As someone that was obsessed with ANE in 2014 it deeply saddens me that the fandom never accepted bonfire as the ship name 😔
“I always found it a curious thing in these Nordic barrows, the dead are so often kept in a peculiar fashion,” Alrek commented.
“How’s that, lad?” Tolfdir still hadn’t taken his eyes off the engravings.
“In most crypts across Tamriel, the dead are kept together in a large room. It would make it easier for those tending to the grounds to care for the bodies.” Alrek walked up to a coffin, still sealed. “Yet many Nordic barrows line the halls with the dead, like guardians.”
Tolfdir shrugged. “We are warned away from barrows, old ones especially, because of draugr.”
“And that’s the peculiar thing — I know the dead so often walk in crypts and barrows, but who counts for it ahead of time? Aunt Margerie coming back to life isn’t something anyone plans for, and yet the Nords seem to almost expect their ancestors to one day roam these halls.”
READ IT NOW ON AO3
Summary: Between balancing her studies, social life, and family, attending university was already hard enough for Korra. Adding a whirlwind and fiery romance with a rich omega was the last thing on her mind, but when she meets Asami Sato in the library one night, her whole life changes.
15+ for graphic descriptions of violence, blood, and gore
can be read as slash or platonic
“SHUT UP DEKU! OH MY GOD, CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?!”
The common room goes silent.
“Woah, Bakubro, he just asked if you were busy,” Kirishima chuckles nervously.
Katsuki looks over to Deku who, as expected, already has tears welling in his eyes.
“Shitty crybaby, of course I’m busy can’t you fuckin’ see? Go bother someone who cares.”
Deku sniffles like the pathetic little child that he is, and nods, “Ok Kacchan.”
“Fuckin’ annoying ass-” Katsuki mutters, ignoring the glares as he stomps out of the room. Taking the stairs two at a time before slamming the door shut behind him, imagining the flinches of his classmates as he does so.
Fuck that fucking nerd, always looking down at him. Asking him for help on math of all things, when he fuckin’ knows that’s Katsuki’s worst subject. Fuck him.
The little shit shouldn’t even be here, he’s not on Katsuki’s level. Just gonna get himself killed.
After a few minutes of grumbling into his pillow, there’s a knock at Katsuki’s door, followed by a meek, “Blasty?”
He groans dramatically and flops over onto his back, propelling himself up with a few controlled explosions.
“Fuckin’ what-” He swings the door open and comes face to face with the entire idiot squad.
Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari all stand in front of him, Sero nervously wringing his hands, Kaminari avoiding eye contact, and Kirishima giving him a look.
Mina steps to the front of them, patting Kirishima’s shoulder as she does so.
“Blasty, you really gotta stop.” She stares him straight in the eyes, not backing down no matter how hard he glares.
“Stop fuckin’ what.”
Kirishima places a hand on Mina’s chest, stalling her step forward into Katsuki’s space. “You know what, Bakugo.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Oh please, like the little shit can’t handle some yelling. I’ve seen discount hot topic make his ears bleed-”
“This isn’t about Jirou. This is about you. You need to sort your shit out.” Sero’s frowning, a rare sight.
“Oh?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, “Or what?”
There’s a tense silence before Kaminari sniffs. “Or- or we won’t be your friends anymore!!” He stutters, bottom lip wobbling.
The rest of the group nods, one by one giving him a last glance.
Katsuki stands there for a few minutes, mainly thinking, but also fuming
How dare they treat him like that, like trash. He’s not trash, and he’s not the bad guy. He’s just trying to save Deku before it’s too late. Stupid idiot won’t last a day in the hero business, even with his new freak quirk. All it’s good for is hurting the nerd.
“Stupid Deku and his stupid protection squad, fuckin’ blind idiots.” He grumbles, slamming the door and returning to his lair.
He changes his clothes, resigning himself to finishing his weekend at the gym instead of on next week’s homework.
Bakugo stomps through the common room on the way to their practice room, a few of his classmates shoot him glares but he’s ignored for the most part. Something noticeably purposeful since he’s not exactly being quiet. Even Kirishima refuses to acknowledge his presence.
Yeah, that hurts.
He runs for two hours, lifts for one, and finishes with core for thirty minutes before his post-workout cooldown ritual. Thoroughly satiated and tired to the bone, he heads back to his dorm. Ignored this way too, he doesn’t bother saying goodnight to anyone. Not that he would usually. Not that he misses Ashido’s “Night blasty!!” on his way up the stairs.
He doesn’t give a shit.
He scrubs at his body with his last bits of energy and brushes his teeth half dead on his feet. Exhausted, he flops down on his bed and passes out almost immediately.
Katsuki lunges toward Shigaraki, whose hand barely grazes Izuku’s neck.
Izuku? When did he ever call the nerd something other than-
“DEKU!!!” Oh, he was the one screaming. He blasts himself forward and pushes Izuku out of the way, his dusted skin flaking off into the breeze as green hair skids to a stop on the ground below.
“Damn BRAT-” Shigaraki mutters, angrily scrunching his hand in mid-air before turning his attention to Katsuki. “YOU.” He points a cracked, pointed finger at Katsuki.
“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it old man?” He snorts, preparing his arms to blast again, he can feel the resistance from his last jump.
“You saved the little shit,” Shigaraki mutters to himself, nails dragging roughly down his neck, “must have a relationship, must be close to my enemy. Must die-”
Katsuki raises his hand, palms crackling in defiance, but he’s geared to go anyway.
“Fuck goddamnit!” His one fucking chance to get a drop on the guy and he’s out of juice? Fucking really?!
