diplomatic Envoy to Sunagakure. There are so many ways that could go wrong. But Lee is determined to succeed! And to befriend the feared Kazekage too, while he's at it. Good thing Lee loves a challenge...

(THIS!!!! THIS FIC!!!! IT'S SO GOOD!!! It's Lee x Gaara and I swear - I SWEAR it's the best I've ever seen of them. It beautifully paints the absolute complex relationship of the two of them. It does show Gaara's struggles so well and Lee's too! Lee whose never thought he'd end up falling for Gaara and Gaara who doesn't really understand anything of it at the start. It's so so so good. It's one of those fics that keep sitting in my mind for the rest of my life.)

Native Birds of the Land of Fire by bombshells

Neji survives the Fourth Great Ninja War, but his actions have permanent repercussions on his life. Confronted with a destruction of everything he stood for before and tired of the cycle repeating itself, he becomes disillusioned as his uncle refuses to acknowledge him. Neji refuses to bow to him any longer, as he tries to determine the true nature of his relationships with his family, his friends, and with Tenten.

(The amount of tears I've shed over this fic is crazy. Nejiten is just so doomed and so beautiful. I loved every single word that has been written down in this fanfiction and I wholeheartedly give it out to anyone who wants to read a bit of NejiTen)

Red Dead Redemption 1/2 [truth to be told I've just started reading fanfictions here haha, so here comes what I've read so far. This is just the big ones I'm reading rn, there have been some small ones but these really struck me so far. There might be more given the next months if I continue to ball my eyes out for the sad cowboys. Like I've got some Dutch and Hose centred ones open that sound really good but I gotta read everything I've found first]

the night has opened my eyes by pinkchem91

"All he’s known is fighting and rage, he doesn’t know anything but. His father was all rage, died in it and with it. He passed it down to John, anger was in his DNA and he’d solidified it at eleven years old when he took his first life, just a boy with the blood of a priest on his hands. He should have felt bad, repented to the corpse perhaps but instead, he unsheathed his father’s old blade from his tiny boot and thrust it into the dead man’s chest three times, next to the bullet wound he’d haphazardly put there just moments before. He deserved it. Even though he still believed that to be true, a strange guilt prickles at John when he’s plagued by the memory of it. Rage, guilt and liquor were John’s most perpetual companions."

or

a canon-compliant character study of john marston

( This is Javier x John and also John x Abigail! Plus just camp things around and so far I really really like it! We're at chapter 4 now but the first thing I did after reading was to subscribe to it! So here you go!)

Brothers by gaslight

Out of all the ideas Dutch and Hosea have schemed up, thrusting Arthur into the role of older brother had to be the most ill-advised yet. Taking care of others, especially a boy with fire in his eyes and mischief in his heart, was far beyond his skill set. Destruction seeped from Arthur's fingers, laying waste to every good thing that ever came his way. It was only a matter of time before he would lead the boy to ruin.

This story follows John growing up from Arthur's perspective. Arthur struggles with the responsibility of being an older brother, particularly being looked up to, as his own actions cut away at his soul and his self-worth continues to erode. He teaches John different things along the way--with varying degrees of success--and strives to protect him from harm. This is easier said than done, as is Arthur's desire to prevent the kid from becoming like him.

( I'm a little weak for the sibling dynamic between Arthur and John. I admit it. And this I just found last night and I'm at chapter 3 right now. So far I absolute adore and love it! Got the right amount of being adorable and heartbreaking I need at the moment! )

Jujutsu Kaisen

found in translation by hiraethia

Suguru reached out, wiping the trail of blood from Gojo’s mouth.

“You are not a god, Gojo Satoru,” he murmured.

Something like feral delight danced in the other boy’s eyes. He bared his teeth in a cherry grin, half-teasing, half-pleading.

“Promise?”

OR,

fragments from three years of geto suguru’s youth.

( This is my favourite but srsly everything of this author is so GOOD. The way hiraethia writes is astonishing, I've never read anything like it before and for the writing style alone I'd read about any topic tbh. It's really really really good.)

lovesick lullabye - pastelcoloreddreams [NSFW!!]

"Satoru, you can't pretend like there's nothing more to us," Suguru appeals, grabbing the crook of Satoru's elbow. That certainly makes Satoru freeze but his eyes remain hard, an impenetrable fortress to the soft and vulnerable boy he knows still lives inside Satoru. "I still love you."

"Love? Is that why you left me?"

( I originally didn't want to include any smutty content, so just a warning heads up. BUT this author has written some of the most beautiful smut I've ever read. I don't really know how but the words the author uses just paints a realistic scene in front of my eyes. It's just incredibly good.)

Honorable mentions

(meaning I'm not really in the fandom anymore)

ghosts in the daylight by blueskiddoo

“So that the angel of death can’t tell the living from the dead,” he says. “So our ancestors can come back to us, just for the night, and the angel can’t take their souls back to the afterlife until morning.”

Hawks’ expression softens. His hands are sunk deep in the pockets of his stupid coat, his hair messy and windblown. “That’s beautiful,” he says.

“It’s not meant to be beautiful,” Dabi snaps. “It’s ours. Just ours.”

*

every year the people of dabi's village paint their faces with skulls for the burning the fields. every year, dabi burns.

(Yk. ... I've read a lot of stuff back in the bnha fandom and a lot of it was dabi stuff, majority of that dabi x chisaki stuff BUT this one - THIS RIGHT HERE - jesus. I remember sitting in the car, on my way back from berlin, my fiance and mom in law in the front of the car and I was in the back. I read this oneshot and all I wanted was to sob. I can't tell you why it hit me as hard as it did but it did and I often think of it.)

ANYTHING BY oxmoxic on AO3 if you're into Good Omens

Okay I think thats it! At least what I can spontaneously think of right now!

Thank you for the ask! I hope there's something you'll like!♥

#fic rec #naruto #red dead redemption #jujutsu kaisen #nevsnev #ask #anon #THANK YOU ANON #coincidentally I'm gonna throw myself on the couch to read now lmao #the brothers rdr fic doesn't read itself #thank you again <3

[kindaconfusingme]

Since it's the end of november, I thought I'd give an update on my reading for the Autumn Reading Challenge 2.0 :)

I am working on a few other prompts atm so I think I will be through kind of soon. I have decided to pick books I already own for all of these so I can use this challenge as motivation to reduce my tbr. I fear this post will be kind of long so be prepared :D

Number in the title: Million Girl Vol.1-3 by Kotori Momoyuki

I read the 1rst and 2nd volume of this years ago when I was a teenager and bought vol 3 secondhand for this challenge bc I always wanted to finish it. It’s about a girl at a very elite high school who finds out that her family owes a lot of money to the yakuza. To repay them, she enters the Money Game that is established at her school, which consists of multiple rounds of competing against different opponents in different challenges, cheating is allowed. While I enjoyed the atmosphere and the reading experience, I’m not the biggest fan of anything beyond the first volume. It gets a little absurd and one does not get the chance to solve the mysteries of the rounds alongside the protagonist, which I would’ve liked to try.

Book with riddles: Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

I love the movie, so I hoped to like the book as well. Sadly, I was disappointed :(

I think one of the problems with it was the pacing, because a lot of the moments that are essential for the plot and should be interesting to read are just really hard to transfer to written text (while looking cool on screen). It’s not that interesting to hear Wade talk about how he has to beat a Pacman-high score. Moments like these were either boring to listen to (audiobook) or skipped over by the author, the latter option being weird as well because some of these moments were quite important. I also found Wade to be pretty annoying and full of himself. I think he compensated a lot of his low self esteem by feeling like the absolute best at knowing niche pop culture details. I kind of relate to that bc my self-esteem is held up by similar things, but I would like to think that I am not as insufferable. Or maybe I am but nobody notices bc nobody can read my thoughts. And I had to listen to Wade’s through the whole book, which made me want to scream sometimes. Artemis was pretty cool, but I felt like a lot of her character was the way it was to make sure she’s the ideal girl that lonely gamer guys wish to meet somewhen (spoken in cliches, I don’t want to shame lonely gamer guys in general here). I guess you can read this book either as a homage to 80s pop culture and be happy about a virtual reality adventure or it reads as a slightly problematic self-insert. … Idk, the book had its moments but ultimately it was a bit of a letdown. I will stick to the movie. And I still love the premise of this story a lot.

