#read tiny text for full experience

[yuzuuu4]

N□□ Sh□□ing: □h□ □ola□o□d St□□ring □u Gua□g □□□ □he□□ Xia□s□i

#read tiny text for full experience #companion piece to prev link click post #i told yall its over #this ends the lobster redraw shiguang edition #im ignoring my trickstar wip for now #shiguang #chengguang #cheng xiaoshi #shiguang daili ren #link click

[falseficus]

I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

#monstrous regiment #discworld #terry pratchett #the frog speaks

[hazelfoureyes]

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦 (keep reading)

Alastor lets you leave the hotel! Together! For soup. Later, your plans to make Alastor lose his obsession backfire. But like, in a hot way so you’re not that mad about it. A+ for effort?

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: smut, I once again misuse a fucking prayer in a sacrilegious way, soup, spoon feeding, Angel texts, so much cum, bondage, tentacles, just good ole fashion fucking in the radio station, not quite dubcon but Alastor doesn’t really listen, hell has twitter and lets be real it’s just normal twitter, giant Alastor, Horse Luci」

Minors DNI ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You finally managed to leave the hotel. It was of course with Alastor at your side, microphone pressing into the small of your back like a third arm. It was as if he worried you’d just turn around and run.

He opened every door, pulled out your chair, and when your left hand shook and dropped your food he took on the task of feeding you. It was embarrassing, to say the very least. The sinners in the restaurant staring, a brave few filming or typing furiously on their phones.

You got a buzz on your own cell, a gift from Angel when he realized Alastor wouldn’t let you speak with others alone. 

He texted a link to a post on some hell site, to a photo of you right then, at that exact moment, being spoon fed by the radio demon. You considered smashing your head into the table until you blacked out. If you got up and left would you make it back to the hotel before someone realized you weren’t a sinner? You were absolutely terrified of someone noticing you as heaven sent.

Heaven kicked? Heaven thrown. Yeah that one felt right.

“You need to eat. You can’t heal like this.” Alastor sounded concerned, but you fought the urge to care. 

He hadn’t apologized to Husk, but Husk did say Alastor seemed to avoid eye contact which was basically a gift to him. Alastor had come to your room to dress you the next day as he always did, neither of you mentioning the day before. The hall was magically pristine by the time you left.

A tiny sliver of you thought he felt embarrassed. But decades of experience told you that Mania didn’t afford embarrassment, the stricken couldn’t be truly manic if something like that was holding them back.

Maybe it had been such a shallow cut he hadn’t gotten the full punch of Mania?

Another attempt to feed yourself, slowly bringing your spoon to your mouth, “You know when I heal I am going to finish my task and leave, right?” 

An odd laugh, a non-existent tear wiped away, “Adorable. No. I promise you, that won’t happen.”

“Alastor.” You put the spoon down with a clink.

“I love when you say my name. May I offer you more reasons to hold it in your mouth?”

“Al-,” you groaned, “I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed, a show of pretending to think about what you said, “Wrong! You can. And I argue, you will.”

You tried again with the spoon, regretting soup. Your appetite had been shot for awhile and it seemed easy enough. Wrong. Again. There was a constant tremble to your hands since arriving. Perhaps experiencing pain for the first time was rattling your body so much that it couldn’t cope. “Why would I ever do that? This is literal hell.”

Alastor leaned over, taking the spoon from you with ease and bringing it to your mouth, “Because I’ll make you understand it’s where you belong. They didn’t appreciate you,” his grin widened, “Not like I do. Like I can, if you’d let me.”

Annoyed and flustered, you took the help to eat. “Thank you.” A spoonful, “How can you say that though? I’m the one and only Cupid.”

“Actually, no. You’re not. You are just the current incarnation. They’ll replace you.” 

You regretted telling him that. They could. Just replace you, that is. There was nothing stopping them. You stared into your soup, lips curling down.

“Don’t look so defeated. I’ll make you happy, for eternity.” 

Your eyes rolled. “When do you plan on starting that eternal happiness?”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but you could see his hand slow, then become completely still. Had you wounded him?

He pivoted, “Doesn’t Cupid have wings?”

Another spoonful, “Of course.”

Alastor waited while you took a drink, determined to make you eat the entire bowl, “Where are they?”

A pause. Where were they? You hadn’t realized you couldn’t feel them. They weren’t everpresent, but their weight still sat between your shoulder blades at all times. Always. Normally. But now? 

“You don’t know? That’s troubling.” Alastor read your face with ease.

You shot him a look. Stop doing that. Stop replying to unspoken thoughts.

“Apologies.”

Another text before you could snap at him.

You slid the phone away from Alastor, face red. “Do you think, honestly, if you’re capable of it, that I’ll ever be able to go home?”

His hand came to your neck, running over your collarbone, “For the record, I’ve never once lied to you.” You rolled your eyes, fine, okay, “With your heavenly body, even as weakened as you have been here, I’d say just a few more weeks.”

You turned the phone face down.

“Good…that’s good. If you plan on winning me over, your countdown has started.” You pushed the soup away, appetite gone. The idea of never returning to heaven made you nauseous. He slid it back to you, face stern despite the smile he wore.

The walk home was quiet, your stomach full of unwanted soup.

No, not home. The hotel. 

He usually spoke a lot, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. His hand replaced the staff, settled on your back as he guided you. You could feel the warmth through your clothes. How could he be so hot and not be sweating? Another sinner thing?

The thought hadn’t left you by the time you came into view of the hotel gates. Maybe you had been replaced. How would you know? Maybe that was why your wings were gone. Surely there was some way to communicate from hell.

You found Lucifer as soon as you returned, unbothered by Alastor’s presence, “I need to speak to heaven.” 

Alastor was saying something but you had gotten quite good at tuning him out. Lucifer snapped back, the men quickly devolving into arguing again.

“Lucifer.” You said it with your chest. 

His apple topped cane whirled, a golden circle appearing with a crystal clear image of heaven’s glowing gates through its center.

A loud noise erupted behind you, a high pitched static wail, familiar tentacles flailed and a long shadow of a growing Alastor stretched across the wall. His back was bent into the lobby ceiling, perhaps three stories tall now.

The sounds of magic popping as Lucifer shapeshifted accented the sounds of horror with that of whimsy. You approached the portal, those black tendrils slithering around your ankles but you easily slipped out of them as their owner's energy was pulled to full demon Lucifer slamming into him.

Almost, you could see it. 

A monstrously large hand came down, shaking the hotel and knocking various objects off their perches in the lobby. Charlie and Vaggie, someone else you’d come to enjoy the company of, flew down the stairs.

The common area was filled with the sounds of yelling and breaking glass. You crawled over his hand as Alastor’s fingers curled around your body gingerly. He tried to pull you from the gateway but while he slowed, Lucifer now a flying horse kicking him in the face, your outstretched hand strained to enter the portal.

Your fingers grazed the doorway, the air around the lobby fizzing and warping as a desperate screech tore from Alastor’s wide and impossibly thin chest. The grip tightened around you. A static whine threatened to pop your eardrums.

As your fingertips pressed past the ring, they stopped. Something impenetrable and unseen between you and heaven. 

Alastor must have noticed it too, his grip loosening as you clamored on hand and knees to the portal. Your palm ran over the doorway, searching for a hole or seam to rip. Just under your skin was your home, bright and clean and painless. A tiny ‘no’ fell from your lips, smacking at the barrier with your open hand.

Alastor returned to his normal, still terrifying, height. Lucifer came forward, their fight losing motivation, his small hand on your shoulder as you sat on the hotel lobby floor. He closed the portal and apologized, “Sorry kid. Let’s try again when you finish that task, okay?”

Alastor’s arms went under your back and knees and lifted you off the ground. You didn’t resist or argue. Your eyes were unfocused, vision blurry with tears, as you were carried past the others. Vaggie looked ashamed, which was odd given she had more character than half the archangels could muster together between them.

There existed permissions for who could enter the heavenly realm, a list meticulously kept. They’d removed you from that roster. They’d locked the doors behind you.

You felt good. The final week of your first, and hopefully last, month in hell was marked with taking off your sling for the first time.

A good three day wallow in a metaphorical cave helped you emerge with renewed vigor. Of course they locked the gates behind you, otherwise you’d just go home. That made sense. That made sense.

That had to make sense. 

Deciding to take a risk and attempt to expedite your homecoming, you and Angel made plans. Like a teenager in a party movie you snuck out of the hotel when Alastor was asleep. Well, so you assumed. You weren’t really sure what he did behind closed doors.

Angel brought you somewhere he felt people would be receptive to discussing love and talking to angelic beings, and admittedly also very high. 

Sling off but still being as gentle as you could, you leaned across the small standing-only table to talk-shout with a rather cute aquatic demon. An eel? Or maybe some kind of water-fond lizard? It didn’t matter, his glasses were cute, both of you a little drunk,  and you quite good at saying the right things.

And all of the right things were said, and you felt maybe if nothing else you’d enjoy your first demonic lay, when the power shut off.

Everyone filed out, bummed and bothered to find most of the neighborhood shrouded in darkness.

Angel tapped your shoulder and pointed up the hill to the hotel, radio station a glow with a red light, “Ya know, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Nothing to do but to stare, you stayed quiet and angry while he flagged down a taxi knowing the trip would be fast without traffic lights, “Guess Daddy Dead Eyes is calling you back.” 

Anger grew and grew in your chest as you were charioted home.

Jesus, to the hotel. Stop doing that.

You burst into the radio station tower, Alastor barely reacting. Until, that is, you marched up to his desk.

Pinned before you could react, his body pressing into yours as your ass ran up onto the desk.

“Sneaking out like a child?” His voice was low, soft, unnatural. “Why do you intentionally torment me?” 

 “I have done,” you tried to move but only succeeded in rubbing your stomach against his crotch, “no such thing. You’re just possessed.”

He responded by pressing forward, no accident, as his eyes narrowed on you, “Correct. I am a man possessed.” When he rolled himself into you, an alcohol primed groan escaped your mouth. 

“I thought you didn’t care about those things,” your eyes flashed to his lap pushing into you and then back to his glare.

“You’re my exception that proves the rule. If you’re so desperate for attention there’s no need to leave the hotel to find it.” His smile was poisoned by the simmering anger in his eyes, “Dear.”

It was the alcohol and annoyance at losing a chance with glasses-man, Jake or Jark or something not worth a scrabble move, that made you sneer a reply, “Not yours. I am a divine creature, demon. Your body would just filthy me.” Nose up, feeling absolutely better than him in every sense, you pushed him off and left. 

That was easy. Wow. 

Proud of yourself, you made it to the elevator before you realized— illusions. Perhaps his illusion was the idea sex with you was worth the effort, more so than others. He said it himself before, he didn’t care for such things. Perhaps if you could show him it was as boring and unattractive as sex with anyone else could be, maybe you could shatter his mania with disappointment.

You pulled a u-turn and heel-toed right back into his station. Giving him no time to react this time, you climbed onto his chair and straddled him, “On second thought, try your worst. Let’s get it out of your system and move on.” You ground your hips down. He only smiled up at you, amused. Taking his hands you set them on your waist, giving him permission to handle you, “Claim me. Make everyone know I’m yours.” He didn’t move. You were starting to feel embarrassed, had he goaded you just to make you look stupid? He would.  But your kind invented the tension before sex between enemies, “If you can.”

That did it. His hair visibly stood on end, “It is not a matter of ability. It’s about-”

“If you can’t, that’s fine. No need to start lying to me now. But don’t say I never gave you the opportunity.” You smirked, hoping he enjoyed a taste of his own sardonic medicine, and lifted yourself off of him.

His hands came to life on your hips, helping you rise and then flipping you onto your stomach. Your arms pushed radio transmitters and various old timey fuckery away to make room for yourself.

Those talons slipped up the center of your bottoms and crooked into your underwear. Long and strong, his fingers felt you. “Is this a perk of a heavenly body or is this,” two fingers dipped into your already wet and relaxed entrance, “all for me?”

You fought the urge to respond with anything other than malice, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

In heaven no one needs preparation, no one needs lube or required stretching to keep things whole and fun. You would love to say that quality followed you down, but unfortunately, like perfect health and angelic wings, it had not. 

You decided to chalk it up to the alcohol. Always an easy excuse to offer yourself.

Alastor’s hands pulled away and up, finding the place just above the Rosie’s Emporium clothing tag and ripping the bottoms and underwear clean in half.

You bit into your hand to keep your excited shriek to yourself but unfortunately couldn’t stop your legs kicking up. His laugh echoed off the many windows. 

Why couldn’t he be worse at this? Why couldn’t Alastor be clumsy and meek and awkward at sex? No, the menace you’d gotten almost used to was confident and commanding, you felt yourself twitching in anticipation. People have a misconception that Cupid was a chaste and wholly emotional creature, which was false. First of all, Cupids varied based on the incarnation. Just like other heavenly creatures their personality was varied and unpredictable. 

Personally, you weren’t suited for the job. If you were honest. Why couldn’t your quiver just be full of Eros and Agape? Even of those two, sexual love was more your speed. Romance was fine and lovely but perhaps you’d gotten a little jaded. 

Luckily for you, fucking Cupid was something many winners had on their afterlife bucket lists and you rarely found yourself with an empty bed.

Your attention was stolen back, Alastor’s clawed hand grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, “Oops.”

Focus. Why were you doing this again? Your system was metabolizing the alcohol now, and with the air cooling off your exposed sex, everything was awash with lust. Did you want to diminish his mania or were you just horny?

Would it really be so bad to admit you were both?

Deep breath, you remembered. Boring. Banal. The plan was to be motionless and not provide him any satisfying sounds. Don’t touch him, don’t try to push back on him, no tricks or fancy shit. The sooner he was over this you could make someone trust in love and fuck off home. 

Seconds turned to a minute, your ass in the air as Alastor’s hands pawed at your skin. You wanted to ask what the hold up was, but you didn’t want to give away how much you were needing him to just fuck you already.

“Do you miss flying?”

You looked around, were you so drunk you missed an entire chunk of conversation while thinking about how to hide thirsting for his dick?

“Yes…?” True statement.

“Allow me to help with that.”

There was a moment you half expected to be chucked out the window, but almost worse than that, you heard him seat himself in the chair again before your body was picked up and off the desk. “Alastor! I don’t-,” Hands flailing, feet moving around the best they could, you struggled against the familiar tentacles he had command over. “I do not allow it!”

Your hands batted at them fruitlessly. One came under your knees and folded them to either side of your chest before wrapping around your waist twice, a second across your chest like a seatbelt snug and secure. Had you been on the floor you could almost be mistaken for taking a deeply devout praying stance. Only your arms were free to move, the position making you open and incapable of taking back any semblance of control. 

“Alastor!” Stretching, you could almost reach the edge of his work table, but your fingers and toes curled in as you were seated on something hot and stiff. Your lips quivered, desperate to keep silent as you were pulled down onto him. Reaching back your hands found his stomach, raking your nails across the skin in need of anything to grip. 

When you heard him chuckle to himself, you knew you were already losing. Plan backfiring entirely. You pulled your hands back to your center, taking ahold of the tentacle nestled between and across your chest. 

“Heavenly Father,” his voice was quiet but sure, your eyes so wide you worried you’d get stuck making a permanent face of utter shock and despair, “bless us and these thy gifts which we receive from thy bountiful goodness, through your name, our lord.” You were lifted off his lap, Alastor’s swollen tip dragging along your unstretched walls as he said the Lord's prayer, “Amen.” Pulled back down before the second syllable even reached your ears, you cut into your bottom lip as a scream bounced around behind your teeth.

Heathen.

“I would think you of all people knew how to finish a prayer.” Alastor chided, “What will heaven say?”

If heaven knew you were being impaled midair on an overlord’s cock, they’d create a second hell for you to rule. Population of none. Except maybe some horny nuns.

As he found a pace he seemed happy with, slow and long draws out of you, you realized how fucked you were. Looking down, you could see one of his hands was settled at the base of his cock, those long fingers draped down his balls. The other hand was unseen and unfelt. 

“Alastor.” You tried to sound stern.

“Oh I doubt heaven knows my name. Not yet at least.” He sounded unbothered, almost unaffected. “Not until I’ve spirited away their little angel of love.”

You were almost insulted at how easily he could speak despite being buried so far into your wet, hot cunt. Maybe you had been spoiled in heaven, people usually so turned on by the idea of you that they were coming undone as soon as you were wrapped around them or in them in whatever way you decided.  

A broken chant of “be bored, be bored,” in your mind as Alastor hummed, that mystery clawed hand falling at your back. Biting your lip, you tried to think about anything other than how full he was making you. Did the glasses man at the club have a cock as thick as Alastor’s? Would you have been as satisfied as you were now? Every down thrust made the tuft of fur at this base press against your ass. Soft. You wanted to grind against it, the idea pulling a wanton moan out.