He’s so caught up in his fury he doesn’t notice the mad glint in the enemy’s eye. The way he smiles brokenly, bloody tongue barely peeking out.
“Poor little hero.” He mutters.
Katsuki jerks his head up just in time to see five fingers inches away from his face.
Well, this was fun.
“KATSUKI-” There’s pressure on his side and he falls, belatedly realizing he was pushed out of the way.
He looks hits the ground hard, hearing the reverberated snap of his ankle as it breaks.
“FALL HERO!! FALL BEFORE ME! YOUR NEW GO-”
Shigaraki falls to the ground as Todoroki whacks him over the head with a piece of rebar.
HIs normally stoic expression is frantic, he’s got fresh tears streaking down his face, and his forehead is covered in dried blood.
He tears his eyes away from the downed villain as Kirishima comes to cuff him, and screams in anguish at the sight of Izuku- Something Katsuki is still trying to wrap his head around.
A startled, almost pained sound escapes Katsuki as he half limps, half runs towards his best friend.
Izuku has long since crumbled to his knees, clutching what remains of the left side of his face. Still slowly crumbling away. Blood pours down his arm and neck, making it difficult to see, but the sight of his eye frantically widening as Katsuki sits next to him is enough.
He removes his hand and sobs, throwing himself onto Katsuki.
“Eih- hgo-” He chokes, blood soaking Katsuki’s own suit as he rocks them both.
“Shh, it’s okay, Izuku.” He whispers, making eye contact with a sobbing Todoroki, who nods in approval.
“Izuku you’re gonna be fine.” The shock has yet to remove itself from Katsuki’s voice, and his words are filled with cracks and sobs, but he hopes it’s what Izuku needs.
“Aa- aah” Izuku’s broken kacchan followed by a fresh flow of blood down Katuski’s neck.
“I love you, Izuku. It’s gonna be alright.”
Izuku whimpers, clutching onto the blond’s neck for dear life.
And then he goes limp.
Katsuki’s eyes bug out, and he pulls Izuku arm’s length away. The gruesome sight that greets him is one he’ll never forget.
Izuku’s left eye hangs loosely down the side of his mangled cheekbone and jaw. Katsuki can see teeth starting to crumble as the decay works its way through his face. His nose is completely exposed, with no flesh left. No cute freckles. No scrunch when he smiles. And his other eye, possibly the worst part, stares lifelessly at Katsuki. The last remnants of tears make their way down his face.
He looks… terrified.
He died scared in the arms of his abuser. Someone who never even apologized to him. For fucking anything. Some vile part of Katsuki reminds him.
He saved me because I couldn’t do my fucking job.
He thrusts Izuku’s lifeless body into Shouto’s arms, who lets out a heartwrenching sob. Katsuki scrambles back, and can vaguely register the sound of pink cheeks vomiting behind him.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” becoming increasingly more desperate with each utterance of the word, “FUCK!” Kirishima comes up behind him, picking him off the dust-covered ground and holding him to his chest. “This is all my fault!!!” He wails, “He fucking saved me, I couldn’t- this isn’t right no no NO-”
“Shhhh Katsuki-” Eijirou soothes him through his own tears, always the constant in Katsuki’s life. Well, after Deku.
Deku Deku Deku.
Because of you.
Katsuki takes another good look at Deku’s face where Shouto had freaked and discarded him on the ground. The unnatural bend of his arms, the bloody drool escaping his parted- if you can even call that a mouth anymore, his eyes.
And he screams.
He screams and he screams and he screams until someone shakes him so hard he wakes up.
“BAKUGO!!! WAKE UP PLEASE-” Shitty hair screams at him, shaking his shoulders desperately as he thrashes in his sheets.
He stills, staring up at Kirishima with a shocked expression.
“You were having a nightmare,” Kirishima explains, gasping for breath like he just ran a marathon.
Katsuki looks to the doorway where half of the boys in their class stand, expressions varying from worried to shocked.
He looks back at Kirishima, a pitiful whimper escaping his throat, “It- it wasn’t real?”
Katsuki looks to the door, half expecting to see Izuku there.
Missing an ear, you can see his tongue through his cheek.
Katsuki gulps, “Where’s Izuku?” He murmurs into the quiet room.
“Izuku?” Someone in the hallway mutters.
“Uh,” Kirishima catches himself before he can say something dumb, “Izu?- Uh- Midoriya is probably in his room. Didn’t think you’d want him here, but he knows. You kinda woke up the whole dorm.”
Kirishima has barely finished the sentence before he’s jumping out of bed, pajamas be damned, and sprinting toward the stairs. When he gets to Izuku’s floor he makes a hard right, Icyhot shouting something about being nice behind him.
Katsuki can yell at him later.
Running gives him time to think, and the more Katsuki thinks the more he realizes that his nightmare might as well have been a prophecy. Izuku would pull some martyr shit like that, but it was only Katsuki’s fault in the first place that he was put in that situation. He’s the only one to blame. Izuku had done everything right, and Katsuki managed to fuck it up.
Hollow socket, tendons hanging, blood turning his green suit a muddied brown.
Katsuki knocks on the door frantically, scared about what he’ll see when Izuku answers.
There’s some rustling from inside before Izuku peeks out, green curls messy from sleep.
“Wh- I thought Aoyama said you were having a nightmare.” His eyebrows furrow.
“I was,” Katsuki breathes, taking in how whole his rival is. “But it wasn’t real.”
He reaches out hesitantly and brushes an unruly lock of green out of Izuku’s left eye.
“Everything’s where it should be-” He chuckles almost in bewilderment.
He drags his fingers gently down Izuku’s cheek, tracing where the decay had rotted away skin, now whole.