Nostalgic read: Sieben Pfoten für Penny – Freiheit für einen Delfin by Thomas Brezina

This book is part of a large series of books about a teenage girl named Penny who gets involved in different stories with animals that usually need saving. Like Flipper 2, the dolphin this book is about – or rather: Should be about. The story of saving this dolphin would be enough to tell a compelling story, if it was detailed enough. Instead, a lot of different side plots get introduced and solved within a few scenes and everything just felt rushed, mismatched and weird. I wondered whether that was because I am reading this as an adult now or if it was because of the way it was written and I landed on the latter since I read plenty of children’s books as an adult that I enjoyed a lot.

Nonfiction: Interest and Investment in fictional Romances (van Monsjou & Mar, 2019)

I stumbled upon this study while researching for my thesis and downloaded it bc boy oh boy am I myself invested in fictional romances – so why not find out what science says about it. I will not go into detail here bc there are too many tiny findings for that, but I was expecting what the authors were expecting as well: That high involvement in fictional romances compensates one’s one loneliness/dissatisfaction with love life and correlates with attachment anxiety. Interestingly enough, the attachment anxiety part was more or less there (they listed some statistically insignificant findings as well though and I don’t remember whether this was one of them and I also don’t remember whether it was found in all studies that included the attachment anxiety measurement). The loneliness/dissatisfaction thing was not found, instead people who were more interested in fictional romances seemed to use those as an exploration for their own romantic wishes – which makes sense, I guess. It is to be said though that the sample was taken from people who were not very involved in fandom over all, only a slight number of participants read or wrote fanfiction for example. As well as the authors, I do think that in a sample that consists of people who are actually involved in shipping and stuff, the results could be more consistent with the expectations, because I do think there is a big difference in the reasons for enjoying the chemistry of a fictional couple casually and being extremely invested in a fictional couple to the point of obsession. Therefore, I’d like to read follow-up studies that have these samples; so far, I have not seen these anywhere.

#i am working on it #have fun reading me thoughts on some books #studyblr w/knives reading challenge #autumn reading challenge 2.0 #bookblr

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

what are some of the reasons you love Russ so much?

this feels like you just released the floodgates in my mind of all of my thoughts, like. like in cartoons where somebody will open a closet door and just get buried in an avalanche of things. that's me reading this and having all of my thoughts about russ try to fall out all at once.

okayokayokay let me get my thoughts straight. one thing at a time.

FIRST OF ALL, i saw something in him as soon as i first watched him in argent's set of six concert. i don't know if it's just like. like the way some people show such an obvious love for music in the way they do things. there's just something about him that really stuck with me immediately. not to mention his VOICE????????? HIS VOICE HIS VOICE HIS VOICE! BEAUTIFUL!!!!! AND i love his guitar. like. his guitar playing. but also his holey guitar with the holes in it. AND i love his songs AND i love his undying love for writing. AND the way he does things like:

just cracks me up every time. he's always so entertaining to watch. and jim, look at jim.

anyway! wait my mind is scattering among a lot of different things again.

okay i got it under control.

HIS STORY. the more i learn about his story, the more i feel like i can relate to him so much and the fact that he got through his difficult times the way he did is SO INSPIRING TO ME. we're similar in a lot of ways and it really makes me feel like i can get through it just the same. he makes me feel hopeful and like i need to keep trying.

the way he said he was so fearful(like i have been for my entire life) when he was young and the insecurities he had after his accident and then the depression he had when he was in argent. that ISN'T EASY TO BEAT. the way he seems so happy and comfortable now is so amazing to me. like, i'm so proud of him for that and that's also my goal now. i want that too.

i was caught up in listening to interviews of him before i even listened to any of his solo albums and he got into my head so much, i was literally crying on my floor like a baby. for DAYS(on and off but still it kept happening for DAYS). once that stopped, i suddenly felt so much better somehow and i feel like my perspective on things has been changing BECAUSE OF HIM. he's been making me think(in better ways than my usual anxiety-overthinking) so much. the way he thinks about things is so interesting to me.

i get certain parts of interviews or his lyrics stuck in my head all the time and it's like a constant reminder.

since him, i've been actually looking forward to things(instead of the usual feeling of dread first thing in the morning). i've been doing things to take better care of myself, trying to make better habits. i've been staying hydrated better, i've been eating better, i've been looking into/practicing breathing better(he loves recommending breathing to people, for good reason), i've been going for walks. IN TOWN. that probably doesn't sound like a big deal to some people, but for me and the way i've lived sheltered for my entire life, walking by myself through town is actually huge. i also recently reached out to my mom instead of waiting and hoping for her to reach out to me first(nothing really happened from it yet but at least i can say i did that), i've even been maybe SLIGHTLY more outgoing here on tumblr lately too, i think, and less afraid to post things. i still am most of the time, but it's maybe getting better the more i try.

i've just been feeling better and it's because of his influence. it's like he gets it. he understands everything. ['i will be there' and/or 'you can count on me' starts playing in the background of my text] that makes me feel like there's somebody on my side, despite never meeting him. i feel like i've been needing somebody like him to look up to for a long time, just to give me that extra little push towards living life. when i feel like there's nobody at all, that's when i feel my worst(this might be why i feel like i can kind of relate to gale sometimes, the one his song 'a song for gail' is about). loneliness is a terrible thing.

i'm feeling better because of MYSELF TOO actually, because i'm the one digging into all of this stuff from/about him and am willing to really listen to it and take it to heart, which is exactly why he puts all of this out there. like he said about his book of love album, "if a few people can look at it and it makes sense, then it’s done it’s job"

that's me. i'm one of the few people.

another thing i love about him, the way he feels for people and animals. the way he's so full of love all the time.

he just wants the world to be a better place. he wants everybody to find a passion, like he has with music, and to be happy. he always does a little speech about it before doing 'dream on' live.

the way he's always encouraging in the best ways, like what he said about being a producer before. i put it in a post a while back, but i'll put it here too:

"i think it's an advantage being an artist as well, actually knowing what it's like on the other side of the glass and i know how horrible and deflating it can be when you're singing into that microphone with all your heart and the producer comes out with one single wrong word. a producer's job is to get the best out of the artist by encouraging him all the time. if it's good, say it's very good. if it's very good, say it's fantastic, and so on."

the way he sees good in so many kinds of music instead of only limiting himself to one thing(like meeee). the way, instead of saying something is bad if it isn't his thing, he'll say it's valid.

also the way he loves his family and stopped touring for about a decade just to be there with his kids. the way they're still so close now.

THE WAY HE LOVES HIS FANS, like the way he kept the bus waiting for so long when he was in germany because he wanted to sign as many autographs for people as possible and AND AND watching live videos of him is so cute, the way it seems sometimes just about EVERY SONG, he has to have the crowd sing at some point. i especially love when he'll say 'that's beautiful!' and then tell them to do it again while he listens.

when he gets to a certain point in 'god gave rock and roll to you', he sometimes will get them singing the main part while he does the backup part so it's like they're all doing the parts of the song together.

in one video of voices, somebody in the crowd got his attention while singing along and he took his mic down from the stand and handed it to them so they could sing that part.

he loves to make people feel seen. it's like making them feel like they're on equal ground with him. "there is not any separation between the audience and what's on the stage", as he said, and it's TRUE

HE'S JUST SO CUTE AND LOVING AND BEAUTIFUL AND WANTS THE BEST FOR EVERYBODY, I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO SCREAM

i'm adding this song to the end because i love it and i love him:

YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME, YOU'RE JUST LOOKIN FOR LOVE

and some pictures of his cute smile because i can:

#i keep thinking of more things to say but i don't know if i have energy to put it into words anymore #LOOK AT HIS SMILEEEEEEEEEEE #the one of him in the toy isle makes me laugh every time help #i took the screenshot from the video #when he was just losing it laughing and then looked at the camera like that #that's his smile of mischief in that one #(this took me all day to answer because of rereading it a billion times for anxiety reasons) #(it happens every time i type too much because i can never remember everything i said and i have to keep making sure it's fine)

[brokenrobot2004]

DeerHead EMC-V2

My 3D printer is probably done for good (or for a very long time) after I've looked into it's situation further and tried a few more things to get it functional again, but I wanted to keep working on this robot so bad that I'd gotten corrugated plastic, and paperboard to try and do a cleaner recreation of it's original form, in something that won't collapse beneath itself; I think it's working awesome so far, currently any problems I'm experiencing are now due to my own design flaws, one pesky servo (One for the in-and-out movement of the back right leg that seems over-greased, even after I'd tried to clean alot of it off which was maybe a dumb idea but it was worth a shot; it can move, but moves very slow and often if I try to make it move too far from it's last position, too fast instead of easing into it slowly, the power surges), and my servo controller being quite noisy, leading to it having jitters that sometimes get so bad they make the Arduino reset; if there's no way to get to the bottom of that without replacing the controller, I feel like I probably will eventually just because it seems like this one (PCA9685) isn't really supported at all anyways compared to other controllers out there and I've already thought of replacing it earlier on in the project but wanted to power through! I think it's good enough to work on for the time being though :] though at the same time, the animations I'm doing are being based in Tim's Servo Program, which is written in binary specifically for this controller; meaning if I got a new one, it better be early on and not after I've done most of, if not all of the core animations! (Sitting, standing, walking and turning, walking at different speeds, anger, sadness, excitement, fear, kicking ball and other ball-related interactions, things along those lines; just baseline animations!)

I only have one picture for now, taken with my ultra-HD 4K 10 million billion trillion megapixel laptop camera XD I took another one, but the stupid camera app seemed to eat it, since it wasn't in the gallery. He's way more chihuahua-like in head shape now too, featuring big floppy ravioli ears like little puppy chihuahuas have in particular ^_^ which wasn't entirely intentional, but because they turned out that way I think it's super cute so I'm happy with it anyways! I tried to make a walking animation for him, which I filmed, but the video has my face in it; I may censor my face and upload it to YouTube sometime, alongside the video there is of EMC-V1 walking; which surprisingly, turned out better than when I made this iteration walk which I'm a little worried about ,':1c I actually think that's soley because I didn't remember to make the dog enter a slightly-crouching stance to take it's steps, like an Aibo does, which was written right on my sketchbook but I was too tired to have skimmed past it because by the time I was finished actually building the new body, it was very late O_o'

Epic laptop camera moment!!! Surely you can comprehend the writing through those like, five pixels? Looks like it was taken on a 3DS, the bloody thing! ToT Anywho, that's the scoop on DeerHead for tonight!! I'm hoping I'll get him to successfully move around without help soon, but if not, I feel like I should get a servo controller that's more specifically meant for projects like this and have software to work with, or compatible Blender add-ons (Robotics and Blender working as one?! I'd nearly want to jump for joy if I got to use that kind of workflow!!) anyways; then I wouldn't have to deal with those rather nasty jitters too, and only having the servos rapidly jerk through the basic frames of animation because I don't currently know if there's a way I can make smoothing happen on Arduino, and I'd otherwise have to boot up the raspberry Pi and stick the animation into there, and be at the mercy of it working.. Actually, the more I think about this process, the more I want to get a new servo controller XD I'm going to look into that a little bit!

[convxction]

ooc. u know me, same plot, same plot. but i will try to be creative this time. maybe. no promises.

love/ and d/eeps/pace verse brainstorming

i was thinking of since this is world got fighting elements i would keep the whole warrior chrom to some extent.

since we are still getting familiarize with the game some aspects might change but overall, it seems there are some space and time jumping, other parallel worlds and timelines, and whacky sci fi elements my little brain cant understand in one go. oh and mermen XDDD perhaps there are races other than humans and wanderers if there are time and space jumping and going to other planets since they clearly said in ch8 that 'look here is the earth were people used to live lol' and im like ooohaaakkkkkkkaaaayyy philos who man? XDD

anyway, chrom's family--Fleurdelis, is one of the big families that kind of fund and support the hunter association. the family has good ties with the association since a long time being the first hunters to join were from the family. With the development and rapid change, their role was slightly changed to support financially more since more hunters from different parts are joining.

in chrom's time, he decided to join as a hunter instead of being in charge of handling the relationship between the two parties. Emmeryn is the one handling that. Though with the rise of the infamous N109 zone, there were attempts to reach out with the association to quell the chaos there but all efforts were for naught. That had put a mark on the family and on Emmeryn in particular because she, along her trusted associates uncovered some experiments which were done on some orphans and shut them down, sending these orphans to better houses and orphanages. of course, whoever survived the experiments and were able to live normally. in truth, emmeryn was against chrom joining as a hunter because she knows eventually his high sense of justice would lead him to that area. knowing him, he would get in there to help in whatever he can. and what she feared happened when he became a hunter; he tried to get in there. had it not for a senior hunter keeping him in check--Frederick, he would've been the new target for the underground syndicates.

Eventually, Chrom decided to back away and actually think of a better way to follow on Emm's plans to stop these experiments but in a more.. methodical. though that kind of went out of the window when emmeryn was kidnapped and her whereabout is unknown. rumors say that she offered herself as a bait in order to save some kids from another experiments, some say a failed transaction attempt, but one of the faintest rumors that revolves around a deal to protect her siblings. in a way, lissa the youngest of the trio has a high level evol and could be one of the rarest evols. thus, a lot of people had their eyes on her since she manifested it. emmeryn did her best to educate her about her evol and how its a bless and a curse depend on how she uses it. her evol would be probably related to healing and all stuff i dont want to give it a name or trait now lets just go with being a good one.

unlike her, chrom's evol is uh ... well ... i will stick to my guns and say if he cant have magic in any verse so is this, no evol. or like a reaaaally weak one. it just enhances the sword he uses a little bit.

so yeah. i dont want to off emmy right away like i always do in every verse haha;; his verse will be mostly during emmy looking into things and him doing his job as a hunter. with more progress in the story and writing using this verse i'll expand on it. but for now i'll keep things ...calm XD the calm before the storm lmao.

general info

name: chrom fleurdelis

age: 23

height: 180cm

birthday: 27th May

Sign: Geminie

job: deepspace hunter

evol: (fire) enhance weapon

Workplace: hunter association & fleurdelis' company

more to be added or changed later.

#ooc.|| faty speaks #verse.|| deepspace hunter #[im getting rusty with brainstorming wa...

[hawnks]

Eggshells and Dynamite pt. ii

previous 

shigaraki tomura x reader

r18

word count: 8,090

[soulmate AU, soft yandere, shigaraki-centric, obsessive shigaraki, food as a love language, mentions of panic attacks, explicit content, intimacy kink, mild foot kink don't look at me]

Everything hurts. Some things get better, sometimes.

His self control wanes, after the incident with your panties. Incident, he thinks of it, like an inevitable. Like he’s not just some kind of horrible pervert.

He’s accepted it, the moniker. Pervert. He would probably let himself be anything, no matter how disgusting, so long as he could get some relief.

It must be biological, soulmate related. He can’t imagine this is normal, the way he wants you. Like he’s starved, like a single touch would make him bust on the spot. He’s had to schedule alone time every night just to keep himself from going off the deep end. He’s still half-hard most of the time.

Most nights he wakes in the small hours, throbbing and drenched in sweat. He rushes to the bathroom to rub one out, praying, fearing, meeting you on the way. The sight of you so precious and terrible, it makes him want to fall to his knees and beat the ground.

He thinks he’s starting to believe in karma; you’re a divine punishment.

And god — are you divine.

Everything about you is a constant tease. The curve of your thighs and the hip-sway of your gait. The space where your ear curls into your throat. The sound of your voice. The pat of your footsteps.

You’re going to kill him.

Maybe he wouldn’t care, if you did. Anything, he’ll take anything from you, and lick the bowl clean.

Just fucking — look at him.

