hi i wrote a crack fic in which roman is pauls father and i accidently took it way too seriously so enjoy
hi i wrote a crack fic in which roman is pauls father and i accidently took it way too seriously so enjoy
aight so here i am, studying the symptoms and possible complications following smoke inhalation caused by wildfires, and all I can think about are ideas for this Shouto-centric, recovery-after-the-war angst fic. Like I’m just reading with this BGM of “no fun for you, just pain” x)
guess time will tell if I ever write this aggressively-protective-Bakugou & mute-Shouto-with-pneumonia focused friendship fic...
💥These Ties That Bind spoilers💥
I love when someone is reading TTTB and they're in the early chapters and they comment "I can't wait till Bucky and Reader finally meet!"
And I'm just like....👀 please don't hate meee
Faint, almost muffled. A blur of peach and green-colored eyes. The Master of Chaldea struggled to piece it.
It was all too familiar, but her mind was hazy from the impact she took from Daybit’s Grand Servant.
Her breathing was labored, each exhale was a toll to her mounting injuries. However muddled her vision was or how much blood leaked from the blow to her head, the voice once again spoke with startlingly clear familiarity.
“Let’s face them together, Ritsuka-chan.”
And if she could envision it, a gloved hand was offered kindly towards her.
An encouraging smile was accompanied with it.
Her breath seized in her throat but she had focused once more with burning determination renewed in her eyes.
Fujimaru Ritsuka stood up as the Grand Berserker stalked towards her.
A deep breath before she raises her hand in the air and declares with all her might—
“By my Command Spell!”
Fic can be found HERE. It’s a Hisoka x fem!reader centric fic where I just kinda dump the reader into the canon timeline without disturbing canon. I also kinda accidentally made it a love triangle with Chrollo, oops.
Anyway, enjoy my distress below the cut.
“He’s the kind of man I dream about tbh...”
two minutes later
“I think I need to talk to my therapist.”
“Horny discount ronald mcdonald is comin out of the oven hot and ready soon and I don’t think anyone asked for this.“
“I’m going through the stages of grief rn over Hisoka. I’m currently in the bargaining phase with God, but I’m pretty sure he’s just done with my shit.”
“Chrollo would be SO disappointed right now.”
“I have it in my storyboard that Hisoka gets naked and I imagine everything he does is like graceful and vaguely obscene but I’m sitting here thinking to myself ‘how am I going to describe him removing his animal balloon waist trainer sexily?????’ this is already a disaster.”
you, the reader: i would like to do a good thing and heal chrollo also you: fuck now he's horny and im horny but i dont wanna fuck him so we're gonna do some dry humping and everything BUT penetration
“i feel it would be vry rude of the reader to let hisoka fingerbang them within hearing distance of the secondary love interest.”
“Oh no, I can feel Chrollo waiting around the corner with a baseball bat. I’ve made a mistake.”
“Just because I can take them both at once doesn’t mean I should.”
“Listen grief makes you do weird things like sleep with the dude who just murdered the man you’re in love with.”
9-1-1, Buck & Christopher
They've been quietly working on Christopher's science project when the boy sighs. Buck looks at him. Waits.
"Dad and Ana broke up."
Ah, yes. Somehow, Buck thinks he should've seen this conversation coming. "Yeah," he says, as gently as he can. "I'm guessing you're sad about that."
Chris shrugs, but he doesn't look at Buck. "Dad told me why. Said he wasn't really happy, though he tried to be."
Buck is actually quite proud of Eddie for being honest, with himself and with Chris. "Happiness isn't something you can force."
Chris nods. Looks up. "It's okay. We still have you."
teaser blurb: spiritual healing || wandanat (nsfw)
This fic’s title may or may not change. We shall see.
Wanda Maximoff watched as you and Natasha practiced in the ring, your sweat evident and glistening across your barely covered torso. While your opponent and fellow Avenger was wearing proper athletic wear, you were sporting a pair of sweatpants that hugged your hips perfectly, and a sports bra.
Just the sight of you in those clothes, your skin shining underneath the lights like it was, had Wanda crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the ache. The same ache that had become increasingly obvious to her the longer she stared at you and her girlfriend.
Natasha Romanoff was determined to win, but every time her eyes glanced at your muscles for just a second too long, every time she saw the way your veins would twitch and show through your skin, it threw her off. The redhead was just as sweaty as you were, but it was becoming more and more evident to her that it was no longer just the physical activity causing her to be.
Her face was flushed, her skin felt hot, she had beads of sweat all along the uncovered areas of her body–that was all bad enough. But when you both called a truce, and she watched you bend over to grab a towel, your breasts pushing up against the top of your sports bra–suddenly her Sokovian girlfriend was not the only one pressing her legs together.