Fuck. Failing to distract yourself because you got distracted. It was so hard to think about anything else than your body being pushed open again and again. The blood on your lips was sweet, licking them clean before finding a new spot to bite down on. Quiet.

“Ah, are you giving me the silent treatment?”

Could this son of a bitch read minds? Could sinners read minds?!

 If you didn’t reply, that was confirmation. But if you did reply, you were breaking your goal of not talking.

“Just…,” you took a deep sigh, knowing this was going to be rough, “I’m not really feeling like making any noise.” A shrug, the best you could manage at least while bound and held aloft in the space above his lap. Pretending this was normal and boring was a feat. “I’m not a vocal person during sex. I prefer to just lie there and get serviced. Don’t mind me.”

That sounded awful. Perfect. 

“Oh? Well then, I guess I’ll not worry myself.” You could hear the smile in his voice. Less perfect. He began to hum a little tune as your body, partially upright, was now being tilted forward at a 45 degree angle from his lap. His cock was bending in you, head pressing harshly up into your walls. 

Heart beating so fast you felt a dizzy spell hit you, that renewed anticipation almost as arousing as the sensations.

His humming continued like he was reading the paper. You’d never ridden a roller coaster, but you’d seen many people do it before and this was surely the same feeling; right at the peak before the drop. When the ride operator stills you and lets you stare down at the height before you. Your stomach was flipping, excitement tinged with fear. 

You were pulled off his dick until you felt the bell of his red tip get just outside your entrance. Was he going to pull out entirely?

No. He pulled you down by way of shadows and fucked you just a couple inches into your cunt. His head was dragging out past your tight hole and smashing back in, directly hitting your g-spot. The spongy bundle of nerve endings was dented with every thrust.

You weren’t used to having your entrance stimulated so much, the skin luckily becoming slick as your own wetness was fucked out of you. 

“That feels weird, please.” How quickly you gave up. “Stop pulling out like that.”

A considerate sigh, “But you’ve gotten so wet, my dear. You’re dripping down my thighs already. I don’t think you want me to stop.”

Could you cum like this? You felt like you could, maybe if you just…you quickened your breath, faster and faster. Your stomach heaving, you felt the crescendo of pleasure. 

“On second thought!” He stopped.

Your toes wiggled, hands gripping the tentacle on your chest. Quiet. Shh. Don’t argue. Boring. Don’t care. The building orgasm waned, you felt your blood pressure lower. This really was hell. 

Alastor’s head was just sitting in you, burning hot and throbbing. You were sure you could feel his heartbeat. 

You two were locked in a standoff. Someone had to let on they were enjoying themselves; Alastor releasing pent up frustration with your attitude toward his affections, you chasing down a rare penetration-only orgasm. 

An idea struck you, a way to hopefully antagonize him and bruise his pride enough to force him into your hand (pussy), “Thank God. I think it’s almost my bedtime.”

Alastor’s smile strained, a twitch coming over his left eye. A trap. But the idea of letting you down and off of him seemed far worse than the small defeat you were offering. “Allow me to rock you to sleep then, sweetheart.”

Success! Shit! 

You reached out, the angle of your punishment allowing you to grab the edge of the table and grip. Alastor’s annoyance translated to an inhuman pace, him pulling you off entirely from his cock before bringing you back down. He was positively slipping in and out of you, your lower lips puffy and soaked around him. This degree of wetness was something you couldn’t remember feeling outside of marathon sessions. 

When your hands tightened, a shock of pain tore down your arm, a scream bringing Alastor to a sudden stop. “My collar…” Pain was apparently not a kink you enjoyed, though you briefly wondered if heaven allowed it at all. 

You couldn’t even fuck properly. You couldn’t do anything right. All you managed to do was fail. A sting to your eyes as the air hit your welling tears. Did humans feel this pain often? Your body was righted and turned, you looked down to Alastor’s face as you were brought to him. He looked so soft, usual smirk a sweet toothless smile, “I told you to keep the sling on, didn’t I?” He looked happy.

Your arms found his shoulders and your head came to his chest, “Shut up and finish already.” He didn’t release you from the binding, instead pulling the right arm under the hold of his slender tendril to keep it safe and out of the way.  His hands were both at the base of his cock while you were gently riding him. Well, “you”. He was still using his powers to manipulate your body on and off of him. Alastor’s fingers were spreading your arousal down his shaft and along his tightening balls, if you had looked at his face you’d have seen a weakened man there, furrowed brows and lust drunk eyes. But you didn’t look, trying to hide the same expression on your own features. 

Left hand free, no need to hold yourself up, you made lazy, and you hoped subtle, circles around your clit. You weren’t sure if this was a total failure or not, but you could finish and say something good came of it. You, specifically. 

Things were quiet, though. The loudest sound in the room was the wet pop coming from where his body was meeting your sopping hole. His breathing was fast and soft, sighing when he bottomed out. Another bite to your lip, a few more deep hits to your cervix, and you enjoyed a small but satisfying release. The hand on you stayed through, riding out tiny waves of pleasure as you twitched around him. When you felt his release you sighed, you did it. You think. Maybe. Regardless. 

As he slowly lifted you, you considered if your legs could hold you—

Up you went and back down you fell as he took a new, quicker pace.

“A-Ah-lastor?! You,” you bit your tongue, “already finished?”

You had made a mistake earlier that you hadn’t even realized. But Alastor had been holding it between his sharp teeth, “How many times?”

Absolutely no idea what he was talking about, you gasped out a reply, “What!?”

“How many times should I fill you before you’re too filthy to return to heaven, do you think?” He couldn’t be serious. “Three? Five? You see, the advantage of using my tentacles is that I don't get tired.”

Oh, but he was serious. 

The battle was entirely forfeit somewhere around the third time he flooded you with his seed.

“These aren’t the usual screams I enjoy from my studio, but I’m not averse to them.”

 When he felt you’d learned whatever lesson you were supposed to be taking in by the pump full, you were finally removed from him. He covered your lower half with his coat around your waist. It would be lying to say you were surprised to find his wide shoulders and small waist wasn’t just an illusion of his well tailored, yet oddly torn, coat. He was annoyingly attractive. Who gave him the right?

Your legs gave out when you tried to stand, warm hands pulling under your armpits to get you back on your feet. As much as you wanted to push him away, you were still a little tipsy and your legs still getting used to full blood flow. His arm held out for you to use for stability, you took it and wobbled silently to the floor you both lived on. Before you left the elevator you looked down and saw a line of white dripping down your inner leg. Took longer than you expected, honestly. 

When you turned to the right to go to your door, his arm came around your waist and shepherded you to his room on the left. You shot him a look, asking what he thought he was doing. 

He laughed, “Oh, after tonight’s little escapade, you’re moving!” He opened his door and gestured for you to enter, “Welcome home, my dear.”

What was worse than a failure? A catastrophe? This was that. 

“Now come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” A hand patted softly at your ass before ushering you inside.

He did just that, wiping you down and undressing you before settling you into his bed. Exhausted and sore, you decided to argue after sleep.

When you awoke, you checked your shredded bottoms for your phone. Nothing. 

An answer was found when you mentioned it to Alastor, who asked what you were searching for so early in the morning, “Perhaps someone at that venue you enjoyed has it? Too bad you can’t go back and ask.” He was resting his back against the headboard, you realized he’d unbuttoned his shirt quite a bit. “Oh well!”

How was he always making you scream?

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp

#alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #smut

[roselatteswrites]

honey, i laugh when it sinks in | steve harrington x reader

summary: overcome by her love for steve, reader confesses something monumental.

tags/warnings: smut (18+, mdni!), breeding kink!!!, established relationship, vaginal sex/fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play, fem!reader

word count: 0.6k

a/n: regular text size and capitalization under the cut.

cross-posted on ao3

“Fuck–” you moaned as Steve slipped his cock through your folds. He had been teasing you for at least an hour, lapping at you slowly like he had all the time in the world, tweaking at your nipples in the way that only he knew how to do.

“Steve, please,” you pleaded, “stop teasing.” He let out a small chuckle at that, now rubbing his tip on your clit.

“Love when you beg for me, honey.” His next move caught you off guard as he slipped into you with no warning. Your breath hitched at the feeling, at the fullness, and your eyebrows knit together.

He set a slow pace, getting you accustomed to his length, but you wanted more. You tightened your hold on his back, bringing him closer to you.

“Faster, baby.” You moaned wantonly, but rather than doing as you wished, he stopped.

“Where’s that magic word, pretty girl?” You rolled your eyes, amused at his persistence that you use your manners.

“Please, Steve–” and with that, he slammed back into you, now setting the most unrelenting pace. He was hitting your g-spot so well that you were seeing stars and you could have sworn you felt him in your guts.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Steve looked down, pressing his hand on your abdomen.

“Filling you up so well, aren’t I?” He smirked, knowing the effect he had on you. He pressed harder and you let out a loud moan at the stimulation.

In that moment, you looked at him, really looked at him. His chestnut locks fell just perfectly, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He looked perfect, angelic. Your heart felt full in a way you’d yet to experience, and before you could even process your thoughts, you spoke unrestrictedly.

“Want your babies, Stevie.” His hips stuttered, breaking the pace he had set for a moment, before picking back up.

“That true?” He questioned, and you nodded hesitantly. “Want me to fill you up ‘til you’re round, baby?” At that, he stroked your stomach with the hand that was still pressed there. You moaned, feeling that familiar pressure starting to build at his words.

“Answer me.” He demanded, hand slipping down until his thumb found your clit.

“Want you to fuck me full, Stevie.” You replied, and he started to rub small circles into your bud. You could feel him approaching his peak as well, as his pace had become more erratic.

“Gonna fill you up so good, baby, I promise.” Even as you were both coming undone, he found the chance to be tender with you, tucking your hair back so he could see you properly.

“Wanna–ugh­–wanna cum, Stevie,” you panted, “please can I cum?” His eyes rolled back at your words. He couldn’t believe you were underneath him like this, begging for him. His thumb sped up on your clit and he somehow found a way to thrust into you even deeper.

“Yes, baby, gonna cum with you.” And with that, you felt that release you were yearning for. At the same time, Steve’s hips stuttered to a halt. He filled you to the brim, just as he said he would, and you felt him flooding you.

He collapsed over you, pressing his forehead against yours. You stayed there together for a bit, basking in the aftermath of what had just transpired.

“You serious about that?” He asked, somewhat gingerly now. You nodded, a bit shy as well at this point, and he kissed you tenderly.

“Gonna pull out now, okay?” You immediately felt empty at the loss, but the feeling was short-lived as his fingers replaced his cock. He pushed his cum back into you, lifting his fingers to your mouth for you to clean them off. You did so happily, moaning at the taste of him.

“Put your legs up for me, hon’,” he spoke quietly, “gotta make sure it sticks, right?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve smut #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve x reader #smut #my fics #steve harrington one shot

[tarjapearce]

As My Own

Miguel O'Hara x Daughter'sRoomate!femreader .

Don't think I have forgotten about the requests 👀.

WARNING: Fluff. A tiny squeeze of angst, Rotting tooth fluff, daily snippets of life, anxious dad.

Summary: Gabi wants a mom. And who is Miguel to deny such wish?

Requested Here. Hope you like ❤️ Feedback is highly appreciated.

Sighing for the third time in a row, Miguel looked fondly at the pictures of his daughter through the years, until she grew out to be a lovely young lady, whose talents in soccer had earned her a scholarship in college.

Despite being terrified of the idea of Gabriela spreading her wings and soar into life itself, he knew the moment would come sooner or later, more like, right now. He was unpacking some boxes into the apartment Gabi would be staying, and if he was honest, the idea of her sharing a room with someone else didn't appeal that much on his trust issues.

If it wasn't for the house renovations needed to be done ASAP, he'd make sure to get Gabi a place for her own.

------

Emancipation had taken a toll on him and his mind, The once girly and colorful room filled with drawings, trophies and medals with a soccer player motifs, soccer star posters, some consoles and games, was now an empty space full of memories.

When Gabi gave him the news of her moving out completely, made his heart to shrink and break, but he knew that he had to let her go. Gabriela was 19 at the time, doing good at college, had found herself a half time job and a new roommate. The last one seemed the most preoccupying thing on the list. Was it a man? Did she eat well? Did she get along with them? Probably had gotten her a couple of fights, were they older? Was his Solecito safe?

It had been three years since she left home and pursue her superior studies and a professional soccer player career.

His mind was racing with the infinite questions and his stress gnawed at his chest, his phone buzzing interrupted his accelerating thoughts. He opened the message log and sighed in relief to see Gabriela's name on the screen.

He tapped at the message and his heart nearly melted at seeing Gabi with a goofy expression on her face, her hands making a V sign as she hovered over a small table set for two.

"Dinner time with Roomie~"

The caption read. The food looked delicious and esthetically pleasing at the eye. Nearly Michelin star awarded restaurant quality.

(Name) 's food is amazing! . Btw Im free next week, so come over, I miss you Papa.

Gabi had texted him some couple of hours later. (Name) ; at least he now knew that Gabi shared space with a woman. He didn't trust college guys at all. At least, he could sleep a bit better now. However, something had caught his attention, despite Gabi's competitive traits, she rarely loosened herself around others. And the picture only proved him right.

Gabi was unabashedly goofy and silly on the picture, with a genuine smile on her face. Whoever you were, he was grateful for making his most precious treasure comfortable and safe.

-----

The first time you met Gabi was quite the experience, you had just returned from work to find a lot of boxes loitering the entrance and part of the living room. Books, some baskets with soccer balls and equipment, Somw clothes and more books.

The burning smell immediately alerted you as smoke begun filling in the room. Rushing you opened the window and started to dissipate the smoke away with a towel.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" The young and tall woman panicked as she came out of the bathroom, body wrapped in a towel, just like her hair. Skin still sudsy with soap.

The chaos was tamed, leaving one of your favorite collectible pots, charred and useless.

"I'm really really sorry! I'll get you a new one."

"Don't you worry. Just... be careful. Don't leave the stove on when you are away. You could've burn the place down"

Gabi nodded sheepishly and looked down, when she noticed your chef uniform, the logo of a prestigious place she could only dream to afford in a couple of months and a place where he wanted to take her Papa as a surprise, standing out in your chest.

"Im (Name), the other tenant. Nice to meet you." Your voice was firm, yet kind. The kind of kindness that could insult anyone and still sound charming.

"Gabriela O'Hara. Sorry for your pot. I'll get you a new one"

"Ah stop it. It was just a family relic passed on generation to generation that now will end up in the trash."

You couldn't help but laugh at her panicking and guilty reaction.

"I'm just messing with you, sweetie. I got Ceci on a promo back at the supermarket. Don't worry. It's just a pot. We throw at least one daily at the restaurant. What were you trying to make anyways?"

Gabi didn't know if to be shocked or be laughing at your attitude. She settled for confused.

"Cause it smelled like cheap Mac and Cheese"

Her cheeks flushed and you just chuckled knowingly.

"Freshman?" Gabi nodded and you smiled almost endearingly at her.

"Such a cutie! I remember my first semester at college. Such a mess, terrible food and a terrible roommate"

"You're graduated?"

"A long time ago, yeah, Culinary school is something else. Don't get in there if you like having perfect skin."You chuckled and rolled up your sleeve, showing a few shares of scars and burn marks.

"Anyways, let's have a couple of rules okay? If you follow them, who knows? it can take us places." You grinned.

"No boys after 10 pm on weekends, and if you do, keep it low. Thin walls. Same applies to me, but don't worry about it. Im way too tired to actually do something about bringing my libido back."

Jeesh

Gabi's cheek flushed as her stomach fluttered anxiously.

"You can use my tools for cooking with the only condition to leave them clean and back at their place. Got it?"

She nodded at every reasonable rule you gave her. You had warned her that sometimes you'd be out of town due work, and that left her on charge of the place. It was brought to her attention that despite the place being small, it was conditioned enough to make it almost fancy looking. The kitchen specially.

Of course things just grew from there. At first Gabi was shocked to find you were a couple of years younger than her Papa. And that you had been single for quite a time now. Couple of years to be exact.

But that mattered little as her growing fondness for you was borderline adorable. You had helped her through some really bad times, like getting her a part time job at your workplace after being fired from the college coffee shop, something she never had the guts to tell Miguel.

Then you of course helping her out in her cooking skills, to at least stop eating plain ramen and packaged food bags.

"You're an athlete, you must feed like one."

"But I can't... afford it-"

"Uh uh. Shh." You shook your head and taught her to buy the right sort of meals even under a tight budget. Sometimes she would even find meals prepped for her whenever she had run short on money.