A few of the classmates who followed him gasp in surprise when Katsuki clutches Izuku’s shoulders and buries his face in soft green hair. Completely breaking down as he sobs.
Izuku freezes, terrified of ruining the moment, even though he really wants to ask someone what the fuck is happening.
He gives Kirishima a questioning look as he hesitantly rubs along Katsuki’s back.
The redhead just shrugs.
“I’m sorry Izuku.”
Aaaand the damn breaks.
Izuku sobs as Katsuki clutches him tighter, their friends begin to awkwardly back out of the hallway after witnessing whatever that was.
“Wh- Kacchan?” He pulls away reluctantly, but he needs to see Katsuki’s face.
The blond’s eyes are red and puffy, same as his cheeks, but he’s dead serious.
“I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, you’re a really good guy.” He heaves in a breath, “And- I know you’ll be a great hero someday.”
Katsuki looks away, “I just- thought about some things,” He doesn’t mention that the thinking involved seeing his classmate’s bloodied corpse, “realized how full of myself I am. You really did just want help on that math homework, huh?” He huffs, shaking his head at his past self.
“I did. What else would I have wanted?”
Katsuki sniffs, angrily rubbing at his eyes, “I don’t know, Izuku. I’m a fucking idiot.”
Izuku smiles sadly, “All I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend, Kacchan.
The blond nods, “Yeah, I think I see that now. Can- can we still do that? Be friends?”
Izuku beams, rubbing his own tears away and pulling Katsuki into another tight hug.
“There’s nothing I want more, Katsuki.”
𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 ♥ 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞
so after a whole year of erasing my tumblr presence, i’m back to say i really missed writing and everyone i got to meet on here. like i said on my fake burner blog, i want to write for gojo and all of my delusions soooo bad. i’ve long been graduated from haikyuu bird academy and feel like writing for whichever 2d boy i’ve decided to think about for more than the normal amount. i don’t really know if i’m going to be completely multi-fandom or just picky, like everything is going to be under construction for a good minute. i know i’m leaning towards gojo and nanami/daiya/fe3h/aki from csm/genshin (but literally just zhongli and childe maybe). please ask and leave suggestions though because i’m just so excited. while i mention that, i wanna say i don’t think i’ll be very request centered during this second life of mine? if it’s for drabbles and oneshots. like, it honestly gets tedious and becomes busywork as i write, but i’ll leave them open for suggestions because i knowwww we see the same visions and thirsts. as for my schedule, i’m probably going to disappear at times and will be suuuper slow with posts.. i’m apologizing in advance! P but i’ll deff come out with a navi/faq/pinned post soon, so pls anticipate! SMAU’s and any series I had in the past will be deleted and discontinued just because i think i was super corny a year ago and that’s just not what i want to do this time around. i still do want to talk about the plans i had for ILYSM and the conclusion or whatever. but... yeah! that’s me. oh, i’m also mina now because i don’t want to be associated with chairs. i’m excited to post the drafts i’ve secretly been compiling because i never stopped writing. ok. yay!
Another part of 1950’s cat boy house husband Steve and milk man Billy. We are getting very hurt right here but next part will be the comfort!! I promise!! Tagging @withoneheadlight because I believe you asked in a previous part, thanks so much for your kind tags🖤🖤, and if anyone else would like to be tagged let meow know. 😽
Part 3: dream a little dream of me
That morning, Steve’s tongue didn’t taste like pineapple juice. Even though the cake came out delightfully, and their supper was cooked expertly between it being baked. Steve had sat at that table, their table, and tried to close his eyes and picture something sweet. Something unreachable, he found out.
Now his mouth tasted like cigarettes smoke and copper. And around him the only sounds were also metallic as he pounded away at his typewriter. Writing out a sentence so the stabbing sharpness of each key rang out into the early morning silence. Then, proceeding to the next sentence, he pushed across the metal tray and it sounded like the firing of a gun.
But Steve simply lifted his cigarette from its glass tray beside the machine, took a long breath before continuing to it. The loudness of the typewriter isn’t what makes him flinch in this house.
Steve doesn’t realize it’s been hours until he hears a calling at his door. “Milk delivery!” And that voice seems to finally awaken him this morning.
Steve turns in his small writing desk’s chair towards the living room door. He shivers from the way that voice is too far away. So silent, compared to how loud he wants that voice whispered in his ear.
He knows he cannot, he should just wait for the milk to be left at the door like any other delivery is made to any other house. But as long as Steve can remember, he’s been there to greet Billy. To linger over Billy as long as he could. Even his first morning in the house, brand new and newly married, Steve waited outside for Billy.
Their first meeting felt ages ago, another time altogether. Early morning in early summer where the water clings to the grass as long as it can in the heat, and where even birds are slow to awaken because of the merciless sun.
Steve had stood out on the porch blushing from the tip of his ears to the end of his tail at Billy’s slaked-jawed awe. At the way he tipped his hat towards Steve for the very first time because, “we don’t see much cat folk around here, apologies for being so… captured.”
And Steve loved to write, he loved to read and he ate at words like mice. That word, that first meeting: captured. Was the perfect one Billy could have used.
Steve’s felt captured ever since. And in every sense of the word.
Now he felt trapped. Listening to Billy’s voice outside the door. He felt trapped in the smoke filled living room of their house, his husband’s house. The only light at all being the sunlight that’s streaming right from where Billy is.
Steve smoked down his cigarette to the very butt of it. Pulling so the lit cherry nearly burnt at his fingers. Then he snubbed the trash into the glass ashtray fiercely, his claws clicking against it.