“Y-You-” Natasha coughed, clearing her throat when her voice came out shaky as her gazing eyes moved from your chest to your ass. As baggy as they were, your sweatpants still somehow managed to show off one of the Russian’s favorite parts of your body.
But as much as she loved your ass, and as much as she loved your breasts–as much as she wanted to see them without the barrier of the fabric that hid them from her view, it was your muscles and your strength that really left her breathless.
There was seldom a time during training with you when Natasha Romanoff didn’t look at them, or think about them, or imagine how easily it would be for you to just lift her off of the ground or slam her against the wall and–
Again, the former assassin cleared her throat, now squeezing her thighs even tighter together. You caught onto her actions, but made your realization of them go unnoticed by your teammate. “You look amazing today. I mean, your posture. You um, great job, Y/N.”
Me: yeah I'm not watching anymore
"omg the new episode is Marichat"
This is a birthday present for @thischachamaru. Happy birthday! A little post-mugen train rentan for the soul, featuring ghost!Rengoku
He swung his sword.
I have to work harder.
Tanjiro swung his sword again. He had done it a thousand times, but he knew he needed to do it a thousand more.
His arms ached as he lifted his sword and did it again. He was improving, but he wasn’t improving enough.
Rengoku had died, and if Tanjiro had been faster; better, he could’ve possibly saved him. At the least, he could have slaughtered the demon that killed him.
It’s not enough. Harder. More. I have to work harder!
He paused to take a trembling breath and looked over at his belongings. He didn’t take much when he traveled. His haori; food that would fit in his pockets; Nezuko, of course.
And then Rengoku’s sword hilt. He kept it with him always.
As he stood there, panting, an unexpected wave of grief overtook him. His lower lip trembled, his eyes watering.
This was no time for tears. He couldn’t; wouldn’t cry.
So instead, he screamed.
Tanjiro covered his face with his hands and screamed up at the sky. It was all noise—angry, heartbroken, loud noise. No one was around, so it didn’t matter.
Afterwards, Tanjiro stood there for several minutes, breathing and shaking. He knew that if he trained anymore, he might do serious damage.
But he should be able to. He should’ve been able to keep going. Rengoku would’ve kept going.
Something brushed his arm and Tanjiro jerked it away, but there was nothing there. He swept his hand over his exposed skin, assuming it must have been a hair or a leaf.
I’m exhausted, he thought. I’m so tired. But I have to keep going.
When he tried to lift his sword, though, his body protested the whole way. He couldn’t even get it past his shoulders.
Tanjiro wanted to let out another scream. Instead, he threw his sword to the side, so angry with himself just then that he couldn’t stand to look at it. He fell to his knees and left another cry, pounding his fist into the dirt hard. His knuckles grounded hard, ignoring his pained and aching body until it made the decision for him.
Exhaustion weighd him down. Just then, it was as though an invisible force pulled at him, encouraging him to lie back. Tanjiro was trembling too hard to do anything useful, so he let himself collapse onto his back and stared up at the sky.
I have to…
His eyes slipped closed. Sleeping on the ground was never comfortable when it was the only option available, but in that moment, it felt like he was lying on something comfortable and warm.
“Young Kamado, it’s good to see you!”
Tanjiro wrenched his eyes open, startled.
Rengoku was staring down at him, smiling.
“My my, but you’ve been working hard! I’ve been trying to reach you, you know!”
Tanjiro had no words. He knew that his family watched over him at times, aware in a way that he rarely spoke about out loud, but it had never been this clear.
His mouth filled with words, his tongue heavy with the weight of all that he wanted to say, but couldn’t.
“Thank you for cherishing my sword hilt all this time. Watching you grow into your role as a slayer has truly been a pleasure. But!”
He reached down and pressed his fingertip to the center of Tanjiro’s forehead.
“This body of yours is just as important as getting strong. If you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t make it very far. Push yourself—always push yourself! Find your limit, and push past it! But be aware when enough is enough.”
“Rengoku, I… I…”
I miss you.
Rengoku’s smile that time was a little sad.
“I know you will become someone who can save others, someone even greater than me. I believe that wholeheartedly!”
He dropped to a crouch, and then moved his finger away from Tanjiro’s forehead and replaced it with his lips.
“I’ll be watching,” he murmured, low and warm.
The gentle pressure and warmth seeped into Tanjiro’s skin until he jolted upright, torn from his sleep by Nezuko’s nails digging into his thigh.