Even that has become pearl-rare. You avert your gaze so quickly he's afraid you might get whiplash some days. And, yes, he thinks vindictively. He’s not much to look at, but he’s yours. Your own punishment, the whole of your relationship sick and balanced.

You deserve each other. Maybe. Somehow.

He doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. How you could have done anything to deserve this, him. Whatever strange and unfortunate life he can give you. Whatever strange and unfortunate life he’s desperate to give you.

He’s started wearing gloves, all the time. Just in case. For what, he doesn’t know, but the idea that he could —

He’s changed his schedule. Wants to be around more when you’re awake. Wants to make sure you’re sleeping well, at the right times. That you don’t go hungry.

He shadows you constantly, aware that you’re aware of him. Unable to stop himself.

And one night he does catch you. In the hallway, on your way back from the kitchen.

He’s sticky all over, from sweat and his own slick, his lust not even spent yet but so incredibly messy. You look so small compared to him, in that moment. And he knows he could have you, he could back you up against the wall, breathe you in, listen to your murmured denials, rut against the soft fat of your stomach until he finally cums. He’s so much bigger, stronger than you. He could simply take.

That’s what sensei would have told him to do. That’s what’s in his nature. Villain.

But he doesn’t. Instead he’s swamped with the urge to keep you safe, make you happy. More than anything, he wants you to want it, too.

He looks at you, looking at him, the both of you caught up in the spiderweb tension of this. He looks at you, looking at the damp curl of his hair, the clinging fabric of his shirt, the tent in his pants.

Your fault, he doesn’t say. All you.

Your lips are parted slightly, the surprise of it all making it hard to mask your feelings.

You’ve just eaten something — isn’t it too late for dinner? won’t you make yourself sick? — and the smell is all mixed together. Oil and the musky fragrance of your skin. The soap you wash your hands with, a different soap for your face. And him, layered over everything, the inescapable scent of unspent sex smothering it all.

He passes you without a word, breathing deeply as you go by, trying to keep you in his lungs until he can get a hand around his cock. Ease his suffering, just a little.

…

To your surprise, after your first week, there were no more episodes. No more crawling into yourself, afraid of being ripped apart by your own pounding heart. You’re almost— calm, in this place. At peace in a strange, noxious way.

Is this a beacon of healthy adult living? Of course not. But none of the self help books you’ve read have ever brought you even close to this level of stability. At least you’re not having breakdowns in the storeroom every other day. At least you don’t have to worry about your life slipping through your fingers at the slightest provocation.

Shigaraki seems to know this. Instinctively, maybe. Or maybe because he’s always watching you. And you know he is. Like a bird of prey, circling, a distinct sharpness to his gaze that makes you doubt his every action.

What does he want?

What do you want?

Some deep dark part of you —

Likes this. The situation, the push and pull of it, everything natural, instinctive. The power of it. You understand it in a way you couldn’t understand your old life, seem to know all the rules here, all the stakes.

Which is why you know you can mouth off to one of the most dangerous men in the world without repercussion.

The food he brings gets progressively harder to eat. Not that it’s overly complicated or intricate, just that it’s so healthy and tasteless you can’t stomach it.

The night he brings you a cut of unseasoned tofu you glance at it once before shoving it back at him. “No thanks.”

“You’re gonna starve to death,” he snaps, staring down at the plate. He’s hovering over you as you sit on the cot, the plate gripped between both hands. He’s scowling.

You just shrug, in response, which seems to ignite something in him. His gaze goes steely and hot, fingers flexing.

“This is why,” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“This is why you need me.” He gestures to you, your sunken eyes and cheeks. You look fragile. Like your bones are hollow as a birds. “You’ll starve yourself.”

You resist the urge to hiss back at him. There’s something pulled taut in him today, like he’s a moment from snapping.

And besides, you wouldn’t starve. Kurogiri looks out for you, keeps the kitchen stocked with snack food for grazing. You don’t eat meals, but you’re not constantly empty. It’s enough.

Enough to have you turning your nose up at the plate Shigaraki has begun to inch toward you again.

“No thanks,” you say again. The same cadence as fuck off.

His upper lip twitches, like he’s about to bite you. You just sit there, waiting for his retaliation. Waiting for him to hurt you.

You see it in his eyes, the tension around his hands. His biceps bulge with restraint. Right where his soulmark would be.

He wants to come to you, to pounce on you. Smother you with his whole body weight. Bury his face against your throat. The image is so clear in your mind you can feel it.

When was the last time you were touched without the intent to harm? When was the last time you were touched at all? The thought makes you want to dig your claws into your own skin, to take any sensation you can. You want to stop feeling anything at all, or maybe to drown it out with overwhelming sensation. You want him to stop looking at you.

You want — control.  

“I used to feed myself, if you can remember,” you say. “I wasn’t always your pet.”

The word ‘pet’ seems to take him by surprise, sap him of some of his ire. You watch raptly as a blush darkens his cheeks. “It’s good for you,” he mutters.

Clearly he hasn’t been thinking of you as a kept creature, but then what are you in his mind? You say, “It doesn’t taste good.”

“It will make you stronger,” he returns, then quickly amends, “It will keep you healthy.”

You shake your head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Shigaraki clicks his tongue. His expression has gone neutral, darkly inquisitive.

You say, “What’s the point of just living?”

He leaves the plate on the floor by your feet.

…

The next night he enters your room like he’s storming it. He doesn’t have something freshly cooked for you, but a convenience store bag, the yellow smiley staring at you vacantly.

“I’m tired of watching you starve yourself,” he says.

Your patience is a dry well. You stand, intending to cow him, back him right out the door. Or maybe you just want to argue, want some release from this constant tension eating at you. “Would you fucking stop with this?” you snap. “Belittling me, condescending to me. I’m so sick of it—“

“I care about you.” It’s no less startling for how softly it’s spoken. He seems to know it will have that effect on you, because he says, “I care about you and I’m asking you to sit down,” and you comply instantly.

He’s still hovering

”I want things to be easier for you,” he says finally. It’s spoken with the soft assurity of a leader. Someone who’s heard without raising his voice. “That’s it.”

He’s holding onto the bag. A part of you wants to tell him to hand it over so you can throw it back in his face. Get this over with. Get him away.

But doesn’t let go of the handles, the plastic dimpling in his iron grip. He’s looking at where his fingers curl, pinky left safely out, despite the gloves. Must be hard to break a habit when the consequence is so dire.

“There’s something out of the ordinary in you. Maybe you were born with it. Maybe it got dropped at your feet like a dead bird. But it’s inside you and there’s no getting rid of it.”

The words echo through you, barely touching down.

You wonder, absently, what he’s brought you. It was probably hard to pick out something tasteless and wholesome from the pre-made meal selection. You think about the wall of sandwiches in your old place of work. You think about the owner, arriving back to his store in ruins.

“Life seems to fold around you, doesn’t it?” he says. “Like everyone else is pointed in some direction, at some thing, but you’ll never be able to reach it. You’ve always known that.”

You’re hungry. You haven’t let yourself think about it, too swept up in righteous indignation. But you’re hungry.

You wish he’d stop talking.

“And you’ve always known that you’re not that different from everyone else. So why? Why did you get the short stick? Why is everything so hard for you?” he says. “You’re angry, but you won’t admit it. Not at me. Not at yourself. At the world. The people who outpaced you just because you’re not the same.”

You wish you could just eat.

“It’s okay to be mad. Furious, even,” he tells you. “It’s okay to not be grateful for scraps.”

He’s looking at you now, waiting for something.

You don’t know what he wants from you, how you’re supposed to respond. You guess his words aren’t really sinking in, floating at the edge of your consciousness. Were you even listening?

All you can think about is how hungry you are. Starving. You’d probably take anything he gave you, at this point.

You point at the bag he’s clutching. “What did you bring me?”

He blinks at you for a moment. Then he opens it, shakes it out onto the bed before you. The items fall with a plastic crinkle. It’s all junk food. Chips and sweet bread. An oily entree. It was the kind of meal you would have bought yourself as a child, indulgent and bad for you.