You were there when she got her first college date, and also were there when the young man turned out to be a fuckboy and a prick. Wiping her tears and feeding her a freshly made creme brule. A favorite of hers. You had also Dropped her and picked her up in her soccer practices whenever time allowed you so. She seeked guidance in you

She was there for you when depression was making it's way into your head, she was also there when she helped you to recover from a hang over after another failed date, and nursed you through your terrible period cramps. Even though sometimes harmony seemed disrupted by external causes, such as stress, work and feeling particularly wistful and blue, you'd always find comfort in eachother.

You were amazed by the fact that you realized that she was like the little girl you always dreamed to have.

"How come you don't have children?" Gabi had asked carefully. Despite the trust you hsd built over the years, there was some things you still couldn't bring yourself to discuss so openly, until now.

"I..."

"Sorry if I'm overstepping"

"Nah. I think it's time I actually come clean about some stuffs."

"Are you sure?" You nodded and sighed

"I can't have them"

Surprise drawed into Gabi's eyes as she stared at you.

"Infertility?"

"Yup. But... It's fine. I've come to terms with it, so..."

You trailed and she swallowed as her hand was placed above yours.

"For all it's worth? I'm sure you could have been an amazing mother."

Could have been

" To me, you... you are."

Gabi mumbled as tears swelled up in her eyes, threatening to fall. You stared at her, heart leaping in your chest

"Like... You are like the mother I never had... My Papa is amazing, but sometimes I actually yearn for a different kind of love." She hiccuped and you frowned, holding her closer.

"Like a mom. I want... I want to go shopping and talking about boys and how stupid they are. I want... to be cheered on by someone else at my games and not only my Papa."

Your heart felt breaking bit by bit as Gabi broke before you

"Don't get me wrong, I love Papa to death but... It's hard, y'know?"

"Ah, cariño." An endearment term you had learn from her, "You are such an amazing kid. Im sure that whoever comes into your life to take that spot needs to be amazing, because you're such a special young woman. Look at you, bright future ahead, smart, so so pretty and brave"

But Gabriela didn't want a stranger as her mother figure. She wanted you.

Gabi hid her face on your chest as you held her close, consoling her as much as you could. She remained there until she looked up at you with a suspicious glare

"Maybe I can introduce you to my dad" Your cheeks flushed bright red and she gasped, a bright bulb of an idea popping in her mind, sadness remnants vanishing from her body almost instantly

"No, Gabi, cariño-"

"You can meet him this weekend!"

"That's too soon, I am not prepared! Plus I have work remember?"

"He's staying all weekend, don't worry."

You had seen her adoring Papa through pictures she had showed you. The man was attractive, and looked certainly way too out of your league but of course you never told Gabi about it. You just shrugged it off with a 'Oh, cute'. But now that her plan was on set, you couldn't say no to her.

"Besides, I think it's time for you to actually meet guys. And this time no excuses like Im busy or stuff like that."

"Okay, okay. But if things don't work out-"

"I know, I'll drop it." Gabi rolled her eyes.

-----

Even though the recipe for a certain disaster was cooking, you tried to be optimistic about it. A bit of positive thinking wouldn't hurt you from time to time. However, your shift turned out a bit trickier than usual, since the restaurant had been reserved for a main event for important people.

In the little chance you had, you sent Gabi a little video of how crowded it was, and apologizing cause you didn't know if you were making a double shift and wouldn't be able to meet Papa.

Gabi just sent you a picture of the both with a "Miss you! Dad just came"

------

3 am. 3 am and you were finally done, no more stuck up clients pretending to love raw fish and meats, people that were just actually there for the food pictures and to be able to brag about they were there. Your feet ached, and so was your headache. The good thing was that the company allowed you to take some food home.

Keys tinkered as you grabbed them to finally turn them in the keyhole and entering home and closed the door, angry and heavy steps alerted you as the hulking figure of a man stood in the dark, as the dim lit red iris flashed at you. You had to crane your head up to meet his deep eyes.

Now you wondered where Gabi had came out so tall.

"H-Hello..." You gulped and he sighed, hard expression melting slowly.

"Sorry for... the late hour."

"No, no. Discúlpeme I mean, forgive me. Though someone had broke in, until I heard the keys a bit too late. I'm Miguel. O'Hara." He offered you his large hand that easily engulfed yours.

"Oh, so you're... Papa" you shook it gently. He was warm, and chuckled. "Im (Name). Gabi never stops talking about you." You gave him an amiable smile and put your containers on the dining table.

"Nice to meet you" you began unpacking, aligning the recipients carefully on the table.

"How's... Gabriela doing?" His deep voice snapped your focus for a moment and your eyes darted to his form. Sweatpants in grey, a white fitting shirt that snugged his form a bit too nicely for a short stare. Hair slicked back, pouty lips, thick brows and his deep... red eyes? He certainly was even more handsome in the flesh than in the pictures.

"Oh, she's amazing. Her practice in soccer has improved even more. She has a final next week."

His brow arched at how much information you knew about her.

"I apologize, she fell asleep in your room, despite me telling her that the couch would be-"

"Ah don't worry about it. My bed is big enough for two, and she isn't a kicker in her sleep. So make sure to rest properly. Oh! And welcome for the weekend. Would you like something to eat?"

Miguel shook his head and softly smiled at you. You were pretty. So so pretty that his mind was almost in shortcut when you were removing your chef robe, in the kitchen exposing a bit more of skin. Your left arm was adorned with little burn marks and cuts, you poured yourself a glass of wine when you felt his eyes on you.

"Want some?" You offered the wine and he nodded, a bit reluctant at first.

"Has Gabi acted out of place while I'm gone?" You giggled as you poured him some wine.

"If by out of place means sleeping one hour later than she is used to, yeah. She has." Your hands gave him the cup and he leaned on the table. Gabi groggily came out your room, lured away by the delicious smell of food.

"Hey" She mumbled and hugged Miguel and then hugged you, and remained with her arms around your waist. You kissed her forehead and she smiled.

Miguel entered in spectator mode.

"Hey, cupcake. Want some food?"

"Can I have it tomorrow?"

"Got you a Creme Brule." She grunted happily.

Gabi smiled and went through the bags, popping a chocolate coated strawberry on her mouth.

"Still, I'm too tired to actually eat. Got Papa and I some takeout."

"Takeout?! The good sort of thing I hope" Gabriela groaned as she made her way back to your room.

"Don't steal the fluffy sheets!"

"Yes, mom. Take a bath first, you smell like garlic." she mumbled and went to bed.

Your whole face was as red as a strawberry not because your smell, but for how she had called you, you gulped down the wine and sighed. Miguel stared at you and his chest couldn't help but constrict a little more.

" I apologize for that, Gabriela is..."

"Quite receptive to smells? Yeah."

"And she called you mom." He was more surprised about it than anything else.

"Ah hehe. Yeah, she had been calling me accidentally that a bit more often."

"Does it makes you feel uncomfortable?" He sipped his wine

"Not really. I find it cute. She eh... talked to me about growing up and how things had been for her."

"I must thank you. You have fed her, taken care of her and now even protect her."

"She's a great kid." You nodded proudly. "Couldn't find a better roomie, and a friend. You did a good job raising her, Papa."

Miguel cleared his throat and gave you a small smile.

"I hope she hasn't-"

"Relax, she's been nothing but a good kid all these years. You gotta trust her a bit more."

"It's the people around her that I don't trust"

"Ouch..."

"I mean, not that I dont... just... carajo." you giggled at his cursing as his brows knitted together

"I mean, my daughter trusts you enough to sleep in your bed, call you mom even, so... would be kinda dumb to say that you're a bad person... And I'm not making any sense right?"

You gave him a bashful smile and it was your turn to clear your throat.

"She's been busy at playing cupid. She thinks she is subtle..." You bit your lip and poured yourself a bit more of wine as Miguel rubbed his face, tiredly.

"What about, today at 7 pm?"

"At 7pm what?" He coked an eyebrow to you and Gabriela poked her head out of your room, sighing with exasperation.

"Por Dios pa, Te está invitando a salir!" (My god, Papa, she's asking you out.)

You just laughed and put the food in the fridge

"If you're up for it, that is. It's fine if you don't-"

"Make it at 8. Traffic has lowered by that hour."

"Alright." You smiled and took your chef coat with you.

"Sleep well, Papa."

He downed the remnants of his wine and smiled to himself. He had a date.

------—----

And a second, and a third and a fourth and a fifth. You were such an enjoyable being to hang around. You shared little silly texts, learnt a bit more spanish thanks to him to slowly bring down your language barrier. Even though you understood some words here and there, you wanted to understand so you could also feel part of the secret and long conversations the two O'Haras shared when it came to you.

Miguel was the first in making a move and kissed you around the fourth date. Nervous as you were, you finally felt good enough to just allow yourself to indulge in his company and what he had to offer. Great company, laughs, delicious make out sessions you didn't thought possible at your age.

Gabi had found you both eating each other's mouth in the livingroom

"Get a room!" She'd yell as she locked herself, headphones up her ears, but a beam in her face. Her chest swelled in joy knowing her cupid stunt had paid off.

--------

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, pa. Like... She's the best. She's so sweet and... makes me happy cause you are happy."

"You'd be the only child, you're aware of that right?"

Gabi nodded upon remembering your words and your condition.

"Having a little sibling at this point would be awkward anyways."

"That doesn't mean I can't try-"

"Oh my god stop..." Gabi shook her head and Miguel smirked

"Payback for not telling me you were fired." She grunted as Miguel held her tightly.

"I think it's time to try something new."

"You'll ask her to marry you?!" Gabi gasped excited with a beam on her face

"Relax, Solecito. We're still knowing each other. And we wanna make sure that things work out before thinking in something so important as that."

"If you let her go, I promise that I won't talk to you again."

"Ouch."

--------

Bit by bit you had small milestones in your relationship with Miguel, you visiting his home back at New York, you staying a weekend in said home, you being introduced to his friends, sharing carneada with his friends, and of course, being found by Gabriela about to have sex, none of you mentioned it during dinner.

To make things even more convenient and better, your restaurant had opened a second branch in New York. Gabi was about to graduate college and of course, you both were saddened that soon you'll part ways. The both were too enraptured enjoying your mother-daughter relationship you had created that forgot about the future.

It didn't help to her sadness when you told her about you and other crew members of your work were selected for a three months workshop in France.

Despite your own sadness, both O'Haras cheered you to go.

"Three months is gonna be torture without you, but time goes so fast. You'll be back sooner than we expect it." Gabi had spoken. And of course, after her graduation, and a kiss goodbye, you flew to France.

Communication wasn't an issue since you talked every day. And still, the gnawing feeling of not being with them made you wish time to fly. You spoke every night with Miguel, telling him how much you have missed him. Even though work had kept you both busy enough, you'd always find a way to talk or text.

And when you came back? It felt like floating in a dream.

"Mom!" Gabriela rushed to you and crushed you in her arms, sniffling and holding you tightly.

"I missed you soo much, cariño." You kissed her forehead, Miguel joined a bit later with a rose bouquet on hand. He pulled you in for a deep kiss.

"Missed you, preciosa".

What sealed the deal for him was seeing you sharing a moment with Gabi. You were brushing her hair as you caught up eith the things you learned in France and how excited you were for them both to taste them.

He asked you to move in with them. And god he loved the feeling of you being around. Gabi was happy, he was happy and you were as well.

Everything about you had captured his heart. Your personality, your way to carry on things, the subtle ways you guided Gabriela without imposing in her autonomy, How much love you seemed to have for them, the delicious feeling of your skin against his on bed.

He proposed a year after. He wouldn't let you go, no no. You were too perfect for him, and a perfect Mom for Gabriela.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #dad miguel o'hara #gabi o'hara #Fluff #miguel fluff #miguel o'hara fluff #fem reader #atsv fluff #astv fanfic

[luvhughes43]

all-american b!tch | hughes!sister

guts masterlist🦋 - luvhughes43 masterlist🌙

summary: hughes!sister dealing with the success of her brothers, online hate, and her feelings of having to be strong all the time.

note: little bit of luca fantilli x reader

word count: 1.9k

and i am built like a mother and a total machine

i feel for your every little issue, i know just what you mean

and i make light of the darkness

i've got sun in my motherfuckin’ pocket, best believe

yeah, you know me

y/n hughes is the kindest girl you’d ever have the pleasure of meeting. as the youngest and only daughter of one of the most iconic hockey families, yn grew up in a turbulent world where she had learned to thrive. she plays the family sport, had to navigate through the hardships of being associated with her brothers, and she would be the first to tell you that her experiences had made her a better person. 

“okay trevor listen,” yn hughes or, as referred to by trevor, tiny tot, leaned in closer to the aforementioned boy. “it's quite simple… ghosting the girl will only make her trust you less. i know the podcasts have said that getting close to a girl then ghosting her will make them fall for you but seriously, that's such a bad idea” 

trevor nodded along to each word, pulling out his phone so he could draft a text to “the girl” in question. “okay so like… what should i say then?”

“hmm” yn loomed over the side of trevor's phone as she watched his fingers drift over the keys. once he had finished, he tilted his screen over to her so she could either approve or deny his message. 

there was a brief pause, “i can't tell if you're joking or not,” yn responds, causing jack to giggle as he paused to read the message over both yn and trevors shoulder. 

“I always wondered why you were better at meeting chicks at bars…” jack chuckles, “they never had to read one of your messages”

“its not that bad!” trevor whines loudly as he attempts to grab his phone back from you. 

you hold the phone away from him, swiftly raising your free hand to stop him from moving any closer towards the phone. “don't worry i can fix this,” you speak smoothly to which jack bursts into another round of giggles. 

“bro you cannot tell a girl that you-”

trevor clamped his hand over jacks mouth, effectively stopping him from reciting the awful text to the room full of their friends. “shush, the master is working” 

you rewriting trevors text was just one of the many things you did for the people you considered family. you would sit with luke for hours, letting him rant to you about his move to NJD back when he was still at michigan with you. you would have weekly recaps with your best friends and teammates about their lives, always making sure to help any of them out if needed. 

forgive and i forget

i know my age, and i act like it

got what you can’t resist

i’m a perfect all-american

despite the positives, you got an overwhelming amount of hate for just… existing. you could be the most perfect person, and people who didn't know you would still come after you online. 

you would never admit to anyone that the hate and harassment bothered you but… it always stung. in the beginning, when you first “came into the public's eye” when you started playing on the umichs womens hockey team you couldn’t avoid the hatred. people from school had started using you for your connections to all the boys you knew, and before you had the time to go private on socials (you’re now public again), you would spend hours reading through hate and manually deleting all the messages. 

ynhughes86 posted 1 year ago

liked by luca.fantilli, lhughes_06, edwards.73, and others

ynhughes86 welcome to the den🐺️🗣

tagged: umichwhockey, teammates,, and more

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teammate1 GO BLUE🗣🗣

lhughes_06 #goblue

jackhughes andddd everybody screamed!!

jackhughes number lookin fresh

liked by ynhughes86

_quinnhughes 〽️

trevorzegras tiny tot making moves🫡

ynhughes86 youve gotta let that go..

user03 the power of being a hughes💀💀

removed

user82 did daddy and mommy pay ur way in?

removed

user21 not surprised that shes playing for umich… lets be real no other team would take her. shes a hockey nepo baby fr

removed

user44 ??? have u even looked at her stats and plays? shes definitely good lol

user09 shes nowhere near her brothers levels lets be real

removed

user77 looks like she cares more about partying than she does about hockey... surprising.. not!😒🙄

removed

i am light as a feather, i’m fresh as the air

coca-cola bottles that i only use to curl my hair

i got class and integrity

just like a goddamn Kennedy, i swear

with love to spare

after a few months of going through hate comment deep dives, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let them bother you anymore. In celebration, you made your instagram public again and paid absolutely no attention to any of the hateful people in your comments and dms. 

yhughes86 just posted !

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ynhughes86 just your average roadie🫡

tagged: teammate5, teammate2, and others

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ynhughes86 special shoutout to trevorzegras for losing our bet! without u i wouldn’t have been able to do what i do🙏 aka spend money at the mall

liked by trevorzegras

teammate5 we should never be let loose in the mall ever again

ynhughes86 we should never be allowed off the bus

lhughes_06 dub after dub

ynhughes86 oh u know it💯

luca.fantilli is this why you were teaching me about girl math? u were trying to justify your purchases?

ynhughes86 … no comment

user32 using trevors money… wow. so she's a gold digger too?

user91 u guys are so lame let a girl live

ynhughes86 just posted !