I will, he thought, as his tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. I will, Kyojuro!
The Doctor and Rose are celebrating their daughter's first birthday, but they don't expect the festivities to reawaken fears the Doctor had thought buried. Rose does her best to help him.
Tags: fluff and angst, making out, stress baking, marriage, romance, prompt: domestics, tentoo x rose
For the first time in days, it was not the cries of her teething daughter that woke Rose. She came to consciousness slowly and then suddenly all at once, registering the smell of something burning. Something awful burning.
Rose sprung up in bed, quickly throwing the covers off of her and throwing her legs over the side. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, his pillow having lost his impressions and the sheets having gone cold, and she knew immediately that he was the source of the smell. Why the bloody hell was he cooking at the crack of dawn?
Making her way towards the kitchen, exactly what the Doctor was burning became more obvious. Vanilla extract and… bananas. Of course. The smell of overdone sugar struck Rose so strongly it made her grimace.
Smoke fumed out of the oven while the Doctor stood over a charred tin, desperately blowing on it and waving his hands over it to cool it down. He’d stolen her favorite pink apron to wear, now slathered in a disgusting paste she didn’t want to ask about, and his face was streaked with flour (Rose doubted he was even aware, given his unconscious habit of dragging his hands down his face when he was stressed). Dirty bowls were piled high in the sink and the dishwasher was making a distressed choking sound. Her entire kitchen was one horrific mess.
The exhausted, rational part of her mind should have been furious.
Despite herself, Rose burst out laughing.
The Doctor’s head shot up at the sound of her, eyes wide and mournful. “Rooooose,” he moaned dramatically. “The oven’s being rude again.”
Continue reading on Ao3.
I like to think of the relationships in Psychonauts with like Pacific Rim drift compatibility but like with psychic powers. I have not dive deep into PR content but I do know that that concept is cool as all hell.
Like Sasha and Milla obviously got theirs going, Bob and Helmut definitely would too once reunited. Psychic 7 all got varying relationships with each other but definitely formed a very important connection. Psychonauts interns/junior agents/agents getting to make these bonds for even more successful missions just like the casino mission and end game.
Combining their powers into delivering a very entrancing psychic display of cooperation and understanding between each other.
Speaking of, here’s a fic rec I am reminded of with Sasha and Milla - The Partner Program by hartstrings in ao3
love editing a chapter of a fic like i'm preparing for my own execution, because i already know my readers are going to be SO mad at me
gp!scott doodle :D
read the fic here!!
Fandom: Psychonauts Pairing: Helmut/Bob Rating: G Summary: There's no reason the reunion needs to wait until Grulovia! What are psychoportals for if not to allow a man to hold his husband, even if it's only in the mind?
-AO3 link in the notes!-
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Helmut said. “Very festive.”
Bob blinked a few times.
Flowers had bloomed from every vine that wrapped around the struts of the greenhouse. They dangled from the ceiling and up the walls. The distillery was almost completely hidden beneath a cascade of lilacs, the bunches of tiny purple flowers almost overpowering the scent of alcohol.
Bob hadn’t asked them to do it. But then, he hadn’t asked them to get the kid to help him either.
Carefully he sat Helmut down on the floor and shut the door behind him. After a few seconds, the ball jerked forward and began to trundle across the floor, occasionally bonking into furniture.
“Don’t think I don’t see those mushrooms though.”
“If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.”
“Their presence bothers me. It’s harshing my groove.” He ran into a chair leg with a hollow clunk. “Ow.”
“Careful,” Bob said, absentmindedly, as he dug through his beard for the tools he’d stuck in there, hanging them in their hooks on his work bench. At Helmut’s wordless grumble, he added “Otto says you should get the hang of it in a day or so.”
“I think he gave me a defective one. This stupid thing handles like a sack of cement.”
“And what does that make you, exactly?”
“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” With some difficulty, Helmut maneuvered the ball back around and began to roll towards Bob’s ankles, picking up speed.
Bob waited until Helmut was an inch or so away, and lifted his foot. Helmut, unable to fight his own momentum, shot past Bob and into the dark space beneath a low table bearing an oversized spider plant.
Smiling, Bob approached the table and leaned down, peering into the shadows.
“So, how’d that work out for you?”
“Treachery,” Helmut said, flatly. “Betrayal.”
Bob started to laugh, a deep laugh he felt all the way through his chest. He hadn’t laughed like that since Helmut had died. It felt...good.
“Unbelievable. Fate has stuck me in an oversized hamsterball and do I get sympathy? Understanding? Offers of assistance?”