You pull a bag of konpeito sugar candy from the stack. They’re shaped like tiny stars, assorted pastel pinks and yellows.

“I used to eat these all the time when I was little,” you say. You tear open the bag, a few of the candies tumbling out and onto the bed, between your knees. “I used to hold them in my mouth and wait for them to dissolve.”

You crook a finger at him, beckoning him closer. He’s slow to comply, the look in his eyes almost dreamlike as he leans down. You tap a finger to his lip, he opens, obediently. Gently, you place one of the candies on his tongue, sakura pink, the color of his blush.

His mouth hangs open for a moment even after you pull away. His eyes don’t leave yours when he finally closes it, tonguing at the morsel like he’s imagining something else.

“Good boy,” you whisper to him.

He stands abruptly, scowling, flushed. He leaves.

…

You make pancakes for breakfast. The rest of the LOV members are out on a mission this morning, so it’s just you and Dabi at the table.

He grills you about Shigaraki as you cook. “How big is it,” is the first question on his roster, before you threaten to dump the batter on his head.

“Whoa, easy there,” he returns, grinning, “Curiosity ain’t a crime.”

You go back to your mixing, muttering about how you wouldn’t know anyway, which he catches, to your horror and his delight.

Dabi thinks the whole situation is hilarious, of course. That Shigaraki was actually interested in someone at all was somewhat of a shock to the league members, let alone that he seems to be whipped right out the gate.

“He seems like an incel, right?” Dabi notes, taking the steaming plate you offer him. “But he never cared about that shit. Getting laid, or whatever. If it wasn’t for the world class hentai collection I would have thought he was a monk.”

He pours a generous helping of syrup over his stack, then reaches across the table and does the same for yours. “But he’s got other things to focus on, I guess. No time for mud fights and body shots when there’s a society to change.”

“Do monks always plot world domination?” you ask.

Dabi gives you a precursory glance. “If he hasn’t laid hands on you yet, there must be something wrong with him.”

You should be skeeved out by the comment, but it just makes you laugh. This place must be getting to you. “Didn’t your boss almost kill you the last time you tried something.”

He shrugs. “No problem with looking.”

“I think some people would disagree.”

“Yeah,” Dabi says, his tone strangely placid, almost pleasant. “He might really kill me next time.”

“I’d stop him,” you say, thinking of the day Shigaraki tackled on him, threatening murder.

He smirks. “I’m not sure even you could at this point, babe.”

The table grows quiet after that, the both of you focused on eating. Dabi snags your plate when you’re finished, dumping it in the sink.

“I don’t think he knows what to do with you,” he says, on the way out the door. “I don’t think you know what to do with each other.”

Despite your better judgment, curiosity wins out. You sneak into Shigaraki’s room after that. You don’t find the hentai, or anything of the sort.

His room is less bachelor pad and more mad scientist, papers scattered everywhere, sticky notes on all the walls. His desk is cluttered with cups (all the ones you use, you notice) and a PC set up. Tucked into the corner of his monitor is a picture.

A candid of you, one that Toga took a while ago. No filter, but little sloppily drawn hearts adorn all the edges. It’s soft to the touch, like it’s been held and held.

You wonder where he got it, if he had to ask, or if someone just knew he would want it.

You wonder why he cares.

You wonder how long that will last.

…

You’re watching the news on Shigaraki’s PC, barely paying attention to the stories that roll by. You’re thinking about your nails, how you might finally be able to paint them. You’ve almost nixed your habit of tearing at them, and they’re longer now than they’ve probably ever been. Absently, you wonder what color Shigaraki would like you in, if he’d have any preference at all.

And then— a still frame crosses the screen. The empty lot where your workplace used to be. No one had bothered to clean the mess, it was too expensive and no contractor would want to build there anyway. What’s left is all dust. The remnants of your old life.

In an instant your throat is cinched tight, your chest can’t expand to take in any air. You can’t peel your eyes off the screen.

That used to be your life— and now there’s nothing to go back to. It’s all gone. You’re gone.

And now you’re dying, too. Your heartbeat like gunshots in your chest, under oxygenated, over excited. Maybe you really will bite it this time. Maybe this is how you go, unrecognized, life lost in all ways.

You don’t have the mental space to think about why or how Shigaraki is here. Coincidence? Maybe he just felt your distress, soulmate bond or whatever.

But he’s there at your side staring at you as you gasp, hesitating, wincing. He makes a move to grab you several times, but keeps coming up short. He doesn’t know what to do.

He asks questions you’re not able to answer, too occupied with the crushing sensation beneath your ribs, the sight of everything you used to be turned to ash on the screen.

Finally he reaches around you, shuts off the monitor with a small sound of displeasure. He doesn’t back off, after, stays curved around your back, over the chair. He wraps an arm around your chest, his wrist against the bare skin at the base of your throat.

You feel him, then. In increments, surrounding you. The heat and the pressure. The whisper of his breath. The soft pulse of his own heartbeat, pushing up against yours. Fighting it down. Smoothing it out.

He holds onto you for what feels like an eternity. Time is always strange when you come down, your exhaustion warping everything.

“You should go to bed,” Shigaraki says finally, like he can read your thoughts. Still, he doesn’t move.

You reach a hand up to cup his wrist. Your fingers find the prominent vein there, feel the blood moving through him. You’re gripping too tight, but he says nothing. Just lets you dig into him.

The position is slightly awkward. The high back of the chair is still between you, and he has to snake around it to maintain his hold. But he’s so warm. And you’re so tired.

You’re almost woozy now, barely conscious. You sigh, as close to content as you could be, all bundled up and held tight.

“Who even am I, anymore?” you say.

He pauses, for the briefest second. “Whoever you want to be,” he rasps, his arm tightening infinitesimally against your chest.

But you can feel it as surely as if he’d said it. Mine.

…

You wake in his bed, the lights all dimmed, his monitor unplugged completely. He’s left you a note. He’d probably left it on the pillow next to you, but you’d turned in your sleep and it’s stuck to your arm now, slightly crumpled.

Anything, it says, a reminder, the scrawl identical to the words running across your chest.

…

The day is average. You chat with Kurogiri, ignore Dabi’s slightly off-colored jokes.

Shigaraki gets back late. So late it’s not anymore, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table watching the door as he slumps through it.

His eyes catch you immediately. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You almost laugh. “Shouldn’t you?”

The truth is, you’re not sure why you’ve waited up. Part of you wants to explain it away, you’re just not tired, you’re bored, antsy being cooped up in here all the time.

But the truth is you’re curious. About him. About the both of you.

He grunts. He glances at the stairs, where his room is, just around the bend.

“Where is everyone else?” you ask.

He glances at you, wary. Like you’re about to pull some nasty trick. “Someplace safe, at their discretion. They’re staying out of trouble for a few days.”

You peer at him in the dark. He’s covered in grime, streaks of something— blood?— matting his clothes, his hair. He looks exhausted. “You did something bad today, didn’t you,” you say.

“That’s objective.”

He edged closer. Just a step. He looks at your hands where they’re folded on the table, at your face, masked by the dark. “Are you going to bed soon?” he asks. For once it doesn’t sound like an admonishment. Softer, less imperious.

“Shigaraki,” you murmur. Have you ever said his name before? At the sound of it he grows restless, antsy. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He follows you obediently, and you direct him to the shower, “You’re all…gross.” Retreat to your own room. Lay on the bed and look at the ceiling. Lose track of time.

You wonder if he’s hurt. That must be a byproduct of fighting constantly. There’s no way to walk away unscathed every time, even if he’s the biggest, baddest villain on this side of the equator.

Who heals him? Kurogiri must have some part in it; he’d bandaged your own wounds a few times since you came to the hideout. You're sure Shigaraki would do that for you too, if you asked. But — would you want him to? Could you let yourself be hurt in his presence? Would it destroy you?

You think you’d like to be the one to clean Shigaraki’s wounds from now on. You think you can make it hurt less.

The door opens with the quietest click. He’s standing before you in an instance, at your bedside, peering at you in the half-light of encroaching dawn.

“You look like a drowned cat,” you whisper.