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ynhughes86 all the love at the banquet tonight

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teammate1 love uuu my forever girl

ynhughes86 love u more!! u looked so good tonight

luca.fantilli girl in the last pic is kinda cute idk

ynhughes86 kind of? 

luca.fantilli girl in the last pic is very cute im 100% sure of it

ynhughes86 the cute girl in the last pic thinks youre 100% cute too

lhughes_06 the guy in none of the pics thinks you guys are disgusting

user44 no style no game

user81 grow up loser

i’m a perfect all-american bitch

with perfect all-american lips

and perfect all-american hips

i know my place and this is it

ynhughes86 just posted !

liked by luca.fantilli, colecaufield, _quinnhughes, and others

ynhughes86 perfect all-american or whatever olivia rodrigo said

tagged: luca.fantilli

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trevorzegras that's right no swearing for you tiny tot

ynhughes86 😐

user57 “or whatever olivia rodrigo said” yeah she hates women

user91 thats why she's so close to the guys but u didnt hear that from me!

user16 if u guys dont leave this girl alone…

teammate2 OHH BFF LOOKS SO HOT

teammate3 please marry me

luca.fantilli 🤤🤤

liked by ynhughes86

lhughes_06 nope. 

i don't get angry when i’m pissed

i'm the eternal optimist

i scream inside to deal with it

whenever something bothers you, you keep it in. you hold all of your troubles and worries so deep within you that eventually, they float away and come back to haunt you when you least expect it. you thought that if you ignored all of your problems, that they would somehow fix themselves without any intervention from anyone else. 

it wasn’t always helpful. 

all the time

i’m grateful all the time

i’m sexy and i’m kind

i’m pretty when i cry

“they only ask me about my brothers, lu” your sniffles were quieted by the fabric of lucas sweater as you pressed yourself against his chest. you had played possibly the best game of your career, and the post interview questions were all about your brothers and family. questions wondering about their training and practices and how that had impacted you, how their game influenced yours. it made you feel like you were irrelevant in your own career. 

“i am so grateful for my family and how they’ve helped me grow as a player,” you responded politely to the interviewers' inquiries. it's not like you weren’t grateful. you knew that your family had a huge impact on your skills and you were glad that they were there to help you. but nobody ever wondered what your individual experiences were. all your training had to be a direct reflection of your brothers. your playing style, even unrelated, had to do with your brothers. your wins were a direct result of their greatness. nothing you would ever do or succeed in would be solely yours. 

“i love them,” you sob, “i really do! i just want people to see me” 

lucas' arms tightened around you as he started brushing your hair away from your face. “i know, baby” he whispered into your ear, holding you close as he waited for your breathing to calm down. 

“i just wanna be me!” you slumped against lucas front, who carefully pulled you over to your bed so you could sit down on top of him. 

you could hear the loud pop music blaring from the speakers downstairs, and you listened in silence to the people trudging up and down the stairs as they no doubt looked for a bathroom. 

“have you talked to your brothers about this?” lucas' soft voice cuts into the silence. 

you pull away from him slightly so you could look at him in the eyes. “no…” you admitted quietly. “they wouldn’t understand,” you leaned your head against lucas shoulder as you cuddled into him. 

he hummed quietly to you, a hand running down your back to help further soothe you. “i think you might feel better if you open up to them,” luca hedged. both of you knew that your previous statement was a lie. 

“i don't want them to think of me like that…” 

“like what?” luca questioned, his hand never leaving your back as you continued to prop yourself against him. 

you sighed. “i just… they always come to me. i don't want that to stop or for them to think that im weak” your words were quiet as you finally admitted your true feelings to your boyfriend. 

“they could never think you're weak,” luca murmurs reassuringly. “luke talks all the time about how he thinks you're adjusting to life here better than he did,” you look up at luca inquisitively. “and quinn, he is so proud of you! he talks so highly of you all the time… and jack, i mean come on. they all love and support you so much. they won’t stop asking for advice or talking to you because you're having some troubles” luca explains. “also, there’s nothing wrong with being weak. you should let yourself be open with your brothers just like they are with you. you deserve that”

“have i ever told you that i love you?” you tearfully smile at the boy who was always so good at listening to you.

luca smiles back, “not enough” he jokes as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. 

you brush a few strands of hair out of his face. “i'll call them tomorrow,” you add, reciprocating luca's kiss on the cheek. 

luca smiles, happy that you're no longer worked up and that you’ll finally tell your brothers your struggles. 

you spend the rest of the night hidden away from the raging party downstairs, wrapped up in your boyfriend's arms as you think about everything you try to hide. you didn’t have to be just one thing. you were allowed to be kind and to have complex emotions. you could be upset and angry without being a mean girl. perfect never existed, and you were glad that you were finally open to letting others see the cracks in your walls. 

lucas’ hair was soft as you ran your hands through his locks. “i love you,” luca mumbles. 

“i love you” you whisper to your boyfriend, placing a kiss on his shoulder as he shifts to lay his head on the middle of your chest. 

you easily fall asleep comforted by the fact that you were allowed to be flawed, and that no matter what, you’ll always have your people by your side.

#OR masterlist #hughes!sister #jack hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #luke hughes x reader #luca fantilli x reader #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fic #quinn hughes x reader

[canmom]

comics and animation have a lot in common, but one interesting difference is that arranging pictures in space rather than time means there's a tradeoff between the amount of drawings you use to show an action, the amount of space each drawing is given, and the amount of pages you cover which determines the 'pacing' of the comic.

if you slice the page up into a lot of tiny boxes to show many stages of a motion like an animation, then each panel has correspondingly less space for background details, and it may affect the aspect ratio of panels. if you give yourself space for a large splash panel, then the pace will slow.

one solution to this problem is to break the convention that a panel is a single 'frame' of action and show multiple images of a character in the same background. Kentaro Miura did this sometimes, and Tradd Moore (on here - @traddmoore) is an expert who uses it frequently (I'll reblog his spiderman comic in a minute). Kamome Shirahama, a genius at creative paneling, also uses it in a couple of places.

a similar trick will have a single background continuous across multiple panels, showing a static 'camera shot' at different times.

the limitation of these methods is that breaking convention makes the panel a little harder to process - you need to make absolutely sure you cue the reader clearly about where to enter the panel. and it requires action that involves a large movement so the drawings don't overlap. so most authors use it as a 'once in a while' thing.

an opposite approach, used in early parts of Superpose by Seosamh and Anka and Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto, is to go even harder with the cinematic convention and give each panel the aspect ratio and detailed backgrounds of a film camera, taking all the space you need - Superpose opens with about two panels per page which may be very similar to each other, creating a very deliberate sense of pacing. to pull this off you need to be either extremely fast at drawing like Fujimoto, or accept your comic taking a long time to get anywhere - and you also need to be very good at placing the camera in space. you're basically drawing fully rendered storyboards at that point.

one of the interesting difficulties of comic-making is controlling pacing. if you draw many very similar panels it will convey a sense of high concentration and intensity, or a heavy atmosphere, like a long take in a film. much like in prose, if you spend a lot of pictures on something it draws attention to it. so you want to use the 'slow down' sparingly for effect.

as in animation, you're also limited by your own capacity to draw all those pictures, and moreover the space to put them. this is one reason why comics in magazines tend to be sharply limited in page count, and webcomics tend to be very slow compared to other forms of serial fiction. (perhaps manga can make heavier use of pacing tricks by virtue of cheaper printing and endemic overwork. i don't think that's the full story though.) meanwhile, when Transmetropolitan started to experiment with manga-style pacing, apparently it upset fans who felt the story progression was being diluted. when reading Transmet in one go, though, you don't even notice. what works well in an anthology of hundreds of pages may work poorly in a serial.

i think the pace of the reader is often controlled primarily by the text - at least for me I find I sometimes have a tendency to jump very quickly over panels to get to the next bit of the story and have to consciously slow myself down to make sure I don't fail to appreciate the art. so while a series of text-less panels is effective artistically, you might want some words to act as speed bumps. but too much text per picture and your comic becomes exhausting to read, like Subnormality. and you don't want to over-explain what's conveyed perfectly well by the pictures, as many older comics do.

ideally, you use your text, small panels and large panels to create a sense of rhythm. a big splash panel can act as the full stop in a sentence, or a longer take after a series of rapid cuts. negative space is an especially powerful device in the right hands: when you hit a page of Chainsaw Man or Berserk that is almost entirely white after several pages of dense illustration, a character bursting into the void, there's an immediate 'wow' effect before you even process what's happening in the illustration. (i can't seem to find the chainsaw man example i had in mind, so here's one from berserk.)

and on that note, the other thing that comics have that animation doesn't is the impact of being confronted with the whole gestalt page. in the manga I was helping Fall translate when she died, We Are Magical Boys (Bokura wa Mahou Shounen), Fukushima Teppei frequently puts one panel much larger than the others so it dominates the page, usually a close-up or full length character portrait, allowing the cuteness of their unique art style to treasure centre stage. Sandman, which I'm currently rereading, is full of elaborate page compositions, where a drawing might not even be a panel per se, but a visual element. Witch Hat Atelier is full of elaborate borders and clever compositions. just look at this...

how did she come up with that! the absolute madwoman! the right side is relatively standard Atelier (establishing shots, the main cast eagerly stepping out of their panel) but on the left, we have a set of panels falling down from above onto a large splash panel. even though this image is concurrent, the panels invite us to appreciate it in chunks, and the page as a whole has this great visual of the pages of a book, continuing the image of the previous page. (more of this on upcoming post on Atelier)

a character emerging from their panel to overlap others, breaking up the monotony of the grid and adding a sense of depth to the page as a whole, is a reliably appealing motif. also, drawing one panel borderless, so it implicitly continues behind the other panels. large areas of black and white and choices of colour saturation can convey a mood to the page as a whole.

the danger you run is always the loss of clarity. the reader must be able to tell what panels to read in what order without thinking about it. Sandman will sometimes do a double page spread where you're supposed to read across both pages, and this consistently trips me up. Dresden Codak is by an adhd author and her drive to give every page an elaborate layout is very familiar to me, but especially in Hob, it messes with the flow of the comic overall.

so every comic page, every comic, is a fascinating balance of all these factors. how to create a strong, visually interesting composition, control the pacing appropriate to tone, create a thrilling sense of rhythm... all without sacrificing clarity.

not much more to say about this as yet, it's just something I'm thinking about while trying to lay out a page of Ghost Barrier. my tendency is to generally use larger panels, and try to be creative with layouts, but you have to consider not just each page in isolation but how they relate to other pages. so to make the splash panel land, I need to contrast with a denser page immediately beforehand.

the more I make comics the more of a feel I'll get. cool medium!

#comics

[lunarmoves]

through pixel eyes (chapter one)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: kinitopet/virtual au, gender neutral reader, general creepiness

a/n: ignoring that it's 3am where i am... ch1's finally here! yippee!! ending is rushed but im tired so excuse it LOL pls check out the masterlist for more info on the fic (tags & summary). hope u guys enjoy! :D

word count: 5.3k+

masterlist

ao3 link

Click. Click. Taptap tap tap. Click. 

You chew aimlessly at the bottom of your lip as your mouse roves over to the latest email in your inbox, opening it with another decisive click. Perking up slightly, your eyes skim through its contents, mindful of the zip file attached to it at the top. 

Valued employee, the email reads, thank you again for your decision to assist Fazbear Entertainment in the latest beta testing stages for our developing proprietary technology. Attached is the file you are required to download to begin testing. As always, be mindful of the documentation you have signed previously; a failure to comply will result in immediate termination. Located at the bottom of this email is the submission form you will need to populate each time you conduct a run. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to reply to this email. Have a Faz-errific day! 

You hum and scroll back to the top of the email again so you can look at the attached file. FazPals1.1_DCA.zip, it says. You click the download button, then lean back in your chair as you wait. 

For being such a large company, FazCo has a rather small beta testing team. You suppose it makes sense, though; their technology is so unparalleled that you are sure they’d want to keep information as closed off as possible. Hence why you’d been forced to sign all matters of forms—contracts, an N.D.A., and waivers, of all things—before they’d signed you on. You’re sure they are even more restrictive with their information after the pizzaplex burned down all those years ago. You’re lucky you’d managed to slither your way into their ranks to make the beta team, though you figure it helps that your resume is stacked with experience. 

You are certainly curious as to what they’ve been doing while they parade assurances that the pizzaplex will return “better than ever.” You have a vague idea from your past emails with management as you were being incorporated into the beta testing team—some kind of interactive game of sorts, you think—but they’ve been rather hush-hush about it. Your answer resides in the zip file that’s just finished downloading to your computer. You navigate to your file explorer and begin the extraction process for the files. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long. You scratch idly behind your ear, shifting your headphones a little to rest more comfortably atop your head. 

Okay. File open. Where is the— There! You double click on the FazPals_DCA.exe file to run it and begin installation. A brief glance at the time shows it is a little after six in the evening. You have quite a bit of time before you’ll need to head to bed. You’ll see how far into the program you get before you hit a checkpoint or something. 

You watch as a tiny pink and white bear on the installation window flips a pizza over and over while the progress bar steadily inches its way to full completion. It is oddly hypnotizing. And when the program finally finishes installing, the window closes. An icon of a cool crescent moon tucked into the burning yellow of a sun appears on your desktop and is labeled as FazPals. Nice. Thank you, fast WiFi. Without much preamble, you double click on the icon. 

A small window pops up in the middle of your screen. You glance through the text quickly. 

Welcome to version 1.1 of FazPals, your very own virtual desktop friend based on the hit characters from Fazbear Entertainment's Mega Pizzaplex! They are able to walk, talk, joke, tell stories, give fun facts, adapt, and play games! FazPals are like no other with their innovative adaptive technology! You'll learn from them as they learn from you!

Click the button below if you are ready to meet your new FazPal!

Not what you’d been expecting, but it sounds pretty cool. It reminds you of the Tamagotchis from all those years ago—only with the A.I. of Fazbear-branded technology. Well! No time like the present! You click the ‘Proceed’ button and the window closes. 

In the center of your screen, a small music box appears. It’s an unassuming little thing, wrapped in yellow with a red ribbon crossing over it to tie into a neat bow at the top. A crank awaits your click, so you do just that, watching as it rotates around and around until— Pop! The box opens and something jumps out of it with a flourish and a jingle of bells that echoes through your headset. 

The box disappears and you’re left to stare curiously at the little figure swaying animatedly on your desktop. He seems to look around a bit, then a small dialogue box flashes over his head. But before you can read its contents, the box disappears in a static puff. You cock your head slightly. A glitch, maybe? You file that away for later and instead observe the tiny, taut grin of the program. Your FazPal, or whatever. 

You recognize him from the pizzaplex commercials you’d seen on the television years ago—the Daycare Attendant. A fellow—fellows?—modeled after celestial bodies. You’re looking at the sun, currently, though his design is a bit different from what you remember seeing.

Before you can get a good look at him, however, another dialogue box pops up over his head with text accompanying a voice that chirps into your headset. You are momentarily surprised at the sound; you hadn’t expected FazCo to incorporate their voice module into the program too. 

“Hellooo, New Friend!” Sun exclaims in a slightly pixelated manner—hardly noticeable, really—as he waves a small hand. “My name is Sun, your very own F-FazPal!” There’s a slight glitch on the word that makes his voice deepen slightly, but it passes easily enough. “What’s your name?” 

Following his question, a window labeled ‘Name?’ pops up to his side with a textbox for you to input your answer. Figuring he isn’t going to proceed with his script until you type your answer, you take the moment to properly analyze his design. 

Detached sunrays of white and gold hover around his head, framing bright eyes and an equally as bright smile on a face split into a crescent. He’s rather lithe, with a red sash tied around his waist that’s adorned with small, golden bells. Another bell is tied around his spindly neck with a red ribbon, and those same ribbons are tied around his wrists. His torso is bare and colored in different shades of yellow. Puffy red pants cover his legs—triangularly shaped with sharp lines and edges. They are decorated in a design that reminds you of the circuitry of a motherboard—dissecting lines connected by small circles that start from his waist and make their way down the length of his pants in a trickle. Pointy shoes with little suns on their sides finish the look. 

He is all angles and unforgiving points, with a digitized sort of look to him that fits the whole ‘FazPal’ aesthetic, in your opinion. It’s certainly interesting. You like the futuristic feel to it. 

Pulling yourself back to the present, you type in your name. Sun has his arms crossed behind his back as he waits, swaying gently side to side. You hit enter and the window disappears. 

“Lovely name!” Sun chirps, his rays spinning around his head eagerly that you eye in interest. They look like floating pieces of fractured, stained glass, dainty yet deadly. “I’m sure we are going to be the bestest best friends!” You snort at the declaration. 