He turned tiredly towards the living room door. Clutching the bamboo back of his narrow desk chair like a life line. He used it to push himself up and away from his writing. Pushed himself towards the living room door.
And he must have wanted to see Billy, at least from the darkness inside looking out, because he had left the wooden door open. Only the creaking, thin screen door of glass and iron design kept them apart.
Steve pressed his body up against the screen door. And looked out to where Billy was still lingering at his porch steps.
“Mr. Smith?” He called again.
Steve dragged his nails down the iron stripes of his door in frustration. “How many times, Billy, must I remind you. It’s Steve. Please call me Steve.”
Billy didn’t reply, he swallowed thickly anything he was going to reply at all. Clutching to the holder of milk in his hands. Searching across the porch as if to find a weak spot in the bars of this cage.
“Your milk will spoil out here on the porch. Still hot outside, even in September.” Billy’s voice was shaky and so was his leg as he gingerly lifted one more step upwards.
“Would you rather me take it to you? To the door?” He lifted another foot as he spoke. His boots leaving flakes of mud behind him on the steps.
Steve’s anger and his embarrassment swirled together into a shivering mess. His hands didn’t know if they wanted to rip at the iron or keep it right where it was. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he tried in vain to keep his breathing normal.
“To the door,” he whispered. “To the door is fine. Leave it and I will collect the milk. Thank you.”
Steve tried to keep his shivering and traitorous hands from acting up by pressing them to his chest. His shirt that he had thrown on in the earliest of the morning was wrinkled and pressed all wrong. It was pastel lavender and mother of pearl buttons and itched where it touched his skin.
He softly pressed his fingers around the base of his neck, where his milky skin was sensitive right above his collar bones, and winced as he forgot of his markings.
Then, a rattling noise, and Steve whipped his head back up. He looked right at Billy who had stepped up to the porch. To the door. And was settling the milk right where Steve requested it.
Billy watched his eyes for as long as he could, as long as it took until those blue eyes wandered downwards to the creamy column of Steve’s neck. They lingered there on the wide irritated markings of red.
They lingered on the ghost shapes of another man’s fingers that ruined Steve’s skin, welts bruised and biting down to the pretty boy’s bones.
Steve gripped at the collar of his half open shirt to hold it together.
But Billy’s eyes were already widened to the size of dinner plates. If the milk wasn’t already set on the porch he might have dropped it. Billy walked ever closer, his hands reaching out towards the screen door.
“What the hell?” Billy hissed. His boots and his breathing and his hands against the iron were so loud, so so loud, it made Steve’s ears lay flat back against his head. “What the hell are those?”
Steve’s been good at keeping it hidden, at keeping the bruises from hands wrapped around his arms under linen shirts. At keeping the desperation and hurt from his big brown eyes if only for a couple minutes every morning.
But today he’s feeling sloppy. He’s feeling used. He’s feeling like he can’t keep this up much longer. And no matter how much he claws or how much he writes no one ever hears him.
“It’s nothing,” he covered up. He pressed the itchy fabric to his hurt throat. He wanted to cry out, to whimper, but bit down on his lip to keep it inside.
“Your-your throat! Does he, your husband, he ain’t— I don’t understand?” Billy stuttered out. His delivery uniform hat bobbing as he glanced up and down nervously.
“My husband?” Steve sneered the word, smearing it around so his fangs ripped from his plush lips. “You believe my husband could do this to me?”
Billy reached out his hand towards the screen door. It collapsed and curled into itself against the iron. His knuckles resting right over where Steve’s standing on the other side. He reached as if he wanted to touch. But he couldn’t though the twisting wall of thorns.
“Tell me he ain’t then,” Billy pleaded. “If he’s a good man, then tell me those ain’t his fingers—,”
Steve couldn’t breath. He couldn’t find the words all of a sudden, anything that came to him was a lie. And Billy was the softness in his life, he was the gentle thing. Him in his all white uniform and his cozy smile even on Summer mornings. Steve couldn’t lie to him, but he’s also selfish enough to want to keep Billy for as long as he can.
“Thank you, for your delivery. Have a pleasant morning, Billy.” Steve muttered to his feet then turned to press his back against the indoor wall. To hide from having to see Billy’s reply.
He could still hear the rushed goodbye, and the noise his boots made stomping off the porch. He could hear the milk truck starting, and he could hear his blood rushing up into his ears from where his heart felt like it was ripping into pieces inside his chest.
hiaap reached 400 kudos!!!! thank you so much to everyone who read it!!! this means so much!! 😭😭
as usual, idk what to do as a sorta celebration bc while it would be cool to do drabble prompts or smth, i dont have time lately :( so, if you want, maybe send asks about it or writing in general or pynch? anything really 🥰
Lmao been having a fucking time of it, the new fic is gonna murder the angst lovers 😩😩😩
Chapter 2 is now posted. The final chapter will be up Sunday night or Monday morning before the new season premiere.
-Don’t introduce all your details at once. Jump into a scene head first, start with some dialogue or inner monologue. But please, don’t info dump in the first paragraph, it’s really quite boring. Add little bits of info throughout, your reader will not be lost if you slowly fill in the details.
-Your 👏 First 👏 Draft 👏 Is 👏 Just 👏 A 👏 Draft!! You don’t have to have everything together!! All your first draft has to do is exist!!!
-If you write live (as a fic writer etc.) please write the entire book before publishing chapters, because if you don’t you’ll get three chapters in and have the sudden urge to completely rewrite something you already published and you will hate yourself for it. Obviously you don’t have to do this (especially if it’s a smaller book), but it’s so incredibly helpful, I promise you won’t regret it.