“Oh, you drama queen,” Bob said, still grinning. The spider plant swung a few of its dangling tendrils under the table and batted Helmut back out and into Bob’s hands.
“No!” Helmut went on, tone growing more melodramatic with every word. “Mockery! Laughter! You jest at my misfortune; my own husband!”
Bob lifted the brain ball to eye level, though Helmut didn’t have eyes at the moment.
“You,” he said, “are ridiculous.”
“It’s nice to hear you laugh,” Helmut said, warmly.
“Feels nice to laugh,” Bob replied.
“We need to hurry up and get my body back, because I don’t know how long I can take not being able to hold you.”
The metaphorical lightbulb went off over Bob’s head.
“Wait here,” he said, setting Helmut down on the workbench and hurrying over to a cabinet.
“Wh- hey! Don’t leave me up here! I’m gonna fall off!”
“You’ll be fine,” Bob said, not really listening.
“What are you even doing over there?”
“Hang on a second,” Bob said. “I know it’s here somewhere, I just don’t know what I did with the damn thing…”
“Did with what? Bobby!”
Bob abandoned the cabinet and moved to the drawers, pulling them open and rifling frantically through twenty years of accumulated junk. He didn’t want to tell Helmut until he found it; didn’t want to get his hopes up if--
“Aha!” Bob’s hand closed around a small rectangle of wood. Feeling a little breathless, he held up his psycho-portal triumphantly.
“Bobby you’re a genius,” Helmut said excitedly, rolling back and forth along the table. Then he stopped, and made a noise as if he was clearing the throat he didn’t currently have. “So,” he said, in a suave sort of voice, “my place or yours?”
Bob chuckled and scooped up the brain ball, settling down on the bed.
“Do you need a minute to clean up? Hide the dirty laundry, wash the dishes?”
“I promise you’ve seen way worse.”
“I believe it,” Bob muttered. He told himself it was only excitement that was making his hands tremble as he opened the lid of the ball. “Ready?”
Bob dropped the psycho-portal.
For a moment, everything was bright and loud--colors and music and people cheering and gasoline and fried food and someone shouting his name--and then it was dark. Not total darkness, though. It was a place of stars, with only the music of the stars to be heard.
Bob shook his head, disorientated twice over by the sudden changes.
“Sorry,” said a voice behind him. “I thought this might be a little more appropriate for a dramatic reunion.”
And there he was. The face Bob thought he’d never see again outside of dreams or nightmares; the green eyes that had haunted him for decades staring down at him with a rare solemnity.
They didn’t speak. Here, now, words were small and pale and hopelessly inadequate. What could be said? What words could possibly hope to put true voice to feelings as deep and dark as these?
Helmut’s grip was so tight Bob thought his spine might crack if he wasn’t currently a mental projection. Bob began to tremble, and then to shake, and then he buried his face in his husband’s shoulder.
“At least promise me they’re happy tears,” Helmut said, his own voice thick. Bob choked out something that might have been halfway to a laugh and nodded shortly. “Alright then.”
It took a few minutes to get himself under control but at last Bob managed to tilt his face up to look at Helmut again.
The kiss was even better than the hug, but sure enough, the tears came again.
“Jeez, Bobby, don’t tell me I’m that out of practice,” Helmut said, brushing them away. His own eyes were overbright, glittering in the starlight.
“Hah. No, it’s not that, I just…” Bob fell silent as words failed again.
“I know,” Helmut said. “I know. Me too.”
The second kiss lingered as they held on tight, both feeling as if they were the only people in the universe.
And to each other, in that moment, they were.
Bob became aware of the world shifting around them, of silence being replaced by quiet, touched by the sound of running water and a soft breeze through long grass. When he raised his head, he found they were no longer surrounded by stars. He recognized the place, for all it had the dreamy quality of a mindscape.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” Bob managed to say, his voice shaking just a little, but his smile strong.
“Thought it might be nice to take a trip down memory lane,” Helmut said. “You know, now that I can do that again.”
They settled on the vibrant red grass, arms still tight around each other, watching water like liquid galaxies slide by.
It wasn’t exactly right. Everything had the slightly vague, soft feeling of the mental world. Senses were off, ever so slightly, even in Helmut’s mind, when the man felt the world so closely. Helmut was not as warm as Bob remembered him, his hands were missing their calluses, and neither of them was breathing.
But it was enough. To have Helmut’s arms around him, to hear his voice, to know that he was there and that when Bob opened his eyes in the real world, Helmut would still be there...
It was more than enough.
“Tomorrow, if you want, we can come out here for real,” Bob said. “It’s not quite the same as it used to be, but it’s still a good view.”