“To start our little quest of friendship,” Sun continues on, his head moving towards the dialogue box that pops up near him like he’s looking at it, eyes narrow. It’s honestly difficult to tell with that blank gaze of his. He returns his gaze to the front, where his eyes upturn into little crescents. “Why don’t we get to know each other? Sound good?” 

Another window appears with two simple buttons sitting next to each other under it: A ‘Yes’ and a ‘No’. You click the ‘Yes’ and Sun gives an excited little clap of his hands. It’s cute, in a way. “Wonderful! Okay! To start, what iiisss your favorite color?” The open window closes, then reopens to a textbox again with the new question displayed at the top. You hum and tap your chin thoughtfully, then let your fingers fly across your keyboard as you type the color in. 

You pause, however, before you hit enter and decide to tack on a ‘hbu?’ to your response. If only to satisfy your curiosity and really test the limits of FazCo’s ingenious A.I. Hey, you’re a beta tester—it speaks for itself! 

Sun grins even wider, if possible. “That’s a good one! As for me…” He makes a thinking gesture, eyes narrowing like he’s contemplating it deeply, then brightens up. No, literally. A lightbulb appears over his head for a quick moment. “I like all the colors, it’s so hard to choose just one! Normally, I just say ‘rainbow’!” He makes a little semicircle gesture with his hands around his head. Little pixelated sparkles wink into and out of existence near his fingers before he clasps his hands behind him once more. You’ve got to hand it to FazCo—they certainly know how to add some flair to their characters. “Next question! If you could have any superpower ever, what would it be?”  

You chew at your lip again as you lean back in your chair and ponder his question. Why is it when people ask you these kinds of questions you always blank on the answers? Sun is ever so patient as he waits, moving in that idle animation next to the open window. 

Ah well, it’s not like you’re answering an interview question or anything. You wing it. ‘probably invisibility, or something. hbu?’ And enter. 

“Ooh! Invisibility!” Sun nods like he’s giving his approval. “Good in the right hands! I would want the power to read minds, I think! All the better for making fantastic friends!” 

You make a small sound at that. Well, you suppose that’s one way to make friends, albeit not a very… stable foundation to base a friendship off of. Sun proceeds with his next question. “This one’s a bit of a tough one! What’s your favorite word?” 

‘Tough’ is an understatement. You’re stumped. You rake through your mind for a word and draw up nothing but blanks. You’re certain you have one, but you just cannot think of it at the moment. Shrugging, you type ‘idk. i can't think of one rn, sorry. do u have one?’ 

His head cocks to the side, grin curling at the edges. “That’s more than one word, New Friend!” Sun replies amusedly, then laughs—a loud, tinkering thing that cuts off a bit strangely at its end. “Kidding! I’ll let you off easy for that one!” He is quite good at adapting to your responses, you note lightly. Very intriguing. You wonder how that’s coded. “My favorite word is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” You blink in surprise. The dialogue box is barely able to hold the word inside of it. You didn’t quite expect him to say that, of all words, though you guess it makes sense for him. Sun doesn’t elaborate, just transitions merrily through the next part of his script. “Now, for this question, I need you to be as detailed as possible, okay? It is”—he pauses for a second—“essential.” 

You nod, but it’s not like he can see you, so you end up looking like a fool. Sun stares straight ahead and it… it feels a bit like he’s looking directly at you. You shift uneasily in your seat and watch his eyes go dark along with his white rays and wide smile. Abyss-like. Something drops in the pit of your stomach at the abrupt switch. His smile widens. It cracks like he’s on the edge of something hysterical. And when he speaks, it’s in a low, garbled voice that grates at your ears. 

“Where.” He grits out. “Are—” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish. A glitch encompasses his body that makes his rays twitch erratically and his limbs to jitter about like he’s being electrocuted. You jerk back out of surprise and consider exiting the hell out of the program. But then he’s back to normal like nothing had ever happened. White eyes stare up at you with an equally as white smile. 

“Oh!” Sun exclaims cheerfully, swaying about gently. You’re taken aback and, quite frankly, confused out of your goddamn mind. “Silly me, look at the time! I’m afraid our friendship will have to wait! There’s someone else who’d like to meet you!” 

“What.” You utter the word mindlessly, eyes flicking down to the time on your computer. 6:59 P.M. Time sure did fly by through all of… that. You’re not entirely sure what to think of it. 

“Talk to you soon, New Friend!” Sun waves a hand in farewell, then spins himself around in a little animated tornado. You can only stare, oddly transfixed and still utterly flummoxed, as he spins around, and around, and around until the clock changes to 7:00 P.M. and he slows to an elegant stop. 

Only, it’s not Sun you’re looking at anymore. 

The rays are gone, replaced with a nightcap covering his head that’s adorned with twinkling stars and a little bell at the end. All the yellows have shifted to greys, blues, and blacks, though he still retains the golden bells, red ribbons, and red sash. His pants are a midnight blue with the same circuitry design, and his shoes now have little moons etched into them instead of suns. 

This must be the moon, you conclude once you’re done observing him. The other half to the Daycare Attendant you remember seeing via advertisement—the one who’d been in charge of naptime. 

You watch as Moon seems to look around. You’re not sure what he’s looking at, but you can only wait. Gentle ruby eyes move from your desktop icons to the open window that Sun had been standing next to. His smile turns jagged like the outline of a mountain. And then—

And then he slinks away, disappearing straight off of your monitor without a second look. You’re left staring at the open window, the cursor still blinking in the textbox and awaiting your input. What… just happened? You blink at where he’d disappeared off screen and wait a few moments. But he doesn’t come back. 

What the hell?

Five minutes turns into ten, which turns into fifteen and then twenty, but he truly does not return. You’re stupefied. 

Maybe you should restart the program? You nibble at your lower lip and right click on the FazPals icon so you can end it and then boot it back up again. Your mouse turns into that loading circle of death, and you swear you’re not holding your breath in anticipation or anything, but it sure does feel like it. 

Loading… loading… loading…

…

Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Moon does not appear. You groan and scratch at your ear again, shifting your headphones. Day one of testing and you’ve already run into a problem. Great. Well, it wasn’t like you’d expected everything to be smooth sailing. Still annoying, though. Just in case, you try restarting your computer. 

It doesn’t yield any results either, and you end up just watching some videos as you wait to see if the bug will magically fix itself. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t and you eventually give up as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

But well—you think as you slowly pull up the submission form FazCo had sent you for your job to fill out—you suppose this is why the program’s still in the testing phase. It obviously has some kinks that need to be ironed out. Hopefully it’ll get fixed up in the next patch update. Until then, you’ll just have to deal with it. 

A benefit of working from home? You get to set your own schedule. A blessing, at times. 

That unfortunately means you have to stick to it while ensuring you’re properly taking care of yourself, and going outside to get fresh air, and also getting all the necessary work done on time, and also— 

Well, you get the point. 

You wake up groggy the next day and stumble your way out of your room, just barely managing to step over the little Roomba aimlessly bumbling down the small hallway. At one point it was another product you were testing, but then it was given the green flag for mass production and admission to stores. The company let you keep the one they sent you. It was a little finicky, but it worked just fine. You named it Chicken Nugget a while ago—Dr. Nugget for short, because a Roomba with a PhD was just too amusing to pass up. You’re still musing over what area its PhD is in.

There is much to be done. Dishes from last night need to be washed, food needs to be prepared to last you a few days, timesheets need to be filled out before you forget your hours. It’s easy to multitask on household chores while you do your job. You're on the beta testing team for quite a few companies, so you’re kept busy evaluating their programs and products while you julienne onions and clean plates. You earn enough to live comfortably, and it’s all you can ever ask for, really. 

Eventually, after a long day of being a responsible human being and submitting numerous evaluation forms for various applications, you plop down in front of your computer with your headphones and turn it on. Evening has just started to creep in, turning the sky into a picturesque gradient of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. Your desk is right by a window, so it’s nice to draw the curtains back and let fresh air circulate around the room from it.

Alright, computer on. You type in your password to log in and wait as it finishes booting up. First thing on your list—check your email. There’s nothing of importance, not that you’d expected anything, really. Oh hey, you’ve got a discount code for your next purchase at your favorite pizza store. Sweet. You save it for later. 

All you have to do is test FazCo’s program and then you can relax for the rest of the night. You preemptively open up their submission form and minimize the window, then double click on the FazPals icon. Hopefully you won’t run into any problems. Code is weird like that—working perfectly fine at one moment and doing fuck all the next. And it’s always a pain filling those surveys out when there’s an abundance of bugs and glitches to point out. It’s simple, but oh so tedious. You guess that’s what you’re getting paid for, though. 

Blinking back to attention, you squint at your empty desktop then double click on the FazPals icon again. Ah, there you go. Loading symbol. 

Instead of the little music box like you’d been expecting, Sun comes into view by cartwheeling in from the side of your monitor. It’s silly and you smile slightly as he jumps up to his feet and splays his arms and a leg out wide like he’s about to fall into another cartwheel. 

“New Friend!” he exclaims loudly alongside the text in his dialogue box, rays spinning rapidly about his head in delight. You wince slightly and lower your volume a bit. No need to kill your eardrums. “You’re back! It has been twenty-two hours, nine minutes, and thirty-seven seconds since we last interacted!” 

Your brow raises at his precision, but what else did you expect from a computer program? Sun relaxes into his normal stance and leans forward eagerly. “So! What do you wanna do?” A small, labeled window pops up next to him for you to type in. One of his rays twitches slightly. “For a list of activities I can perform, type ‘/help’!” 

You’ve already forgotten what he can do other than walk around and talk your ear off, so you do just that and the window disappears. You didn’t even have to hit enter. 

Sun beams. “For your present and future reference, I can tell jokes, give fun facts, play games, and storytell! Pick your poison, New Friend!” 

You ponder for a bit, then type ‘can u tell me a fun fact?’ in the new window before it pops out of sight, again before you can press enter. Huh. You make a note of it mentally. The back and forth with the windows is going to take some getting used to. 

“I sure can!” Sun does a little wiggle and stands at full attention with his arms crossed behind his back. “Did you know that neutron stars spin six hundred times per second? Pretty cool!” He seems very cheery today. You’ll have to keep an eye out for any more of that strange glitching from yesterday. “Want another one?” 

Eh, you don’t see why not. You shrug and click the ‘Yes’ button when it appears. Sun gives a little salute. “The most water ever discovered surrounds a black hole about twelve billion lightyears away! It has the equivalent of one hundred and forty trillion times the volume of Earth’s oceans!” You’re starting to see a theme here with his fun facts and it honestly checks out. Sun’s rays spin a little to the right as he tilts his head slightly. “That was two facts in one, technically. Just for you! Don’t tell anyone!!” And then he winks, accompanied by a little star spinning out from his eye. It’s a small detail, but it still makes you smile. Consider you charmed. 

“Alrighty! I have an idea of what we can do next!” Sun says as he skips away to the edge of your monitor. You watch him curiously as he sticks a hand beyond your desktop—somewhere offscreen?—and starts pulling over a large open window from it. Like he’s unraveling a spool of paper. He drags the window over to the center of your screen, then wipes his face with his arm and takes an exaggerated breath. “Phew! That’s heavier than it looks! Luckily, I’ve got these to help me!” He flexes his stick-like arms dramatically, posing this way and that like he’s a pro wrestler. 

You notice, as he poses, that another small window pops up—indistinct and unlabeled this time with a simple textbox for you to type in. But he… didn’t really ask you a question or anything of the sorts for you to respond to? You eye it for a moment, then decide to type a little ‘hi’ in it to see if it’s a bug or something. After waiting a few seconds to see if the window will close again without you hitting enter, nothing really happens. Oh, is it fixed now? You hit enter and the text disappears, but the window stays. You guess it is. Code, man. So finicky. 

Sun stops flexing to shoot you a bright beam with a spin of his rays. “Hello!” 

Okay, maybe it’s not a bug if he can still process your texts. Shrugging it off easily, you turn your attention to the window Sun had pulled over from who-knows-where. It looks like your computer’s Paint app. How did he open that? ‘what’s that for?’ you type into the textbox.  

“This is for us to play some games, silly!” Sun brandishes his hands towards the Paint window like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “How does Tic-Tac-Toe sound?” 

Well, not like you have any other ideas for what to do. ‘sure, let’s play.’ 

“Faz-tastic!” Sun claps his hands, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a comically large wooden pencil from its depths. Seriously, it’s nearly the length of his arm. It’s like something right out of a cartoon and you grin at the silliness. He steps closer to the Paint window and draws four perfectly straight and intersecting lines—each of them the same length and splitting into the same sized boxes and everything. He then draws a perfect circle in one of the corner boxes and steps back. “Your turn!” 

You crack your knuckles and roll your shoulders. Okay. Time to lock in and kick this program’s ass. 

Except you don’t. 

You lose horribly. Seven times in a row, in fact. 

‘r u cheating? ur cheating, aren’t u,’ you type into the open textbox, which had remained in place all throughout your games. Unusual, but you’re not too bothered by it. After you lost the first few rounds, you started complaining to him using it. You figured you might as well. It’s almost like having a conversation with him and you’re pretty impressed by his verbal versatility. 

“Cheating?!” Sun squawks, offended. He splays a hand across his chest as he somehow manages to twirl his giant pencil in his hand like a baton. “A rulebreaker, I am not! I think someone is getting a little grumpy!” He gives you a pointed grin. 

You should have expected you’d lose to fucking A.I. software. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, where you’d been incessantly troubling it with your teeth throughout the rather merciless Tic-Tac-Toe beating you’d just received. You’re considering mentioning in the submission form that the program is too difficult to beat at games, but maybe you’re just that bad at them. Your ego’s definitely going through it.

‘i’m not grumpy,’ you grumble. Sun shakes his little digital head in good mirth, seeing right through you, of course. You switch topics. ‘let’s play something else. got any other games?’ 

“I sure do, Friend!” He uses his pencil eraser to clear the Paint canvas and starts drawing what looks like a game of Hangman. He gives you a sly smile. “Think you’re up for a real challenge?” Cheeky! 

After some rounds of Hangman and Pictionary (which, to your pleasant surprise, you’re not too bad at, but maybe Sun’s taking pity on you), Sun eventually closes the Paint window and makes a show of stretching languidly. “My time’s almost up, I’m afraid!” Sure enough, a quick glance at the time shows it’s nearing seven o’clock. Time flies when you’re having fun. “Make sure to stretch your back and arms out, Friend! Hydration is also important!” 

‘yes boss, u got it, boss,’ you reply before stretching out your arms. You have a water bottle on your desk that you take a quick drink out of, the liquid inside of the insulated material still cool and refreshing. You shiver a little and eye your window still letting the night air into the room. You should close that soon. And maybe turn on the lights so you’re not sitting in the dark illuminated only by your bright screen. 

Naturally, you do neither. Too much work right now.

Sun wiggles a little, then clasps his arms behind his back. “This was fun! I will talk to you tomorrow, Friend!” His grin widens, curling at the edges. “Don’t keep me waiting too long!”

And before you can really process the tone of that, he pulls out a red curtain from somewhere behind him. Shaking it out slightly, he pulls it up in front of him to block your view of his little figure entirely. You raise an eyebrow as the curtain wiggles and protrudes out like he’s changing into new clothes, before eventually it falls down and reveals Moon. His nightcap is pulled down to partially cover his glowing ruby eyes.

You lean forward in your chair, attention instantly grabbed. Will he work properly this time? You consider him for a moment as he simply stands there—sullen and, dare you say, annoyed. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is pulled into a scowl. He shifts like he wants to move or leave, but something keeps him rooted into the same spot Sun was just in. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his pants (he has pockets??) and he slouches like a puppet cut from its strings.  

He’s not saying anything. Only glares off at a point somewhere on your screen. You bite the inside of your cheek and decide to take one for the (nonexistent) team. 

‘hi moon,’ you type into the textbox that’d remained even after Sun left. Pressing enter, you watch curiously as something tense seems to line Moon’s small shoulders and he moves his glare to the open window instead. 

His head twitches. “Hi,” he replies slowly in a raspy voice. It’s not what you’d expected, low and murmured like he’s speaking to someone in a dark and quiet corner. His gaze darts to the dialogue box that pops up next to his head and seems to narrow even farther. 

Oookay. He doesn’t say anything else. Is he still bugged or is he just programmed to be much quieter than Sun? You’re not sure if that makes sense for this type of program, though. You try to nudge the conversation again, thinking back to the list of commands Sun gave you earlier. ‘can u tell me a joke?’ 

Moon seems to look at you and it’s just as creepy as it had been when Sun did it. His scowl deepens. “No.”

You’re taken aback. No? Oh. Well. Maybe you should try something else? ‘can u tell me a fun fact?’ At least you know this command works for certain.