He says nothing. Just stares down at you, hair still wet, damp patches on his loose shirt where he didn’t pay dry well enough. He smells, disconcertingly, of lavender. It's your own shampoo, the scent you requested Toga grab for you. The thought of him standing wearily under the spray, using your things to get clean— makes your throat sting.

“What do you want?” you ask, quietly. Too quietly.

The air goes stagnant for a minute. There’s a grim look to him right now, like maybe you’ve found the line, how far you can push him before he becomes to you who he is to everyone else. Before he’s the villain here, too.

But then, finally, he says, “Just let me touch you.”

The answering pounding in your chest is hot, wild. You feel high with it, the quiet shudder of his voice, the way he’s looking up at you through his bangs so petulantly.

Your mind is swamped with thoughts of him, and your lavender shampoo. Of wanting so desperately, even the sight of the other person feels like salvation, feels like a buoy in an endless sea.

“You want it?” you ask. He nods. You say, “You really want it?”

Another nod. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s imagining it, like he’s barely holding himself back.

And isn’t this what you’ve been craving? You see him wanting to the point of despair and it fills something in you, dark, decadent. Awful.

You say, “Then beg.”

He looks at you then, something like hurt flashing across his features before his expression goes blank, closed off. He’d do it, for you. He’d do anything.

“Please—“

The word barely makes it into the room before you’re throwing yourself against him, slapping a hand over his mouth, cutting him off.

“No,” you say, filled with a sudden bevy of horror. Almost— guilt. “Dont.”

Part of you teeters on an apology, but what would that do? Because another part of you still wants to hurt him, still wants him on his knees. Craves the power of that.

He looks at you, fish-eyed. He lets out a long, humid breath against fingers. You think he might lick them, can see the thought churning in his head. But he doesn’t.

He pulls away, and you let him. His chest is rising in big, heavy inhales, exhales.

“Can I see it?” His voice is quiet. You can barely hear it.

He’s all hunched in on himself, shoulders slumped, chin tucked. He hardly looks like a villain at all, right now. More like a man waiting to be rejected.

You know what he wants, he doesn’t have to elaborate. Your soulmark seems to throb under your shirt, like it’s calling out for him, like it wants the same thing.

Your hands hover between you like little birds, ready to push or pull at a moments notice. You say, “Sit down.”

You stand as he does so, reversing your positions. You tap your knee against his, opening up his legs, biting down a mean grin when you see him tense, shocked and unsure.

Your fingers pluck at the hem of your shirt — one you’d stolen from him — hesitating for just a moment. Then you’re stripping out of it, letting it flutter silently to the floor.

You stand there in your bra and sweatpants, arms loose at your sides. Strangely, you don’t feel any shame, any self-loathing. Maybe it’s because you can sense how thirsty he is for the sight, any blemishes or imperfections falling by the wayside with how much he wants you.

He’s so still as he stares at you, like he’s made of glass, like one wrong move would shatter him completely.

“I always knew it would be a bad guy,” you say, after a moment of stillness. “I never had any delusions about my future.”

You look at the mark yourself. It’s stark, prominent. Growing up the words had been wine colored, but they had darkened into a coal black in the last few years. The deepest shade you’ve ever seen a soulmark, save for Shigaraki’s. Most considered the meaning of coloration superstition. None of it had been confirmed, of course, but the going myth is that the darker your mark the more intense the bond.

If you believed it, yours might be heavy enough to sink you both.

You trail your fingertips across the scratchy scrawl of it. It’s not pretty, but interesting to look at. Art, almost, in the way it spiders across your skin.

You glance at him; he’s waiting, shaking.

Slowly, you reach a hand out, barely grazing his forearm. He flinches like your touch burned him.

You take his wrist anyway, drawing it in, closer. You turn his hand so his middle knuckle brushes against your skin, right at the out end of your mark. His hands are chapped and the touch of them raises gooseflesh all over your body, the delicate rasp heady and strange.

He’d taken his gloves off to shower, forgot to put them back on. His flesh is bare against yours.

Shigaraki is panting now, open mouth, chest rising in big, desperate gulps. Muscle jumps beneath your grip, like he can’t decide whether to pull away or not. But he lets you move him, lets you trace over the breadth of your soulmark, back and forth, like he’s rubbing it in.

His hand is fisted, white knuckled. Some of the drier skin begins to crack under the tension, the slightest bit of blood welling there. You want to lick it off, shocking yourself with the thought.

He’s moving by himself now, testing the weight and pressure of his touch against your skin, what makes you gasp, or shudder. What ways he can affect you.

You’re so sensitive in that spot, it must be rubbed raw. But you don’t stop him, and he doesn’t offer, tracing over and over the letters. All the while his gaze doesn’t stray, not even to the cleavage just a few centimeters lower. His attention is caught by those words, obsession and cat-like interest in his eyes.

“I didn’t believe you existed,” he says.

And you feel the afterthought in your gut. I thought I was alone.

You step away from him, breaking the contact. Reality floods you both. Like the moment is suspended in a flash of lightning.

You slink out of the room without looking back, bare skin growing frigid as you rush into the bathroom. You take a shower so hot it burns.

You think about how you’ll look at him the next time you see him, if everything or nothing has changed with this one instance.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.

…

“Where did he go?”

You finally rack up the nerve to ask Kurogiri on the fourth day of Shigaraki’s absence. He’s shining a cup at the counter, his ghostly face gazing back at you.

Shigaraki comes and goes, just like everyone else. Sometimes he’s gone for long periods, but this is the longest yet.

“Did he not tell you?” Kurogiri asks. At the shake of your head, he turns away. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

You want to reach out for him, pull him back, so you can look at him head on. “Is he—“

Okay?

It gets caught in your throat. Are you allowed to ask? Are you allowed to care?

“I’m sure he’ll be back shortly,” Kurogiri says. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t look at you again until you’re halfway out the door, heading back to your room.

…

Shigaraki is gone for four weeks.

The fucker.

…

Your curiosity turns to rage in short order.

How dare he. How dare he leave you. How dare he make you care. He dragged you here, turned your world inside out, and —

Abandoned.

The word rests in the back of your throat, always, as heavy as an iron nail.

It’s been a companion to you as long as you can remember, navigating the world distinctly alone, as only the truly fucked up can.

Like he said — there’s something out of the ordinary in you. Broken, he meant.

Wasn’t he the one who’s supposed to fix it?

But that never seemed to be his end goal, watching over you, not like a god, but a supplicant. Taking everything, everything, as it is.

The notion makes you seethe.

You’ve snooped through all of his belongings, save for what’s locked away. You find pieces of your life hidden throughout. Articles of your clothing, doodles you’ve made on napkins, books you’ve read. All of it integrated so seamlessly into the mess, like they’re his own, like they’ve always belonged to him.

You’ve taken to sleeping in his room. Curling up under the covers, piling more on so they weigh you down. The sheets have stopped smelling like him and started smelling like you. You think that makes you angrier than anything.

You smother yourself with his pillows, douse yourself with the few hoodies he’s left behind. It doesn’t make up for the ache.

You hate him.

You miss him.

…

There’s only so much seething you can do. Eventually, you grow bored. So you leave.

You tuck your hair into a cap, don a full outfit of Shigaraki’s clothes that sags on your body, obscures your shape.

You can’t remember the last time you actually left the hideout. Sometimes you loitered just outside, talking to whoever was having a smoke. But mostly, you were an indoor soulmate.

You’re still not quite sure where you are – no one ever bothered to tell you. But the further you go, the more you recognize, until finally you’re back where this all started. The convenience store. What remains of it, anyway.

You waddle through the mess, thinking about the last time you’d seen it, how it had set you off. Now you just feel a vague longing, and not even for the right thing.

Very little is left. Shigaraki’s quirk had decimated almost everything, and the rubble had been picked clean in the following days. You see bits of the counter, the shelves. Wrappers from food the shop didn’t even sell. A crimped wire that must have belonged to the old radio that hung in the corner.