“Didn’t Raz say it was a tourist trap now?”
“Nah,” Bob said, “That’s on the other side of the gulch.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to share our spot. Hey--wait, wasn’t the other side of the gulch where you and Otto…?”
“Yup,” Bob said, grimly. “You can get a lovely view of the diner and a parking lot from up there now. Great place to muse on the workings of the universe.”
“My condolences,” Helmut said, gravely. “But let’s be real, you two were never musing on anything. You were just arguing.”
“We were doing both. We were multitasking.”
Helmut laughed, and it was such a wonderful sound that Bob had to look up at him and see that smile again. It was exactly as wonderful as Bob remembered it being.
“I love you,” he said. Words he never thought he’d be able to say again. Helmut smiled, and though his tone was joking, his eyes were an endless ocean of sincerity.
“Huh, no kidding, I love you too. How wild is that?”
“Wild,” Bob agreed, and pulled him down for another kiss.
“Is this going to happen every time I kiss you from now on?” Helmut asked, wiping a tear from Bob’s cheek.
“Dunno,” Bob said. “I think we’re going to need to keep trying and see.”
“Oh well if you insist.”
A small thing that I always found pretty amusing with Cavendish and Dakota : When they’re in a serious situation, talking with several people and divulging important information, instead of looking at the entire group while giving said important information, they have a tendency to just look at each other, as if the others weren’t there. Or at least, if they look at the group, they end up glancing at each other at some point.
In a way, I guess it kinds of shows just how used to work with each other they are. I mean, if it’s always the two of them alone while on mission, then of course they will look at each other when talking important matters.
This is also something we find in the way they talk. Overall, if you look at their dialogues, they don’t use each other’s names that much and instead use “you”, including with other people around. Like for example you have the ending of “Missing Milo”, during the car chase scene. When Dakota reaches outside to get a snack, Cavendish doesn’t say his name when telling him to close the window, so the kids might have turned their heads towards him to see what he was talking about.
On that same note, there’s also every scene in their “apartment”. I’m pretty sure the ending of “Abducting Murphy’s Law” is the only moment when one of them uses the other’s name indoors (with Dakota saying “Cavendish” a few times). But other than that, when in private, they just use “you”, which obviously makes sense given that it’s just the two of them here. But at the same time, it can show how used they are to be around each other.
Then there’s also the first time we meet them in “The Doctor Zone Files”, I think all of “Murphy’s Lard” except for the very end, possibly same for “The Substitute” (it’s been a while since I’ve seen this one), most of “Perchance to Sleepwalk” and the halloween special (at least I think for that second one ?), “A World Without Milo” etc... And yeah I don’t mention any episodes from season 2 because I haven’t rewatched them enough to remember how they talk, though I’m pretty sure “Lady Krillers” might be another good example. And “Abducting Murphy’s Law” in general too, if you remove all the times Dakota calls out for Cavendish in frustration.
Though, my favorite example of “Cavendish and Dakota forgetting there are other people around” has to be the ice-cream moment in “Missing Milo”. This moment is actually what made me realize how focused these two can be with each other during important dialogue, because a lot of people used this scene as an example of Dakota being a dad towards Milo (*cough* Dadkota *cough*) and when I first discovered the fandom I was always like “but isn’t Dakota asking Cavendish though ? I mean, Cavendish’s the one who answers his question.”. And the thing is, if you look at Dakota’s eyes, he does look at Milo when asking “You want one ?”, meaning that he did intend to give one to the kid.
But because Cavendish is so used to him and Dakota being alone, he assumes that Dakota is talking to him instead.
(dat pose tho)
In the same way, there’s also the S2 finale. When Cavendish complains about the planet but then gets motivated to save it, he addresses Dakota specifically.
Idk, it’s just a pretty amusing thing. And in a way, it shows just how long these two must have worked together and how used to each other’s presence when nobody else is around they became.
(Side note but the moment in the boat from “Fungus Among Us” is actually pretty sweet depending on how you read it because in that moment, Cavendish is starting to give up due to the circumstances. So maybe he’s looking at Dakota because he’s seeking comfort. Like, maybe 1. it makes him feel better to vent his doubts to Dakota 2. he hopes Dakota would give a few encouraging words or 3. seeing Dakota being there comforts him a little because it reminds him that he’s not truly alone or something like that.
On the other hand tho the moment from the crossover is pretty funny with Dakota literally facing away from the people he’s giving information to just so that he can look at Cavendish.
And in the S2 finale, the fact that Dakota looks at Cavendish while saying “us” about the ship makes it look like he’s talking about just the two of them if you don’t have the full context.)