“No.” 

It’s like pulling teeth over here. 

You’re determined, however. This is your entire job. ‘what about a story?’

“No.” Moon bares knife-like teeth at you in aggravation and you’re tempted to do the same thing back. He doesn’t want to do anything! Something is definitely… off. You make a note of it to include in the submission form later. At least he hasn’t left your screen. You’ll take the win where you can. 

You’re stumped on what to do. The only thing you can think of is to keep inputting commands until something gives. Maybe things will sort themselves out? You try asking for a fun fact or joke again, but Moon still just scowls and answers in that same clipped manner. His fidgeting seems to increase. 

You’re getting close to calling it quits. ‘why don’t we play a game or something? tic-tac-toe?’

“P-Persistent little thing,” Moon growls into your headset and it’s such a reprieve from the constant rejections that you’re not even offended. You perk up slightly only to deflate at his following words. “Didn’t anyone teach you that ‘no’ means no?” 

‘no,’ you type as a response—partly in annoyance and partly just to be snarky. Moon twitches again, and then in the blink of an eye—he glitches. 

Similar to Sun, it spreads down his body in a wave and makes him jitter until he snaps back into place like a rubber band. He flexes his hands and takes a step to the side—tentative and exploratory. The window with the textbox pops out of existence and Moon gives you one final, narrowed glare before he just… leaves offscreen. Again. What the fuck?

You scrub a hand down your face and groan. You don’t expect him to return, but just in case you wait around a little and kill some time by filling out the submission form. Name, program version, strengths, encountered issues, and so on. You submit the form when you finish and roll your shoulders. Yeah, he doesn’t come back. At least there was some progress compared to yesterday. 

You end the day with a final squint at the FazPals icon and a shrug of your shoulders. Things could be worse, you suppose as you power off your computer and stare at your reflection through the dark screen of your monitor. Hopefully tomorrow brings more improvement. 

part two

#dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #fnaf sun x reader #sun x you #sun x self insert #sun x y/n #moon x y/n #moon x self insert #moon x reader #dca x you #dca x self insert #dca x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #sundrop x reader #sundrop x you #sundrop x y/n #moondrop x self insert #moondrop x you #moondrop x y/n #moondrop x reader #shay scribbles daydreams #fazpals au

[snek-panini]

It's been a month since Binderary ended but I've still got books to share! This is @worse0mens's (hi!) wonderful Good Omens series, The Blossom Realm, which starts with Omens of Another Kind. This is very much a longtime favorite of mine, an AU with a really compelling combo of worldbuilding and characterization. This is a believable grand romance that's also a court drama and a fairy tale, and it's really long (the full series is about 220k words) so it will keep you reading for a long time. This is one of the fics I learned bookbinding for, and it was the first really long fic that I typeset (and redid once I learned more about typesetting). It's been a long road but it was so worth it.

More photos under the cut!

Couple of photos of the spines. The series doesn't divide easily, with one very long work, one medium-length one, and several shorter pieces. The main story is nearly 200k on its own, the longest single volume I've ever made (about 500 pages), and I was worried about it getting too unwieldy, so I put all the other works into their own volume of about 100 pages. They make a disparate set but I love them. The cover is done in skiver green faux leather from Hollander's; I've never worked with this brand before but I loved it, and one sheet was big enough to do both books. The titles are done in cricut brand gold foil htv. There were some issues with that, as I'd bought a multi-pack with a few different colors and only found out after applying the front cover graphics on both books that one, I didn't have enough to do the backs and spines; two, that the gold in that pack is a totally different color than the gold they sell on its own; and three, that no one in my area stocked it anymore and I had to order it from Europe. Here's what the back looks like:

It's the same graphic as the front but without the title in the center, and it's one of the fanciest backs I've ever done and it took forever to weed all those little cutouts. The graphic was free to use on rawpixel. The font I used on the spines and front is a basic Microsoft font called Harrington that worked incredibly well on the cricut, even at small sizes; a lot of basic fonts are too thin, especially fancy ones, so this was a delightful surprise.

Photo of the top, with ribbon bookmark and handmade double core endbands. The endbands didn't come out as well as I'd have liked; they're a little uneven and the color changes aren't that evenly spaced. Double core ones are harder than I expected and I need more practice. The endpapers are chocolate silk moire, and I chose them because there's a very important massive tree in the fic and I thought they looked like wood grain. I did a little experimenting with the shorter volume that's visible around the edges of the endpaper. I wanted gilded edges but the longer book had to be rounded, and I thought I'd try paint instead of foil since I don't know how to foil a curved edge. But I did my experiments on the smaller volume and I couldn't get good coverage, so the edge had to be trimmed off. The watered-down paint had leaked into the edge of the silk moire too far for me to trim, so it's still there. But it's kind of pretty, so I'm going to call it an aesthetic choice.

The title pages are the same, with free graphics from rawpixel. I got lucky and found a similar set of roses that I used for the chapter headers:

These had to be positioned by hand for each chapter so they'd fit around the text properly. It was a pain but they look so pretty. The final photo contains a story spoiler, so proceed with caution if you don't want that:

The scene break image in both volumes is this tiny snake. This was one of the first aesthetic choices I made for the books. A lot of the plot is centered around a prophecy about a monster snake that everyone thinks will destroy the kingdom, and of course in the manner of Good Omens fic it's a wildly inaccurate misinterpretation and not a threat at all. I wanted something like this because the snake is not only non-threatening but it's been here the entire time and there was never any reason to freak out about it. It was surprisingly difficult to find a snake image that was both simple enough to still be clear at this size and also didn't look dangerous or like a cartoon character. I looked at so many snakes before I found this one, it's ridiculous.

And that's it! I hope the author likes it (and remembers me since I asked to do this almost a year ago). There are three more binderary posts forthcoming, though I don't know how long it'll take me to get to them. It was a busy month.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #everyone look at my books they are so pretty #and then go read the fic it's so good omg

[smallgodseries]

[image description: The starkly black and white profile of a gorgeous Black woman lit very brightly from the front, but looking toward the viewer. She's seen against a white background and surrounded by a sharp black border with thin gold lines. Text reads, “16, QUEEN QATAR, the small god of SIDE EYE”]

She is with you even now.  It is rare for a small god to be omnipresent; their limitations keep them confined to their own spheres, unable to act outside them, save in the most extreme of circumstances.  But for Queen Qatar, that sphere is vast as the scope of human experience. Even when you stand alone, she is there, watching, assessing, and judging what you do.

She is with the novelist who writes of woman as if they are nothing more than a delivery vessel for their luscious, bouncing, perfect breasts, untouched by any gravity.  She is with the suburban mother as she brags of the “ancient secrets” that she learned from her health food store, allowing her to “lose the baby weight” faster than her doctor thought was possible.  And she is with that doctor when he refuses to treat another woman’s actual complaint, focusing instead on her weight, claiming that her sinus infection will clear right up if she just starts an exercise program and loses fifty pounds.

Queen Qatar sees it all, and she very rarely approves.

She is judgmental, but she is kind.  She does not turn her eyes on those who do their best, even when that best is by any objective standard terrible.  She is here to judge, not to oppress. Children are not exempt from her sphere, and can attract her attention long before their parents believe them capable of such malfeasance, but neither are children her primary burden.

She is with the bigots and the racists, with the homophobic and the fatphobic and those who stand in their own glass houses with arms all full of rocks.  She is with us all, and if we err, she will turn her eye against us, and she will remind us that we are only mortal, while she is so much more.

Do not fear her wrath.  Fear her disapproval.

Artist Lee Moyer (The Doom That Came to Atlantic City, Starstruck) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Mastodon: https://mastodon.world/notifications

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

[moodymelanist]

Nessian surprise pregnancy announcement

happy April fools 🩵 also combining this with this prompt ⤵️

After nine long months, Cassian could hardly believe he was seeing his daughter in his wife’s arms. She was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen — second only to Nesta herself, of course — and he didn’t think he’d ever forget the moment he’d first gotten to hold her in his arms. She was so tiny that part of him had been scared he’d somehow hurt her, but he’d stopped worrying about that the moment her small fingers curled around his pointer finger.

Nesta looked completely exhausted in her hospital bed, but she seemed just as in awe as Cassian was. “She’s so beautiful.”

“Are you surprised?” he fired back, looking away from their daughter’s perfect face to look at his wife’s stunning one instead. “I mean, look at the material.”

“Shut up,” she replied with a good-natured roll of her eyes. “She’s all you, anyway.”

Seraphina did look a lot like him, with her dark hair and golden-brown skin, but Cassian had studied Nesta’s features enough to know them when he saw them. “Nah. She definitely has your nose.”

“Whatever you say, baby,” Nesta responded tiredly. She shut her eyes and gently shifted around to find a more comfortable position, sighing as she found the relief she was looking for.

He couldn’t decide where he wanted to look more. Between being in total awe that his wife had brought their daughter into the world and that said daughter was absolutely adorable, it was almost like sensory overload. He decided to look back and forth between them every few minutes, more than happy with the pretty picture his family made.

He never thought he could have this for himself, but damn did it feel good.

“Don’t tell Feyre and Rhys,” Cassian murmured, his fingers gently combing through their daughter’s hair, “but our kid is way cuter.”

“Fuck,” Nesta hissed quietly, not wanting to wake Sera as her own eyes snapped open. “We never told them!”

“Fuck,” Cassian repeated. Sera opened her eyes and immediately narrowed them at him from his volume, and he sheepishly passed the baby over to Nesta before it turned into a full-blown crying episode. “Come here, let me get a picture.”

Nesta had been so nervous about something happening to the baby after the experience Feyre and Rhys had had with Nyx that she’d begged Cassian not to tell anyone. It had been hard keeping such a big secret from their family, especially with how often they liked to get together, but they’d somehow managed to pull it off. The first few months hadn’t been too bad, but once Nesta had started showing, they’d had to come up with increasingly more elaborate reasons for why Nesta couldn’t come to their family get-togethers.

“Say cheese,” Cassian said, holding up his phone for their first picture as a family. Nesta gave the best smile she could muster given how tired she was, propping up Sera’s head so her little face was visible, and Cassian snapped a bunch of pictures. “These are nice.”

He picked the best looking one and sent it in their family group chat, sending all the details about Sera’s weight and height and time of birth. It didn’t take long for people to start texting back, but instead of the congratulations texts he was expecting, he got a wide array of question marks and confused emojis.

Whose baby did you steal for this?? Mor had written.

Ha ha, very funny, Lucien added.

Cute baby, though, Rhys texted, replying to Mor’s original message.

“Why does everyone think I’m joking?” Cassian asked, showing Nesta the texts.

“Probably because it’s April Fool’s, you idiot,” Nesta answered fondly. She took his phone and sent another picture, this time of a close up of her sweaty, exhausted face. “Bet you they won’t think we’re joking now.”

He laughed as he read the caption she’d written with the picture. Trust me, the thirteen hours I spent in labor aren’t a fucking joke.

Sure enough, within the hour their entire family was gathered in the hospital room with a truly ridiculous amount of balloons and baby gifts. Judging from her victorious smile, Cassian knew Nesta would be holding this over him for the rest of their lives.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

#acotar #acosf #Nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #anon asks #moodymelanistwrites #nessian prompts #⭐️

[andypantsx3]

fingerprints | 5 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 5k of est. 25k words | 5th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.  

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

The next week passed in a flurry of activity—busy days at the shelter, a never-ending volley of texts from Shouto, and a perpetual, low-grade anxiety over what it would be like to meet a member of his family.

Shouto, for his part, was acting like things were normal. He texted every day, now with five pictures of Princess a day, as she napped, as she ate, as she shredded the legs of all his furniture and menaced her own reflection in his windows. Towards the end of the week, he sent one picture that was so maddeningly cute that you found yourself absently reopening your phone to look at it at least once every five minutes.

It was poorly-lit selfie of him with Princess, his mouth pressed against the top of her little cream-and-orange head, his expression clearly fond. You eventually saved it to your camera roll, feeling guilty.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away from the expression on his face, the press of his mouth, wondering what it might be like to experience that same type of affection from him.

You knew it wasn’t your place to expect that from him—soulmate or no—so you treated the picture like the shadow of a substitute. A little glimpse into something you might have had, if Shouto had been the more traditional type about soulmates.

He also called several times during the week and the two of you aimlessly chatted about nothing—talking over Princess’ latest escapades, suggestions on her training, how she was eating and drinking. You also attempted to subtly wheedle a little more out of him on his mother’s likes and dislikes, trying to think up a present for her.

You were able to assemble a vague portrait of her through the small details Shouto gave away—a calm, forgiving woman, who was working every day to treat the things in her life with care and intention. You intuited that most of their time together was spent on light strolls when the weather was nice, and that she especially liked the nearby arboretum, with its tangle of gardens full of wildflowers. When the weather kept them indoors, they had tea together, sometimes chatting, sometimes reading in one another’s company.

This glimpse into Shouto’s relationship with his mother made you want to sink your fingernails into him the way Princess did when she was feeling deeply affectionate and pleased, kneading the absolute shit out of him until he was a soft little pile of dough.

Eventually, you settled on an idea for a present. When Saturday morning rolled around, your paycheck with it, you set out for the nice tea shop in the heart of the neighboring ward.

The tea shop was small and neat, blonde wooden shelves straining under the weight of almost a hundred different blends. There was a tiny woman stuffed behind the counter, in a floral patterned apron, and the interior of the store smelled earthy and fresh.

You got there right when it opened, allowing you enough time to pore over every single blend with the most intense focus of your life. After a half hour of painstaking deliberation, you finally settled on two selections. One, a traditional genmai cha blend that sounded like the kind Shouto had described drinking with his mother, and the other a warm, wintery blend promising notes of plum and winter spices.

You asked the woman at the counter to wrap them up in a pretty white paper, tied off with a small, deep blue ribbon, and forked over nearly a quarter of your biweekly pay, wincing as you did so. You hoped Shouto’s mother would like it—and that you wouldn’t be coming off as presumptuous, or like, creepy.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, showered, and scrounged up your nicest sweater set, it was nearly time for Shouto to pick you up. You managed a couple quick swipes of makeup, hoping Shouto wouldn’t find you weird or overprepared.

You were alerted to his arrival by a polite series of knocks on your door. You quickly opened the door, planning to step outside lest Shouto get an eyeful of the interior of your apartment—but you were quickly arrested by the sight of him. He was dressed in a deep blue sweater that peeked out from under the grey wool of his coat—looking handsome and soft and absolutely delicious.

He was also holding a small posy of wildflowers, a spray of tiny white buds among several soft pink and orange blooms, wrapped in a crinkly brown paper.

He held them out to you murmuring your name in greeting, and you startled, realizing he meant for you to take them.

You had a wild thought that he meant you to carry them–but then the even more absurd truth of it struck you. He meant for you to have them.

Your heart did a weird somersault up through your chest, lodging somewhere in your throat. “These are…? Me…..?” You garbled out, stupidly.

Shouto’s mouth twitched. “For you, yes,” he said, eyes flickering over you in some kind of assessment you didn’t understand.

You realized with some horror that this meant you would have to return back inside to put them in water—and that good manners would compel you to invite Shouto in while you did. He would see your apartment—the tiny cramped rooms, the chair with the tear in the arm, your assortment of mismatched furniture and donation bin cookware.

You fought the urge to retreat into your shell like a turtle.

You supposed he was going to have to see it sometime—you just hoped he didn’t think it had anything to do with your ability to take care of yourself. If you were ever going to get in financial range of opening an animal shelter of your own, sacrifices had to be made somewhere.

You hoped the inherent kindness with which he seemed to evaluate everything held true in the middle of your dinky little living room.

“Thank you,” you told him, clutching the flowers to you tightly. They really were beautiful, and he’d gotten your tastes just right. You liked the slightly wild, slightly disorderly look of them–the pinks and oranges both competing for attention, the spill of the white buds out of the brown paper.

“Um, do you want to come in while I put these in water?” you asked.

Shouto nodded, and followed you as you led him into your apartment. You were glad you’d gone on a mini-cleaning spree when you’d gotten home the previous evening–shoving all of your roommate’s randomly discarded clothes back into her room, sweeping the floor free of its wintertime coat of tracked-in sidewalk salt, folding your various throws and rearranging your pillows.

Shouto looked around curiously as you shut the door behind him.

“Uh, make yourself comfortable, this will only be a second,” you said, and zoomed off into the kitchen to avoid witnessing any of his evaluation. You pulled a vase out of the cabinets, and quickly freed the flowers of their brown paper wrapping, trimming the stems and filling the vase with water.