It was mostly useless. It was off most days, so you and your cohorts could ‘focus on what’s important’ (your manager’s words). When it was on, it was auto-locked on a public-access channel. Through the day it would shuffle through smooth jazz hours to concise news soundbites to features about anything and everything.

There’s one you remember, distinctly. A piece about a planet. It was discovered years and years ago. That day was the anniversary, though, and the segment was talking about its discovery, the fuss it kicked up in the science community.

You don’t remember the name of it, but you remember the year it was discovered. You remembering caring a lot about it, at the time.

It’s all you can do, to head straight for the library, begin your investigation.

The planet’s name is Kepler-16b, and it’s a frigid giant made from half-rock, half-gas. Roughly the size of Saturn. The first of its class. A circumbinary planet, one that orbits two stars, which orbit each other.

The thought soothes something in you. The mere existence of this thing some kind of balm. You imagine a place with dual sunsets, the sky twice as bright. Strange and beautiful.

You learn that because of their position, there’s a particular and fantastic phenomenon circumbinary planets experience. One sun, eclipsing the other. A constant cycle of light overtaking light, burning bright enough to smother its twin.

You fall down the rabbit hole. For hours, you read about stars. Their life cycles and their anatomy. Their weight and presence. You read about planets too, bizarre and far-off. Impossible and wonderful.

It consumes you until the lights go out, and the librarian kicks you out, promising that you can return tomorrow, everything would be waiting for you still.

So you come back the next. And you keep coming back.

Anything, you think, must be this.

…

You feel it, when he returns, finally. You rise up from your nest in his bed, waiting until he appears in the doorway, his body a shadow, lit from the back.

He looks —tired.

You want to bundle him in close, brush the hair from his eyes. You want to – god help you – feed him something good for him, tell him to go to bed as soon as he’s done.

But you can’t.

Because you’re still furious.

“Where did you go?” you demand.

He doesn’t answer, watching you, gaze wolfish, strange. “I missed you.”

“You left me,” you hiss, edging toward him, expecting him to yield, like always. But he doesn’t. He lets you pull in close, chest brushing, breaths hot and mingled.

“I missed you so goddamn much,” he whispers.

“Are you an idiot?” you snap, nearly hysterical. “What if you died? What if you’d gotten killed?”

His expression hasn’t changed. Still doggedly intent. Still trained on only you. “I wouldn’t.”

“But what if you did?” You’re not making sense. Desperate with no outlet, no safe harbor. You feel the panic welling, dread shortening your breath, making your chest vice-tight. “What if you’d left me alone?”

He comes toward you, settles beside you on the bed. His expression is tender, fierce. It nearly chokes you.

You ask, “What if you didn’t come back?”

There’s a moment of nothing. Just you, together, in silence. You think he might just not reply at all, but then—

“What if I didn’t?” he says. Breathes the word like he has no voice left to say it.

Tears well before you even know what’s happening. They stream down your face, fat and ugly. You’re not a pretty crier, and this is worse than usual, your breaths turning to gasps immediately.

He opens his arms to you and you go, crawl into his embrace like a wounded animal, bury your face against the worn material of his shirt. He doesn’t smell like lavender, today.

The balls of his fists rest against your upper back and your waist. Your knees are slightly bent where they lay— you weren’t thinking about comfort when you came to him. But the thought of letting an inch of space between you to adjust fills you with dread.

You can feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves. Clutching you like this. Like he’s always wanted. If you cared to pull back and look, you think he might be grinning.

And, maybe, in some ways you have conceded something.

But you don’t feel like you’ve been tricked, and nothing about the way he’s rocking you so gently could be devious.

The hideout is silent, save for the two of you. Your sobs tapering as he continues to soothe you. He’s murmuring something against your scalp, but it’s too low for you to hear.

You never realized just how big, how strong he is. His body is firm under your own, well muscled and powerful. You feel— safe.

He makes you feel safe. Somehow. Somehow.

“I would be alone,” you whisper, against his throat.

His arms tighten around you. “I instructed Kurogiri to watch over you, while I was gone.”

You shake your head. “Not the same.”

And it’s not, of course. You can’t think of anyone else on Earth who could drag you this low, break you down this completely. You can’t think of anyone else you’d want wrapped around you like this, the steady throb of his heartbeat, the deep, rasping breaths threaded through your hair.

“It was always meant to be different,” he says. “The two of us.”

His voice is hazy, far away. You’re starting to drift off in his arms, exhausted from crying.

“I never wanted to be different,” you tell him.

“I know,” he returns. Distantly, through the first layer of sleep, you feel the brush of his lips against your temple. It’s open-mouthed, just a little too soft. Like he doesn’t know how to kiss someone, like he’s never done it before. Like he’s never had a reason to. “I know.”

…

You wake and he’s wrapped around you. You’re half-sprawled on his chest, one arm cinched in a death-grip around your waist, the other raised to tangle a hand in your hair. He’s wearing the gloves you realize, two fingers, the kind artists use. You wonder if he had the foresight to know this was coming, or if he was thinking about you, too, while he was away.

He’s awake when you peek up at him. “Good morning,” he whispers, softly, almost cautiously.

Something about the morning light softens him. All the deep rivulets of his skin, more mosaic than painful. His eyes are pink-ish against the blanket of sunlight.

“I read, when you were gone,” you say, just as soft.

He hums, a leading sound.

“About stars, and planets. Everything.” You raise one hand, brush your fingers through his hair. It’s full of knots, and you’re patient as you ply through them, detangling. “The universe is mostly empty space, you know. Existence is an anomaly. Every single thing in the world is miraculous – isn’t that nice?”

He’s closing his eyes now, basking in your touch, the sound of your voice.

You say, “I think that’s what I want to do. Just learn things. As much as possible.”

“You can,” he rumbles. You feel it in your own chest. “I’ll help you.”

You lean up to brush your nose against his. He cracks his eyes open to watch you. He’s not quite smiling, but his face has lost the tension it usually holds. Peaceful. He says, “I really did miss you.”

And suddenly nothing matters. Not him leaving. Not what came before it. Just you, and him. This. This this this.

You kiss him, then, clumsily, feeling like a soulmate for the first time in your life. He opens his mouth to you instantly, turns things wet and slick, drags his tongue against yours, against the back of your teeth, your gums, the inside of your cheek.

He pulls you tighter, closer. Further up his body, tugging your full weight on top of him, groaning when you finally relinquish it and settle against him.

You pull away, evading as he tries to follow you, tries to kiss you again. You squirm in your shirt, tugging at his simultaneously until he finally reaches up and rids you both of them.

Then you’re half naked in his lap, staring at him as he’s staring at you. He’s looking at the space below your clavicle, where his words sit heavy as a stone. He’s leaning in, as close as he can, his tangled hair brushing against your skin, his nose pressing against the thin skin of your throat.

You can feel his shuddering breath, leeching across your shoulder as he crowds you. Then you feel – his tongue. Tracing the ink-dark spot. Dragging so slowly over your skin.

He falls into you. Hands grabbing, teeth clashing. It’s messy, and all at once. You have trouble keeping up with him, only know that he’s surprisingly dexterous in the onslaught. He’s good at getting you to writhe.

“Mine,” he says, teeth pressing against your throat. Not quite biting, just letting you feel the pressure of them there, the promise. “You’re mine.”

He fists a hand in your hair, tilts your head back until he’s cradling it. He tongues at the place where your ear meets your jaw, gnaws gently on the fat of your cheek.

“Say it,” he murmurs, wet and hot. His eyes so close and boring into yours.

You could. You are. To your marrow. In your blood.

But a part —the part he’s cultivated, maybe—wants to push.

You catch his lips, the faintest pressure against them. “Make me,” you whisper into his mouth.

You expect him to grab you, push you down or drag you against him. You’re braced for it, your legs stiff, arms poised to grab back.

But he climbs off you. Sinks to his knees. Yanks you by your hips to the edge of the bed.

You can’t help your gasp as he drags down your shorts and panties in one motion, or the next one, as he buries his face directly in your cunt. Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of build up, you think, some rise? But you're wet already and he knows it, taking long, deep breaths, filling his lungs with you. He lingers for a moment before nuzzling his face down your thigh, leaving drooling, open mouth kisses along the way.