-Just because you’re a writer, does not mean you will only be validated once you’ve published something. Writing is scary. Editing is scarier. Publishing something small such as on Tumblr or a fic website is scary, let alone publishing a full blown novel. Don’t feel like you have to publish a book just because you write.
-Outlining is a thing, and you should always do it no matter how small the piece of writing. It can be basic. It probably should be basic. Having a simple idea of where your story is going is enough and it will safe your butt.
-Your writing style will change, and that’s okay!! You’re going to read things from six months ago and the way you write will sound completely different. Maybe you don’t do much for dialogue anymore, and focus on internal emotions. That’s okay!! Maybe you write primarily dialogue, and leave out the inner stuff. That’s okay too!! Maybe you switched genres, and can no longer write in a genre you used to love. That’s totally fine!!! Keep writing, keep changing, watch yourself grow and learn.
-You’re going to hate your writing. Not all of it, but I promise you, there will be so much cringy stuff, you will hate it, you’ll want to delete it, but for the love do not delete it. Save it to a file on your computer so that you still have it but don’t have to look at it. But someday you’ll come across it and be proud of yourself for coming so far. You’ll want to read your old stuff, because nostalgia is a thing, and sometimes it’s really fun to read what you used to think was amazing.
-No one’s forcing you to write stuff. Especially in the fic world, you can get requests, you can get criticism, but this is your life, your blog, your writing, your account, and no one can force you to write something. Write what you want to write and when and how you want to write it.
-Writing will take over your life. Remember to leave your seat, go drink water, eat an actual meal, then come back to it with a fresh mindset. Your life does not have to revolve around writing.
-Make friends, have contacts, know lots of random stuff and you will be a happy camper when you’re writing about lard and remember that time you researched when it stopped circulation as a household item (it was during/after WW2, for the record).
-You don’t have to know every grammar rule in existence, how to format a perfect sentence, and how every word is categorized in language, but you do need to know some basics about formatting writing. What punctuation to use in dialogue, when to break a paragraph, etc. etc. Here is one resource (about dialogue), and here is another (about paragraph breaks) :)
FROM THE BEGINNING
Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Gamora (Marvel), Peter Quill, Drax the Destroyer, Mantis (Marvel), Rocket Raccoon, Groot (Marvel), Stephen Strange Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Action/Adventure, Slow Burn, Redemption, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Fix-It, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Enemies to Lovers, Mentor/Protégé, Canon compliant through Thor:Ragnarok, Wordcount: Over 100.000, Odin's Bad Parenting (Marvel), Tony Stark Has Panic Attacks, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Slow Burn Loki/Tony Stark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Canon-Typical Violence ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thor and Loki 'talk', Tony has heart eyes for The Statesman's engine room, Loki and Wanda come to an understanding, and there's a barbeque with banter.
Oh wow, would you look at that 100 followers, wish my my main accounts got this much traction /hj
During the month of October, instead of a kinktober, I'll (try to) post at least 3 extra long fics on ao3 and here of fics based on some sub!reader concepts I see a lot. I'll be turning them on their head and making them into dom!reader content. :) This is essentially my kinktober topics.
These fics could contain multiple chapters of plot or maybe one scenario but different characters per chapter.
If you have any ideas you want to share, you're more than welcome to ask about it.
My lame excuse of a list of ideas:
Jealousy: Jealous!Character tries to take action after seeing reader hang out with other character. "Punishment" insues.
Attempts to Dom: Usually reader is a sub, but that changes for this one night. -> Reader plays sub for once. Character does not know how to react.
Monster Fucking: It's monster fucking. I don't know what else to add. (*)
Getting Caught: Reader gets caught masturbating and moaning out Character's name
(*) = Doubtful
On another note from now til October 15th, I'll be answering as best I can any small thirst in my inbox excluding ones that obviously brake the rules, make me uncomfortable, etc.
I know my request info is unclear on pinned post, so I'll rewrite it sometime, but anything I recieve as an ask will get a small excerpt like the length with anything tagged nyoomiisz.thirst. after that, I'm gonna be more chill on myself about what asks come in.
A Lexi x MC cheating AU, requested by @hizzieluthor. Chapter 3/22. Read the chapter on AO3 here, or the full fic here. Rated E; minors DNI.
After an hour with a vibrator and some very vivid fantasies, Bea's worked out almost all the tension from a day spent around two of the hottest women at Belvoire, equally unattainable, both attained. Three, if you count Zoey, who greets her in the morning with a knowing smirk.
"So how'd your meeting go with Kingsley? I didn't think I'd see you until tonight."
"We got interrupted," Bea groans, sitting on one of their barstools, elbows on the table like her parents always told her not to do, head in her hands. "But she promised we could talk about it! Since I had to deal with Lexi."
"Right, such a difficult thing, to make out with a hot professor you can't get in trouble for kissing because she's not at this school," Zoey says with a little shake of her head. "Honestly."
"Oh, no, not that! God, okay, so--" Bea starts to recount her time in Ina's office, flirting with her and kissing her for like a second before the Dean fully walked in and interrupted to ask if Ina would spare her for Lexi? Like, what the fuck. Zoey gasps at all the right places in the story, especially when Bea talks about flirting with Lexi, too. "And then we made out, and guess what?"
"Dean interrupted again?"
"No! Ina called me."
Zoey's laugh is half-disbelieving, half-impressed. "Your life is completely wild, what the fuck, you've been here for less than two months! God, so did you let it go to voicemail?"
Bea knows this next part crosses the line from fun, gossipy drama to probably morally wrong, but it's Zoey, what's she gonna do, not tell her? "So I actually...picked up?"
Zoey's mouth drops completely open, and she stares at Bea like she's just said she stole the Mona Lisa. "You what?"