It took only a few minutes to make it back out to the living room, placing the vase on the coffee table. It made the room look instantly warmer and friendlier, the flowers standing out prettily against the worn cherry wood of the coffee table.

Shouto had apparently not made himself comfortable, however. He was still standing as you returned, peering interestedly through the gap in the adjoining door you’d left open–-the one to your bedroom.

“Your room?” he asked, looking down at you.

You nodded. “Uh, do you wanna see it?”

To your surprise he nodded, and you led him over to the door, feeling strangely lightheaded. You were about to have Todoroki Shouto in your bedroom.

He really was truly overwhelming to have in your private space. Your room was small, only enough space for a tiny bed, a squashed little dresser, and a shelf for knick knacks–all so closely crammed in together that you could be touching all three at the same time. But Shouto made the room seem even smaller, somehow, filling up the space with his broad shoulders and tall frame, in a way that seemed to draw the corners of the room in towards him.

You thanked every god man had ever worshipped that you’d made your bed and swept your own floor, and that you’d just done a laundry load full of sheets so that your room still smelled like the cottony clean detergent you’d used.

“It suits you,” Shouto said, surprising you, going over to your shelf with apparently no qualms about looking like he was snooping. He touched his fingers to the leaves of a plant, flipped a book cover over to examine it.

You had no idea what this meant.

He thought you were…cramped and poky? Stuffy and weird?

He turned towards you, as if able to read your mystified thoughts. “Comfortable. Warm.” He paused, dragging a hand absently down your bedding–a neatly arranged pile of cozy comforter, puffy pillows, and a knitted throw for extra warmth, all in cheery warm tones. His fingers lingered on your pillowcase. “Cute,” he said.

You reached out, grasping your bed frame for stability, suddenly weak around the knees.

Those mismatched eyes flicked back up to you, pinning you in place, and you felt like you needed to exert sudden, extreme focus on all of your bones lest they turn into liquid.

He did not mean to say you were cute, you quickly told yourself. He meant the bed set, your winter nest of cold old lady trappings.

Regardless, your head felt swimmy as you answered him, your ears burning hot. “Um, thank you. I’m a blanket enthusiast.”

Shouto’s mouth curled just the tiniest bit upwards, again, and your heart started feeling like it might explode, so you quickly turned around, grabbing his gloves off of your dresser where you’d kept them.

“I meant to give you these back!” You said. “Thank you again for lending them to me.”

Shouto came closer to take them from you and you caught a nose full of that light, clean cologne he always wore. You took a step back to stop yourself from shoving yourself nose-first into his chest.

“Ooookay so let’s get going!” you said quickly, and then turned and all but threw yourself out of your room.

You quickly hustled Shouto out of your door and locked it behind you, then bade him lead the way.

He pulled on a beanie and sunglasses, and you laughed, realizing this was his outdoor disguise—and not entirely ineffective at that. It hid most of his signature two-toned hair and his unsettlingly keen heterochromatic eyes. Someone would have to be actively looking for Todoroki Shouto before recognizing him.

“So where are we going?” you asked as he gestured you into step beside him.

“Little Sheep,” he replied in his low, even tone.

You didn’t recognize the name.

“It’s a luncheon cafe my mother loves,” Shouto explained. “She likes their tea and cakes.”

You patted your bag, a little proud of choosing tea as a gift. You hoped she liked it as much as the Little Sheep tea.

“Can’t go wrong with cake,” you said longingly, though you knew you wouldn’t order any. Your goal was to get in and out having spent as little money as possible—and that meant the cheapest thing on the menu, and a water.

Your budgeting resolve soon turned out to be prophetic, as the cafe Shouto led you to was definitely upscale—set into an old, brick building with several long panels of sparkling new windows. The inside was bright and airy, all cream tones and natural woods over an exquisitely tiled floor. Long-vined leafy plants dripped from the rafters and tiny vases of bright flower buds sprouted from each table.

It was so lovely. You could feel your wallet groan from inside your bag.

You were led to a table in a quiet alcove, out of the way—and there she was. Todoroki Rei.

You could see her resemblance to Shouto instantly. He looked more like her than he did Endeavor–he had the same elegant bone structure, almost too pretty for a man, the same nose and full mouth, as you’d noted looking at her picture in his bedroom. Even the tilt of their eyebrows was the same, and the careful, contemplative way they regarded people.

Which they were both doing now, as you stared between them.

You gave a hasty bow, introducing yourself to Shouto’s mother. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“My soulmate,” Shouto added quietly, sending a lick of heat right up your spine.

“Y-yeah,” you acknowledged, nose burning. “Also a friend!” you added, lest Todoroki Rei think that you were trying to put the moves on Shouto.

Your feelings may have not been pure, but at least your intentions were.

She smiled and took your hand in her surprisingly cool one. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Shouto has told me a lot about you.”

“He’s a gossip,” you joked, your nerves making you stupid as hell.

Shouto adopted a carefully blank expression, and quickly set about herding you into a seat. You thought he might be embarrassed that his mom had told you he talked about you often.

He pulled out the chair for you and then for his mother, a move that made you want to bite him he was so good. Then he sank down next to you, one broad shoulder brushing dangerously close to your own. You huddled closer to the wall, skin tingling.

“I, um, brought you something,” you said quickly, for something to take your focus off of Shouto.

You fished the gifts out of your bag, and passed them over to Rei, hoping she didn’t think it was weird.

She looked pleasantly surprised, her ice grey eyes darting up to catch yours. Her gaze was surprisingly warm. “Thank you,” she said, her voice so full of gratitude that it embarrassed you.

You looked down, scrubbing at your hot cheeks. “I hope you like it.”

It was quickly evident that she did like it—that or she was a fantastic actress. As she unwrapped it, a smile so shockingly similar to Shouto’s pulled at her mouth–a pleased, almost shy upturn. She turned the tea boxes over, studying their descriptions, running an elegant finger over the curling script embossed on their faces.

“This is wonderful, Y/N,” she said. “You are a very thoughtful girl. Shouto is lucky to have you.”

You totally were not, just a nervous idiot, and Shouto was probably just okay to have you, honestly. But the compliment warmed you anyway.

You instantly latched on to a water glass as the waitress approached your table, hiding your awkwardness in the depths of your cup. Rei said something to the waitress in greeting, and you jumped when Shouto’s mouth was suddenly at your ear.

“You remembered,” he said in that mind-numbingly low tone of his.

You suppressed a shiver. “That you guys drink genmaicha? How could I forget? It’s gross.”

When you turned, Shouto was surveying you closely. “You did not have to do that.”

Your stomach turned. Maybe it was inappropriate–you should have guessed. But his mom didn’t seem bothered. You hoped you hadn’t upset Shouto too much.

“I didn’t—um—it’s not because I have any expectations!” you told him quickly. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean like—it’s not a gift for my boyfriend’s mom or anything. Obviously. Because you’re not my boyfriend. And you obviously wouldn’t want—” Shouto’s gaze sharpened, and you scrambled for verbal cover. “--I just didn’t want to be rude. I don’t know protocol! You’re the only soulmate I’ve ever had! No one teaches you these things!”

Shouto’s mouth twitched and he leaned in even closer, bringing just a hint of that clean cologne with him. “I meant that you did not have to spend the money.”

“Money!” you said, panicking with his proximity. “What money! I’ve never even heard of money!”

Shouto’s eyes widened, and he looked very suddenly like he was trying not to laugh.

You wanted to slam your head against the table. Every time he got close, you got stupid. This was why you had bolted from the scene of soulmate-gate in the first place! He was a health and safety hazard!

“Thank you,” he said quietly, looking you directly in the face, which only served to shut your brain functions down further.

Lunch had been a bad idea.

You were thankfully saved by the waitress circling back with menus, and you garbled out a thank you, burying your face in yours.

You quickly tracked down the cheapest thing on the menu–a salad that cost thirty entire fucking dollars. Shouto watched you with a strange expression as you ordered, and you tried your best to ignore him, which proved incredibly difficult when he suddenly slung a heavily-muscled arm across the back of your chair.

You froze, despairing over the delicious heat from his entire left side–then leaned forward to give him space to rest it.

His mom leaned in, catching your attention. “Shouto told me you work at a shelter?”

You nodded, happy for the distraction from Shouto’s arm lingering dangerously close behind you. “Yeah! For a couple of years now. I love the work–the animals are so sweet and so fun and I like making sure the people who come in will take proper care of them. I want to open my own rescue someday–-I’m saving up for property and I’ve been working on drawing up a funding plan!”

You hoped that made you sound more impressive, somehow. Like there was anything more to a funding plan than finding rich people and begging for donations.

“Your own rescue,” Rei echoed, in the same contemplative way Shouto sometimes repeated the things you said.

The resemblance really was uncanny.

“Yeah!” you supplied. “I love the shelter but we only have so much space. The more shelters the better, and I want a space specifically dedicated to rescue animals–the ones who have seen the worst of it and need somewhere safe and someone to love them more than anything.”

Shouto shifted behind you and you sat up a little straighter, careful not to brush his arm.

“That sounds lovely,” Rei said. “Shouto told me you were very thoughtful—I can see he was right.”

Your entire face went white hot and for a moment you thought Shouto had accidentally quirked you–but it was just your embarrassment, flashing through your body like a grenade.

“Nope,” you said reflexively. “I’m not thought, uh, full. Not full. Just a normal amount of thoughts. Like halfway filled, maybe.”

Shouto made a noise like a cough that sounded suspiciously like he was choking down a laugh.

Could this get any worse?

“Anyway,” you said loudly, eager to move on. “Um, what about you? Do you have any pets?”

Rei shook her head, her white hair slipping over one elegant shoulder. “No. I’ve met Princess, though, and she is very charming. She may convince me yet.”

You tried not to be put out that Princess apparently was good with Rei too, even though she didn’t have a fire quirk. She probably smelled like Shouto, and Princess was too whipped to make the distinction.

You couldn’t exactly blame her when you were basically a little pile of whipped cream yourself.

The three of you kept up the conversation as lunch was served, and Rei seemed too eager to learn more about you. You tried steering the conversation clear of your own situation as you were not especially interesting, just a completely normal person who read too many books and watched too much youtube and who wanted to get into several different hobbies but was mostly bad at them. All you really wanted to do was run your rescue, hang out with your friends, and find a cute boyfriend to cook with and nap on during the weekends.

And it was a comment to this effect, actually, that brought the table to halt.

Rei had asked more about what you did in your free time, and you’d thought for a minute.

“Reading mostly. And hanging out with friends,” you said. And lest she think you had plans to compromise Shouto’s virtue or whatever, you told her, “I’ve been trying to cook more as a hobby but I will probably like it more when I get a boyfriend and we can do it together. Just gotta find the right guy.”

The words were no sooner out of your mouth than the table was suddenly thirty degrees colder. You looked up to find both Shouto and Rei staring at you, both of their respective drinks completely iced over.

You went completely still, feeling suddenly hunted.

Rei’s cool grey gaze slowly slid from your face to Shouto’s, and she affected the tiniest raise of a perfect, snow white eyebrow. “The right one,” she murmured. “Perhaps he is already known to you.”

You kind of felt like she was implying you should get with Shouto, which was so nice of her but so completely divorced from even the wispiest fringes of reality. Obviously every mother thought their son was the catch of the century, it just so happened she was right about it–Shouto was the catch of any century. You couldn’t have reeled him in if you had fifteen million fishing poles–though you sorely wanted to.

But Creati existed. And also Shouto had like, standards, probably.

“Um, no one I know is interested,” you said, feeling kind of embarrassed to admit it to your own soulmate’s mother. “But you know—it’ll happen! Mari at the shelter has been on me about getting onto dating apps and stuff! I’m planning on it, just thinking about how to explain the soulmate thing. I know some people are weird about it if your soulmate is in the picture, especially if they’re not into you.”

Every single one of the sauces in front of Shouto froze over, and the teapot Rei had ordered for the table suddenly stopped steaming, wisps of ice curling up through the air where the steam had just been, sparkling in the light from the windows.

Rei’s face was so perfectly still, you could tell she was attempting to suppress something—exactly the way Shouto did. “Perhaps someone will surprise you, soon,” she said.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Uh, I hope so,” you said, trying to sound cheerful.

It was so hard being around Shouto when you were so stupidly in love with him.

After another minute of awkward silence, Shouto finally moved. He pressed a hand to the teapot and it started steaming again, the ice wisps fizzling into vapor beneath his touch. He passed a hand over the table, unfreezing everything.

Rei made another light comment, thankfully off the subject. Lunch after that went back to normal, and you horked down your salad at the speed of light, both to avoid further conversation and because you’d forgotten breakfast in your quest to get Rei’s tea.

After you finished, Rei insisted you have a cup of tea once Shouto reheated it–thankfully not a genmaicha. She also ordered a plate of the aforementioned tea cakes, and Shouto had one on your plate before you could even open your mouth to politely refuse.

“I really couldn’t,” you told him, leaning away from the tea cake lest you breathe on it and contaminate it for someone else. It looked so good, a delicate pat of whipped frosting and three jewel-toned little berries nestled on top. It also looked like three billion dollars.

Shouto just made a contemplative humming noise, almost like disbelief, and you shot him a dirty look.

“I’m serious, I’m totally full,” you said, patting your stomach for effect.

Shouto’s eyes roved over you slowly, all the way from your face to your lap, and your face heated. “Ah yes, salad is known for its substantiality.”

You were stepping on his boot before you knew what you were doing, hissing at him so his mom couldn’t hear. “You are so fresh.”

An honest to god smirk pulled wickedly at Shouto’s mouth, and your own mouth suddenly went completely dry. He leaned in, putting his mouth near your ear, and then said, “Ah, but not as fresh as your salad leaves.”

Your brain short-circuited, your focus torn between the feeling of his mouth at your ear, the press of his face so close, and the absolute fucking audacity of this man.

“I insist,” Rei piped in from the other end of the table. “These are my favorites.”

You nodded on autopilot, eager to please her. Shouto looked a little smug, and you wondered if it would be too obvious if you accidentally flung one of the berries at him.

You mourned the loss of fifteen other dollars–or however much the damned thing was–even as you nearly transcended this plane of existence with every bite. It was just as good as it looked, delicate and sweet, the berries the perfect compliment to the light, creamy frosting.

You mourned all the way until the bill was delivered—at which point you encountered another obstacle.

Shouto’s elegant fingers swiftly closed over the folio, placing that intimidating black card in the pocket, before he swiftly sent it off with the waitress again. You made a noise of panic, gripping his sleeve.

“Wait-–I owe—”

“It’s my treat,” he intoned in that low voice, turning back to you. His eyes were hot on your face.

You shook your head, turning to your bag. “I already owe you from the coffee shop too! Here, I’ve got–”

A cool hand closed around your fingers before you could even dig out the appropriate bills, smudges blooming across your skin at his touch. You froze in his hold, brain swiftly going offline, eyes glued to the way the color blossomed across your skin under his fingers like a brand.

“Y/N,” he said, low, exactly the way he had in the shelter last week. Your brain fizzled with static. “Let me.”

You would let him do anything he wanted to you. Except pay.

“I’m, um, serious–” you started, but then Shouto’s hand curled all the way around yours, thumb smoothing over your knuckles, leaving a distinct streak of color across them. “Y/N,” he said, his voice going even lower, and he leaned in again, so that his face was scant inches from yours.

“Yes,” you replied automatically.

Shouto’s mouth quirked up, and his thumb smoothed across the back of your hand again. You would absolutely never forget the press of his skin over yours as long as you lived.

By the time you returned to yourself, Shouto had apparently managed to recollect his card, and also managed to herd you out of your chair and into the brisk air outside, where a car was waiting for Rei.

To your surprise, she leaned in and hugged you, a motherly hand reaching up to pet over your hair. Your heart swelled.

“I hope to see you again soon, Y/N,” she told you. “Make sure that Shouto brings you by, and we’ll have some of your tea together.”

You nodded, unable to help grinning at her. There was no denying she was quiet and a little mysterious, the way you’d thought Shouto was. But she was so deeply kind in exactly the same way Shouto was, and he was so much like her in his mannerisms, you couldn’t help but like her.

Shouto handed her into the car, like some sort of old fashioned coachman, and you gave him a little wave goodbye. “Thanks for lunch, Shouto. It was amazing—and I promise I will pay you back! I’ll think of a good spot for next time.”

A weird look passed over his face, and he stepped back onto the curb, gently pressing the car door closed behind him. “I’d planned to see you home,” he said.

He stepped a little closer, gazing down into your face. Your eyes trailed absently over the planes of his handsome face, the way his scar looked pinker in the winter sunlight, the edges raised and uneven. You fought down the urge to reach up and touch it, to see if that skin, too, would respond to your touch.