He meaders down your legs, pausing to nibble, or lick. He holds you so tightly the flesh dimples in his grip. His lips are dry, the skin severely cracked. They catch on the stubble of your legs every so often, and you can’t imagine the prickliness could feel good to him. But he keeps going, brow lowered over steely eyes, rapt, drunk.

He reaches your ankle, bent all the way over, chest against the floor just to keep his mouth on you. Indelicately, he takes your heel in his hand, and the sudden disrupt of balance sends you tumbling back into the sheets.

He licks you there, too, from the rounded edge of your foot to your toes, pausing to tease his teeth over the tips, to suck each one into his mouth, lathe them dripping and hot. He does the same with the other, humming around your toes, making you feel strangely giddy.

You look at him, on his knees, at your feet.

You want to eat him alive.

Eventually he makes his way back up, and up, and up. Back to your cunt, tacky with slick, glistening at he thumbs it open. He’s panting on it, as he closes in, mouth open to take in as much of you as possible, tonguing your hole, shallowly, first, then deep, deep.

He gives your clit a firm lick and you jolt. He wraps his lips around it, nursing it in a way that makes it hard to pin down the sensation, to parse out what you’re feeling. It’s all so much, too much.

And your heart is racing in a way you’re familiar with, that scares you.

You push at his head, twisting away. “Slower, slower.”

He complies without pause, moving down from your folds to mouth at your thighs, nibbling, leaving a long string of hickies on both sides. He raises a hand to pet your belly in gentle circles, holding you down, soothing you.

Your heart settles as you trace his temple, his cheek where his jaw is moving beneath the skin. You hitch your legs wider, wanting, and he seems to understand instinctively, gravitating back to your pussy.

The feeling kindles in you again, heart racing, blood rushing in your ears. But you’re ready for it. You understand it now. It feels good. This is good.

He’s messy as he eats you out. You feel something dripping down you, onto the bed. Your slick or his spit, maybe both. It’s surprisingly loud, the sound of him tonguing you and his groans, the combination making your skin heat, making you buck.

Your peak is a full bodied thing, startling, electric. You curl up and around him, grinding against his face, fists in his hair probably painful, but he just moans into you, licking you still, guiding you through it until you’re pulling at him.

You drag him back up your body. He comes easily, readily, stopping to kiss you again wherever you give him slack, dark eyes continually drawn to yours.

His hips are aligned with the cradle of yours before he even thinks to take off his underwear, tossing it negligibly behind him, drawn back to you, as close as possible, as if being apart physically pains him.

He kisses you, and the taste is musky, yours. “Wanna be inside you,” he slurs into your mouth.

Spit pools in your mouth, a bead of it rolling down your chin, leisurely as honey, as you say back, “Want you inside me, too.”

The pressure of him entering you feels immense, like you’re discovering a whole new part of yourself that only opens for him. He goes slow, stroking your belly again, humming to you, a gentle praising sound. When he’s finally bottomed out he pauses, curls over you to bury his face against your chest, against your soulmark.

His cheeks are damp, sticky against your skin. From sweat, tears, you're not sure. You kiss him everywhere you can reach, infirm, fluttering brushes of your lips. Gentle as you can be.

“Gotcha,” you say. “I’ve gotcha.”

Then he’s moving, still nosing at the words on your skin, breathing hard against you with every roll of his hips. He reaches a hand up, meeting your eye as he presses two gloved fingers in your mouth, stroking your tongue for a moment before dropping them to your clit.

You’re still sensitive from earlier, and the touch makes you clench around him, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until he’s coming undone inside you, warmth spreading through you like dawning light. He doesn’t stop stroking you, his orgasm making his fingers twitch intermittently, against you, makes him wince with the overwhelming pleasure, but still determined to get you off. And you do, rocking up into the cradle of him as he kisses you, as warmth climbs through you again, staticky, bright, and he finally has to pull out as you tighten around him again, so good and soft and sweet it’s become painful.

He doesn’t go far, collapsing beside you, taking you with him.

“Mine,” he says again, holding onto you like nothing could ever hurt you, here in his arms.

“Mine,” he says. Like a promise.

The afterglow blankets you both. A come-down that isn’t really a come-down, more elation than tapering off. You didn’t know you could feel this way with another person, or at all. You didn’t know you’d been craving this kind of all-consuming warmth your whole life. This, too, feels miraculous. Every kiss like you’re inventing it, like it’s the first and last that will ever exist. Anomalous stars, dotting an infinite void.

He traces your features, a single pinky mapping out your eyes, your nose, your warm, swollen lips. And you know him. Maybe you always have.

“I forgive you, you know,” you tell him.

He kisses away your dreamy smile, like he can’t help himself. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” you say, honestly, but knowing, somehow, it needs to be said. Knowing that he needs to hear it, maybe since always. “Everything. Anything.”

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #bnha x reader #BOY HOWDY here she is #4am time to post another fic #this fic is dedicated to strei for letting me out of the isolation jar thank u strei

[shepherds-of-haven]

Might ask this in next month’s q/a if it’s too spoilery, but would pre-amnesia Briony’s relationships with the rest of the shepherds vary drastically than our current Briony?

I think they would, because pre-amnesia Briony's personality is markedly different from how she is now! Without giving too much away, she was much fiercer, more headstrong, and generally tougher and quick to anger before. As for how she would have related to the Shepherds then:

Blade: he would have respected her more as a warrior/soldier, but probably been less close to her as a friend. Pre-amnesia Briony was much more mutinous and rebellious, though, so he probably would have been more irritated by her propensity for disobeying orders and running off without listening to him

Trouble: they would have been friends, but he would have been a bit more respectful of her, rather than needling her and treating her like a guy picking on his sister good-naturedly; they could have had a good "comrades-in-arms" or battle buddies relationship, but probably not a close and intimate one where he talked to her about more personal affairs the way he does now

Tallys: funnily enough, they probably would have gotten along much better, and Tallys would have probably sought her company out more: they likely would have been best friends if they'd met in [REDACTED]! (instead of current Briony's desperate need to be liked sort of putting Tallys off lol) Tallys's cool-headed nature would have been a great accompaniment to Briony's former hot-headedness and impulsivity!

Shery: they wouldn't have been as close, and Shery would have both feared and admired her in a more reverent way, sort of like a fan to an idol rather than as good friends

Riel: he would have found her an interesting specimen to observe and they would have been civil to each other, but it's doubtful he'd have formed a true affection or attachment to her; pre-amnesia Briony would have found him slightly unnerving or uncomfortable to be around

Chase: they probably would have started on distrustful terms, evolved into a coolly wary civility over time, and ultimately would have become good friends, but it would have taken a lot of time!

Red: he would have considered her a friend, though he would have been more cautious and respectful of her, and they wouldn't have shared a relationship where Red was teaching her more about magical history and spellbooks; in fact, Briony might have been the one teaching him, which she would have done willingly enough!

Ayla: their relationship probably wouldn't change much: Ayla would have liked pre-amnesia Briony a lot and likes her a lot now, so I don't think their feelings towards each other would have changed much! Maybe their dynamic; right now, Briony tends to counsel Ayla and settle her down more, but pre-amnesia Briony and Ayla probably would have been hell-raisers together!

Lavinet: she'd definitely like current Briony over pre-amnesia Briony by a wide margin. One thing Lavinet loves about current Briony is her guilelessness and propensity to wear her heart on her sleeve and her endless enthusiasm: pre-amnesia Briony was more of a tomboy who turned her nose up at all of the girly and noble things Lavinet enjoys, and she was much better at disassembling and hiding her emotions, so they would have had less in common and their dynamic would have been less intimate!

Halek: I think he'd like our Briony over pre-amnesia Briony more: right now he acts with fond exasperation over her, like "sometimes she's a pain but in actuality she can light up a room and make you feel better when you're down," whereas his thoughts on pre-amnesia Briony would have amounted to "damn do not fuck around with that chick"

#Shepherds of Haven #Briony #Briony Stormbreaker #spoilers #heavy #Patreon