"No, I know, thinking back it's really dumb and honestly, kind of mean? No, not kind of. It's mean. But it seemed like a good idea? And it was really hot."
Zoey fans herself. Bea can't tell if she's joking or not. "It does sound hot. But are you, like, flirting with Lexi to get under the professor's skin or? Are you interested in her too?"
"Physically, sure," Bea says with a snort. "But as a person? No, she sucks. Ina..." She starts to smile, sees Zoey's expression soften in response. "She feels...real, you know? Like, completely outside of all this drama with the rankings and the T and Poppy."
"And also she's hot."
"So hot, oh my God."
"Okay," Zoey says. "Can I give you some possibly harsh advice?"
Bea pauses. She'll definitely deserve it, but she's not sure she wants to hear it here, in the early morning space where everything still feels light and easy and consequence-free. But it's Zoey, so. "Sure."
"If you want Ina as a partner, as more than a hookup, then you should probably stop messing with Lexi. Or with anyone--don't think I didn't see the kiss with Carter--"
"--that was mostly to mess with Poppy--"
"--and Lexi's mostly--yeah, some weird mindgame, or whatever, I don't always get you. But Ina doesn't know, right?"
"No," Bea says in a voice that comes out quieter than she meant it to.
"If you want this to work, if you really want a relationship and you're not just chasing her because she's a hot professor, you've gotta actually commit to her. And to the fact that you'll have to hide your relationship, and the fact that you'll have to be very, very careful to avoid it getting toxic. Honestly? I...nah, that's too harsh."
Bea tries to grin, keep everything funny. "What? You're on a roll, don't stop on my account."
Zoey looks at her for a long moment. Bea wants to duck away but she holds her ground. "I don't think you should date Ina. If you want to, I'll support you, because you're my best friend and I love you."
"Wow, gay," Bea mutters.
"I am literally talking you through two inadvisable relationships with two older women you shouldn't date that you seem keen on dating anyway, so glass houses. But I think you should think long and hard before you do."
Bea valiantly holds herself back from making a 'long and hard' joke and nods. "I see what you're saying. I don't necessarily agree with all of it, but I get where you're coming from, at least." After a long moment, where she can feel Zoey judging her, she adds, "Okay, I see what you mean about Lexi, I'll...stop. I mean, I won't be nice to her, but I'll stop--you know."
"Good!" Zoey says with a grin. "Then you should probably check your phone, because Kingsley's been blowing it up."
Bea glances at it, and sure enough, she has three new texts from Ina Kingsley.
Bea, I'm free whenever you are today.
We should discuss some things.
There are also some quizzes to grade. I'll be in my office for a few hours before my office hours begin.
The texts are drier than Bea after any amount of time talking to Michael, but after being interrupted by the actual literal Dean and Lexi planning on staying on campus, she gets that she wants to be careful. Besides, that's what Zoey was telling her. She has to get used to hiding some things if she wants Ina.
And she does. She really, really does.
Sounds good, Professor. I'll see you soon.
Bea doesn't dress up in her nicest outfit, but she is wearing her nicest non-lingerie underwear underneath it when she knocks on the door to Professor Kingsley's office. She pulls it open right away, dark circles under her eyes like she hasn't slept. She pulls Bea right in, locks the door behind her--ooh, finally a breach of propriety--and says, "I'm so sorry about Lexi."
"What?" Bea says, having completely forgotten about anyone other than the woman in front of her. "Oh, right. It's really okay, I'm okay."
"Are you sure?" Ina asks, hand on Bea's face all of a sudden, when did that happen, holy shit? "I don't...it'll be a little risky, if I fight to keep you--" Ooh. "--as my TA instead of hers--" Slightly less enthusiastic ooh. "--but I will, if you want me to. I don't--like seeing you with her. I know you kissing her was the kiss cam, and avoiding suspicion of any anything untoward with me, but...I hated it."
"Were you jealous?" Bea asks, hands twitching as she resists the urge to hold Ina's hand on her face even longer.
"Yes," Ina admits, quickly and easily. Bea could swoon. "Yes, I was jealous. I think...had she not been there, or if I could've stayed on our date instead of having to leave for the call from the Dean, I wouldn't have been able to say that. But Bea, I don't want anyone else to have you. And I--I understand I can't ask that of you. It's your life, and you would have to hide--"
Bea puts an arm around the back of Ina's neck to pull her in for a kiss, and Ina just fucking goes for it, pinning Bea to the door with her whole body, pressed together in as many points as possible. The kiss is deep and passionate and perfect, and it's only the fact that they're right against the door that prompts Bea to bite back a moan.
After a couple minutes of this, Ina pulls back, but only to rest her forehead against Bea's. Bea smiles up at her. Ina, miraculously, smiles back, no sign of wanting to cut and run at all.
The moment only lasts a second, though, and then Ina clears her throat, pulls back a little. "We should...talk about this."
"What's there to talk about?" Bea says. "I get that we have to keep things secret, I get that it's risky, but I want this and you want this, so what's the issue?"
Ina clears her throat, looking at Bea with so much emotion that it's almost uncomfortable. "I don't...Bea, if you want me--"
"--then you'll still want me after you think through the consequences."
Bea groans, pushes Ina back until the professor's back hits her own desk. "Ina. I have thought this through. I have. And I'm all in. The question is, have you?" (She has thought it through. That's what that conversation with Zoey earlier was about.)
"Of course I have," Ina says, more a hiss than calm, casual discussion. "Bea, I've thought of nothing but you since the speakeasy. How could I not? Our conversation, you on top of me--" She clears her throat, face flushed. "But you don't want--"
"Hey, how about you let me tell you what I want? I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions."