“Um, sure. That would be nice,” you said.

Shouto waved the car on, and you caught a glimpse of Rei smiling softly, waving back. You raised your hands, waving with both of them like an eager idiot.

As you did, Shouto’s hand came up and caught one of your own, the dark fabric of his gloves pressing into the backs of your fingers. You turned back to him, startled, only to see him looking down at your bare fingers pensively.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, snaring you.

“Would you perhaps have time for a detour,” he asked, fingers curling around your hand and shifting so that he was holding it between you two—actually, literally holding your hand.

Little fireworks went off in your brain, and a full marching band geared up for a parade down every single one of your synapses. Todoroki Shouto was holding your hand!

“Yes, anything you want,” you said a little breathlessly, cringing at how stupid you sounded.

Shouto didn’t seem to mind, just grasped your hand a little tighter. A little indent pressed at the corner of his mouth, and he pulled you into step beside him.

You flexed your fingers happily in his gentle grip, head spinning. And then you went with him, walking beside him in the afternoon sun.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki

[frodo-with-glasses]

Stupid Domestic Headcanons for the Bag End Household

(Yes I know this is AU just shut up and let me have this)

The Gamgee kids call Frodo “Uncle”

Sam initially tried teaching them to say “Mr. Frodo” all proper-like, because it’s the respectful way for folks like them to address a gentlehobbit

But the grown-ups—especially Merry and Pippin—would occasionally say “Uncle Frodo” as a joke, and the kids caught on to that started saying it non-ironically

To Sam’s mortification, Frodo encouraged this

By the fifth child Sam just gave up and let the “Uncle Frodo” thing stick

Frodo plays favorites

He will vehemently deny this. How DARE you insinuate he has a favorite Gamgee child, that’s preposterous, he couldn’t possibly choose just one, he loves them all equally and favoring one over the others would be like choosing a favorite from his own children and it’s Elanor

The first time he held her, she was one and a half hours old and extremely tiny—not tiny for a newborn, but tiny for anyone without much experience with newborns—and his brain did a speed-run of recontextualizing his entire life and realizing that the sacrifices that he made to destroy the Ring were exactly what made the world safe for this tiny, wrinkled, fragile little Hobbit baby to grow up happy and free and whole and he absolutely broke down crying

She’s been his favorite ever since

She hangs out in his study in her free time and talks about whatever is on her mind while he’s busy translating Elvish texts or whatever

She’ll tell him about her day—about the runaway sheep that she helped chase back into the neighbor’s pen or the embroidery sample she did that day or the neighbor boy down the lane whom she thinks is cute—and he’ll nod and hum in acknowledgment and ask small clarifying questions until she gets bored of talking and then she’ll ask “what are you doing?” and he’ll launch into a detailed academic lecture about history or geography or linguistics

She actually understands pretty well. Partly because she’s a bright student, and partly because he’s a good teacher and skilled at simplifying things so she understands them.

Elanor will randomly whip out a random factoid about ye olden Gondorian king while she’s potting flowers in the garden and Sam will immediately shoot a look at Frodo that’s both impressed and exasperated

On that note, Frodo takes it upon himself to see that any Gamgee child who is interested will know how to read

Rosie listens in on the lessons and learns along with her kids

She actually learned her letters towards the end of her first pregnancy; as soon as she got so big and tired that she spent more time moping around the house than helping Sam in the garden, Frodo took the opportunity to distract her with the alphabet

One of the first texts he used as a primer for Rosie was Bilbo’s “cow jumped over the moon” poem

Sam thought this was Very Funny

Frodo Jr. has an oliphaunt plushie that he carries around like a security blanket

He’s had it since he was a baby, when Rosie sewed the thing herself based on Sam’s descriptions

It’s been patched so many times it’s barely recognizable, but it’s still his “olly-fant”

He’s very nearly as obsessed with oliphaunts as his dad is

There is an entire wall in the front hallway that is used for tracking the kids’ heights

It was originally just a doorway, but then there started to be too many kids, and the notches in the doorframe got muddled and it was hard to tell whose mark was whose and now it is a wall

Sam’s sisters basically adopted Rosie as one of their own and get along like a house on fire

It’s a rare day that one of them doesn’t come over for tea and a bit of gossip and brings the cousins along for a play-date

Bag End is constantly full of the happy screams of hobbit children

Frodo has leaned to either deal with this or kick them all outside when he needs to concentrate

Frodo and Rosie were initially pretty awkward around one another

Frodo didn’t want to intrude on Sam’s new marriage, and Rosie didn’t know exactly how to address her husband’s tortured, melancholy soul-friend who happens to be a member of the gentry

But then Rosie managed to help calm Frodo down from one of his panic attacks (which Sam calls “fits”) while Sam was unavailable, which immediately broke the ice and cemented their friendship

Rosie has learned that whenever either one of her boys (read: Frodo and Sam) is being stubborn and unreasonable, the best course of action is to get the other one of her boys and have him come whip his best friend into shape

Frodo will give a long, calm, in-depth lecture about why Rosie is right and you really ought to listen closer to your wife, Samwise; Sam will just make sad eyes at Frodo until he agrees to eat or bathe or sleep or whatever he’s neglecting to do this time

The fact that the boys know she’s pitting them against each other doesn’t make it any less effective

Especially if she’s with child again; never has Frodo folded quicker and agreed to eat something sooner than when he’s getting sad puppy eyes from Sam and a very pregnant Rosie at the same time

Frodo sees Rosie as an extension of the life-debt he has to Sam and considers it his duty to ensure her safety and well-being, and this causes him to get very protective over her sometimes

Sam knows that Rosie can hold her own if someone says something untoward about her (likelier than not some gossip about her living with two male hobbits), but Frodo hasn’t yet got it into his head that Rosie can defend herself just fine and he will GO OFF if anyone so much as looks at her wrong

He also frets over her when she’s pregnant even more than Sam does

Again, this is not for lack of Sam’s attention, but because Frodo is an anxious worry-wort

Rosie sees Frodo as something between “distant older brother” or “weird uncle”

She thinks he’s very strange and eccentric, and—like having a funky-looking cat—that just makes her more fond of him

She’s heard enough of Sam and Frodo’s journey to piece together what happened, and because of it she is both in awe of Frodo and deeply saddened by the sacrifices he had to make; she considers it her own little service to Middle Earth to help make life comfortable and joyful and good for the two hobbits who saved her world

Because of his trauma, Frodo is prone to what Sam calls “fits” (aka panic attacks) and “moods” (aka depressive slumps), and Rosie has learned how to deal with both, and she teaches the older children how to help as soon as they’re old enough to understand

Elanor is her greatest helper; Frodo always seems to be able to muster a little smile for her, no matter how bad he’s feeling, even if he has to fake it

When Frodo is not in one of his “moods” (which tend to be worse around September through March), he is constantly working on recording his history of the War of the Ring and translating Elvish texts and corresponding back and forth with Aragorn in long letters to Gondor and secretly trying to write poems and songs to express his gratitude to Sam; he’s got reams and reams of the lattermost category, but never feels like he can get it quite right

But he’ll share his work with Sam if he’s at least 75% happy with it, and it always makes Sam cry

Journeyman is one of the first of those songs, and it was Sam’s favorite

Sam used to sing it to his kids at bedtime, and Frodo would hear his voice from the hall and get a little misty-eyed

Frodo’s favorite phrase, when he runs out of ways to say “thank you” to Sam, is “Rosie dear, come kiss your husband for me” because then he can just sit back and chuckle into his tea while Sam flushes up red like a tomato

Sometimes Legolas and Gimli drop in for a visit and all madness breaks loose

More infrequently, sometimes Aragorn comes to visit and quickly becomes a living jungle-gym for all the little Gamgees

But their favorite guest, of course, is Gandalf, who always shows up unexpected with sweets to distract all the little Hobbits from swarming him and hiding under his robes and wearing his hat

Frodo never marries and remains single as a pringle, and as happy as his health will allow, for the rest of his natural life

#frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #rosie gamgee #elanor gardener #frodo gardener #aragorn #legolas #gimli #gandalf #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #peregrin took #pippin #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #fig tree au #magnolia au #listen i have a LOT of FEELINGS— #reiterating my earlier tags here to say: #yes i know (now) that frodo left after only two years but come on!! #LET HIM BE THE BRUNO MADRIGAL OF BAG END DANGIT!! #if tolkien will not give me weird uncle frodo then i will do it myself

[firewoodwander]

Hi! Can I ask for 🐈‍⬛ with Rex/Tup?

Trick or treat prompts

Tup has another man sleeping in his bed.

Well. More accurately he has a lizard sleeping in his bed. But the lizard is only a lizard because the moon is full: by sunrise Rex will be sprawled out across the sheets, just like he has the morning after the last three moons.

Tup isn’t entirely sure why it’s him that Rex comes to. Dogma thinks it’s some animal instinct, like when he jokes about Tup attracting strays in the street. Tup does seem to have a way with the cats and dogs they meet out in town, or if they come across livestock on their walks, but does that extend to reptiles, too?

Unfortunately he’s never met any others before. All he knows is there’s a gecko snoozing on his pillow, except he’s also the captain of Tup’s swimming team.

Complicated.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Tup lunges for it before it rattles itself onto the floor.

The text is from Dogma.

Can geckos swim? He asks.

Another message comes through before Tup can even think about responding.

Results inconclusive it reads, with an attached screenshot of an internet search results page full of contradictory text previews.

-> We are not experimenting with Rex, Tup responds immediately. Better to get in before Dogma decides to barge in with a tub of water and test it out.

:|

Tup looks up from Dogma’s disgruntled emote when he hears a small scuffle. Rex is sitting on Tup’s second pillow now and staring at him, and maybe it’s not his fault he doesn’t have any eyelids, but the lack of blinking is a little unsettling.

“Hey,” Tup says. “Good nap?” He reaches back to his desk to retrieve a tub of chopped up fruit. “Want a snack?”

Rex crawls his sticky feet onto the back of Tup’s arm while Tup offers him tiny cubes of apricot and banana, squashing them between his fingers so Rex can eat.

Dogma refused to let Tup bring any insects into the house. Tup wasn’t going to—wouldn’t it be a bit presumptuous? But they always have fruit around, so Dogma happily looked up Rex’s species and what he could ingest to placate Tup’s worries about accidentally starving their helpless friend.

You know, usually people negotiate before they get into pet kink stuff, Dogma carries on.

-> Stfu

Date him already

-> Sure, it’s just that easy

You’re the one making it difficult

-> Dogmaaa

Just saying.

Sheesh. As if he has room to talk. At least arguing with Dogma is always fun, even if he won’t leave the topic of Tup’s unfortunate crush alone.

…

Next thing Tup knows he’s just waking up from a sleep he doesn’t remember. His neck is at an angle that’s a little awkward, but since he doesn’t actually know how he got into bed last night, it could be worse. He also forgot to close his blinds—the sun is warm on his back and annoying behind his eyelids, but if he just ignores it a little harder…

Something else on his bed shifts. Tup’s eyes snap open and holy shit, oh no, ohhhh no. He absolutely forgot. This is why he sleeps on the sofa these nights, if he even sleeps at all.

“Hey,” Rex says. Voice rough. Smile soft and blinking sleepily. Shirtless. Blonde hair and warm skin and tattoos all glowing in the morning light.

Holy shit.

“Hey,” Tup croaks. He doesn’t want to move. If he stays still enough maybe nothing will happen and he’ll go back to sleep and then wake up and it’ll all be normal. No naked swim captains. In his bed.

A light touch to his shin under the covers makes him jump. Rex smiles a little sheepishly but he doesn’t pull away, ankle still nudging up against Tup’s leg, and Tup is holding his breath.

“Thanks for letting me crash here again,” Rex tells him, entirely, endearingly sincere. He levers himself onto his elbow, and the duvet falls away; Tup looks at a point somewhere over his shoulder. “I swear I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine, all good.” Tup swallows and tries not to wince at himself. “You’re welcome.”

Rex’s smile twitches. “Gonna use the bathroom…”

Tup closes his eyes as Rex walks away. Torture. This is just a test sent by all the gods that chose him to laugh at today. He can hear Rex moving around the bathroom, probably still naked.

He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Somehow, the cracked, yellowing paint seems to bolster his resolve.

Tup gets up, folds back the covers and picks up a spare set of sweats as he heads for the bathroom door. Breakfast would be a good start. Cute for a date, too, if he can convince Rex to go down to that place on the end of the high street.

As Dogma says—the worst he can say is no.

#rex/tup #cloneshipping #writing tag #trick or treat prompts

[starspangled-lemonpie]

Random Timbern headcanons!!

I came up with these out of nowhere so pls bear with me. Also, I haven't been able to read any full issues of Tim Drake: Robin so if there's something off, I am sorry. Anyways ENJOY!! Also, I call Bernard, Bernie.

They have stay-in date nights every month. Like a very specific day of the week or of the month. For example, every 7th of the month or every Friday, they stay in either watching movies, cooking, gaming or cuddling. or all of these together.

Bernard "I talk so f*cking much about my interests/conspiracy theories and never shut up" Dowd and Tim "I never get tired of my bf's rambling. I really like his voice" Drake.

no matter how cliche this might be after Bernie and Bruce met for the first time, Bruce pulled out pics of tiny Tim doing random things for Bernie to see. Bernard loves them. Tim only tolerates this because they make his bf happy.

Tim is Bernie's official taste tester. And despite Bernie requesting Tim to be very honest ( and he is!!! He understands that constructive criticism is very important for his bf) he can't bring himself to criticize something sometimes.

(FYI: It's a personal headcanon of mine that Tim is either half or a quarter Japanese. I have no reason for this but pure projection and self-indulgence) Tim and Bernie are on a trip to Japan and after seeing Bernard wearing a yukata for the first time, Tim was speechless. So he texts Dick saying he had no idea something so simple would make him so happy. Dick just said there is something really special about your S/O embracing your culture (he had experience with a certain redhead (interpret this as you see fit) embracing his culture so he's happy his baby bro got to experience that too.)

Tim doesn't really say "I love you" often. He does, however, show it VERY OFTEN.

Bernie, on the other hand, says it every time he gets the chance to. This is simply because he feels that he needs to make sure Tim heard him say it. His parents never really said "I love you" to him and due to the nature of their relationship, especially now with their actions, Bernie thinks it's important to vocalise this kind of thing and make sure the receiving side of the sentence knows.

The first time Bernie wore Robin merch in front of Tim, he kept looking at his bf to see if the black-haired boy would have any reaction. Timmy did, but he did it in the bathroom so that Bernie wouldn't see.

One time Tim was so sleep-deprived that while scrolling through Tiktok he said "wow my fyp is really calling me single in 17 different languages today." Bernie just looked at him and said "Wtf? You're not single. You're with me." Timmy just answered "Nah. You're way too pretty and smart for me." Bernie loves his stupid yet incredibly smart bf.

I may come up with more later. but yeah. hope y'all liked them!!

#timbern #tim drake #tim drake x bernard dowd #td:r #bernard dowd #batfam #batfamily #just really need the fluff #these two have been keeping me sane ngl #I love their relationship

[what-even-is-thiss]

When reading stuff from the far past you’re going to come across some things that we these days almost universally see as Bad.

Thing is though, you can’t judge these past people by the same standards you would a modern person.

It’s difficult to wrap your head around sometimes, but your morals, no matter what they are, aren’t somehow instinctual and inherent to the human experience.

It’s fine to point out something in an old text that’s Bad by todays standards. It’s also important to recognize that it was a different time.

There’s no clear cut answer to how we should treat old texts from any culture. All throughout history you’ll find justifications for slavery, anti-semitism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, and any other form of bigotry you can find.

There’s no culture throughout all of history that is entirely Good or entirely Bad. It’s important to engage critically with the things you read, but something being worthy of criticism does not mean it should be tossed out entirely.

Things like the odyssey, the romance of the three kingdoms, Shakuntala, journey to the west, are all classic pieces of literature that’ve had a massive impact on literature as a whole worldwide. All of these works are stuffed full of things that modern audiences could never accept in something written today. It’s important to recognize that, but it’s also stupid to think you can just throw these things away. They’re an important part of our history as different cultures and as a worldwide human species.

We all of us come from a never ending line of imperfect humans. The appeal to ancient wisdom is absolutely a fallacy that’s easy to fall for. The idea that the ancients must’ve been right about everything. That there were good cultures and bad cultures and the good ones knew things we don’t.

The reality is, our ancestors were just as stupid as we are and our current morals, standards, and societal norms come from the tiny changes all of them have made over and over again over the past 200,000 years.

So the next time you’re reading something from a long time ago, proceed with caution. There’s no right way to react to it, but at least try to allow some nuance in.