Ina looks at Bea's face, and Bea tries to keep it nice and not angry about being pushed away again. She seems to come to a decision, and she presses a quick, chaste kiss to Bea's lips. Bea grins at her. "If you're sure, Bea."
"I am," Bea says. "No one else I'd want to be with but you. Promise."
Ina's eyes go a little darker at that, and Bea could tell Lexi to fuck off a thousand times without any flirtation whatsoever and it'd be worth it for the look on Ina's face. "Good."
"Good," Bea repeats, and kisses her one more time. This one's sweeter, less let's-fuck-on-this-desk-right-now and more I-really-really-really-really-really-really-like-you. "I want nothing more than to stay right here, right now."
"...but?" Ina asks. Bea's disappointment at having to leave is mostly soothed by Ina reading her well enough to understand what she's getting at.
"But I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to meet up with Lexi to TA," Bea grumbles.
"The one good thing about that wretched woman being interested in me is at least it means I know she'll leave you alone," Ina says, and lets her go.
Bea laughs, a little awkwardly, but Ina doesn't seem to pick up on it. "Right. Uh, before I go, though, we are--right? We're us?"
Ina nods. "If you want to be. And you were very insistent about the fact that you do."
"I do!" Bea says, smiling dopily at her. "Okay, good, I just wanted to be sure. I'll see you later?"
"I'll text you," Ina says. "I do actually have all these quizzes to grade."
Bea hates to leave her with that glum expression, so she kisses her and says, "I'll make it up to you later."
Then it's heading back over to Lexi's office, glancing at herself in the windows to make sure she isn't so obviously mussed up. She's certain that Lexi wouldn't expose her and Ina's relationship, if only because it would sabotage her chances of dating Ina.
It's not stupid to flex, just a little, right?
She knocks on Lexi's office door, hears the other woman call a disinterested, "Come in," and opens it. Lexi's at her desk, looking at something on her computer that she slams shut as Bea walks in. "Hughes. I've plenty of work for you to do to keep you away from Ina." Bea smirks at her, and Lexi's expression goes stony. "What, are you looking for a repeat performance of yesterday? I'm not exactly interested in bending you over and punishing you for your insolence right now."
Uh, damn. Bea blinks a couple times, shakes her head as if to physically clear the images of that. "No. Just letting you know that, uh, I win. So sorry, but you were barely even competition."
"You--" Lexi's eyes flash, and Bea thinks for a second that Lexi might throw something at her. Instead, Lexi sits back, and says, "Alright."
"Yes," Lexi says, voice weirdly calm. "I've still got work for you to do. And I have business to attend to."
"Leave her alone, she's not--"
"My business doesn't involve Ina at all, Hughes," Lexi says with an eyeroll. "But you need to go through and put all this--" She taps a stack of papers on the desk with a single finger. "Into a spreadsheet. Okay?"
"I...okay?" Bea says, too confused to put up a fight right now. Lexi passes her without a sideways glance and leaves the office.
That...wasn't what Bea was expecting. She texts Ina a quick working on some busywork, she's already left and Zoey a girl i have SO much news but don't worry i took your advice about Lexi and posts a picture of herself in a nice office to her Insta, then gets to work. The whole time, she's left thinking about what Lexi has up her sleeves, because there's no way she's actually that calm about losing Ina to her.
Not that she's going to get Ina back. Not that she's going to get Bea back; she's happy with Ina. She is.
yooooooo what i finally wrote a little fic for that qpr im obsessed with?? read it cowards its fun
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭
—ft. xiao, diluc & venti || fem!reader (sfw)
snippets of moments when they feel extra special with you.
XIAO bears the weight of sin like no other in teyvat. when he feels the inherent darkness skulking around the borders of the safe haven he shares with you — finding a way to seep in so as to corrupt his mind with fire and ash — his go-to remedy is to take you to the very top of wangshu inn, to watch the twinkling stars in the sky, and to hold you close so that he hears the drumming pulse of your heartbeat.
your legs are going numb from how long you’ve been sitting up here, but you can’t bring yourself to move when he’s all snuggled up to you like this. his eyebrows have not a crease in them, unlike usual, and his hand rests lightly on your thigh, lips pressed into a thin line — a lingering ghost of a smile.
you know he hates words when they’re unnecessary. before you bribed him into becoming your friend with home-cooked tofu he had avoided you like the plague, only forcing out harsh grunts as you handed him the delicate dish. it must’ve been a huge burden to him, then, to figure out the tiny yet impactful nuances of romance, rediscovering each part of his existence with you now included in the equation. now, you’re content just to breathe in his presence, feeling the cool breeze gliding past your skin as you run your fingers through his dark tresses.
his radio silence only masks the fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest — a particular feeling that in the past, only graced him during passing moments when he was shown inexplicable kindness unbefitting of his status. one that was beyond difficult for him to place — always escaped his comprehension — until he confided in you one day and you said with a smile that made his heart flip; why, that’s happiness, my love.
yea. he supposes he’s happy. beyond ecstatic, even. he should find it odd that someone like you — who can’t even wield a weapon to save her life, nor be blunt enough to tell someone the cold hard truth in order not to hurt their feelings — could have him keeling and falling to your feet with a soft call of his name, much like now, when you’re rubbing your knuckles against his cheek, making his world bleed colour like it never has before.
but it’s not odd at all when you’re head-over-heels in love, he deduces.
contrary to popular belief, DILUC is not an avid alcoholic — and the same can be said about you. but there’s a certain quality to the angel’s share at sunrise, when it’s too dark to be considered day yet too bright to be considered night. a placid silence lingers, save for the occasional shifting of barstools and clinking of whiskey glasses — though if he wants to he can always kick everyone out (not that he hasn’t done so before for the sake of privacy). he’s usually up early to take over charles’ shift and you always want to tag along.
today you’ve decided to try your hand at making your own specialty drink. you’ve watched for ages the precise movements of his digits as they glided over intricate concoctions and delicate cocktails — all fruits of his labour that’ve no doubt been polished to perfection. but how hard can it be to make grape juice? couldn’t hurt to try. so you take great care to prepare his favourite drink, using the freshest, ripest grapes that you stole from the vineyard and even adding your own personal touch (which proves to be a mistake more often than not — hey, was that a lizard’s tail that you knocked inside by accident? oh well, you’ll find out later), and he watches you with a clenched jaw and a terrible terrible feeling cinching his gut.
you present the drink to him looking like a cat that’s just brought in fresh kill for its owner. there is no other way to describe it. with a pained breath, he gulps down the horrid mixture in one go, ignoring the pungent smell causing his eyes to water. the ‘grape juice’ burns a red-hot trail down his sorry throat.
his fingers grip the glass so tightly they tingle white.
really, it’s the thought that counts you know? and how can he tell you the truth, when you’re looking at him so expectantly, and your hands are reaching across the table with such an endearing grin plastered on your face?
he stares unblinkingly for a hot second, as if coming to terms with the drink’s unique flavour — something feels scratchy and his tongue has gone numb. why? he doesn’t know why.
“so? how’s it taste?” your voice threads deep and warm through his skin, snapping him back to reality. you laugh softly at his stunned expression, making a playful joke about your drink being so delicious that the masterful diluc is left speechless. in an instant, his myriad of frenzied thoughts grind to a halt. nibbling on the inside of his cheek, he decides that the drink may haunt his dreams to come — but in the end, your company is as exquisite as always.
a little white lie hovers on his tongue, sweet like the grape juice he loves so.
“it was delightful, my love. shall i give a few suggestions for improvement?”
ah, VENTI adores hearing you sing. granted, in your opinion, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a tune to save your life, but there’s such a fine and tender lilt to your voice whenever you’re singing lullabies to him that he just can’t get enough of. he feels particularly sleepless tonight, so he takes you by the hand and leads you to the great tree at windrise, sitting you down in the cool shade and demanding to hear your dulcet tones.
how could you refuse? you start to come around the longer his bottom lip juts out in a petulant pout (he always gets his way like this — brat). “fine,” you say, flicking his forehead. grinning when he yelps, too.
for someone who loves letting his voice fill the silence, he falls oddly quiet the second you open your mouth. you realise with a tiny startle that he wasn’t looking to make fun of you after all. your voice is shaky and a little croaky from lack of sleep (i wonder whose fault that is?) — a toad’s symphony compared to his angelic voice when he sings to you; but his satisfied smile makes a flutter of ease blossom in your stomach. letting out a tiny noise of content, he snuggles himself closer into your side, eyes fluttering shut just as you fall into a comfortable rhythm.
“your voice is so pretty, (name),” he mumbles in a daze. “don’t… don’t stop, kay?”
it’s times like this that make you feel as if he’s just like a little kid — with childish needs and greedy wants, but a candy-sweet personality, so much so that you can’t help but give in to his every whim.
you stroke his cheek with a soft smile. whispers of tall grass carry your voice across a barren meadow, extending further than your eye can see. then you hear his sleepy humming alongside yours — and you smile wider. when he sings, it’s as if he breathes the life of the universe itself, drawing you in with every rise and fall to his pretty voice.
“why’d you stop?” he frowns, pausing suddenly to meet your gaze. his hands grab onto your waist, squeezing slightly. glimmering pools of teal beg you to continue your song. he’s pouting again, and the sight makes you want to pinch his cheeks.
“show off,” you huff, but you can’t help the broad smile that tugs insistently at your lips. “i didn’t say you could stop either, you know.”
the city of freedom looms ahead like an island of hope under a blanket of stars; his head buried into your chest feels oddly like home.
Against my better judgment I decided to go ahead and post another Snufmin chapter fic :P It’s a WIP but I’ll try to update as often as I can.
Title: The Fox and the Vagabond
Summary: In which Snufkin wants to be free to be himself, and befriends a strange black fox. Snorkmaiden wants to be valued for herself, and finds beautiful magical beads. And Moomintroll wants to figure out what on earth it is that he wants.
"Not any random person. Your girlfriend," Snufkin retorted.
He hadn't meant it with any heat. It seemed to need pointing out. But Moomintroll recoiled as if Snufkin had raised his voice, or slammed a door in his face. Snufkin lost his temper only rarely. And he wasn't angry now - only, perhaps, a bit annoyed. Confused. Moomintroll never used to confuse him. In fact, he'd even flattered himself that no one knew his friend better, except perhaps his mother.
It prompted him to tip his head down. "Well?" he asked. "Doesn't what she wants matter?"
There was another pause. From under the brim of his hat he saw Moomintroll's body shift, and his paw came out to tilt the hat upward. In a very gentle voice, Moomintroll said, "What you want matters to me too."
Snufkin glanced at him. There was something there - a flicker of an emotion behind his eyes, which were the same striking blue as forget-me-nots. Something that was soft and tender that he almost recognized. But there was also a certain edge, a wariness to it that was hard to account for.
Chapter One link
here's to the lovely @justjstuff who inspired this redraw of my old sakura art for her story Daughter of Fire
also, i'm on twitter now! so go follow me there for a more cozy time and if you wanna see the process video for this painting (^ ω ^)