Latest Posts by star-spacer - Page 4

anyone else just always ache? I don’t know about you but no matter what I am always aching and yearning. Don’t ask what for, I haven’t figured that out yet

So many plot bunnies…

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

Pages from Deku's creature chronicle... part 2

Nav: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

Pages from Deku's creature chronicle... part 4

Nav: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

I love when platonic love and romantic love is so blurred that it doesn’t even matter anymore. All that matters is the devotion that’s there, the unwavering devotion

"The D will blow up a storm again"

One Piece + Tumblr text posts, 3/?

Rules

-I will take requests for exclusively x reader content

-Characters of all ages are permitted for platonic requests, characters 13+ are permitted for romantic requests, and characters 18+ are permitted for sexual requests

-I will be pickier with what NSFW requests I take on. If I refuse a request, don't take it personally! I just have highly specific tastes

-No yandere content

-Please be patient! I am one person who has a lot going on in his life. Unless I outright refuse your request, it is likely in my WIP doc and will be finished eventually

-Please make sure I have requests open before you request anything

Ah this series is totally cute if anybody wants more familial/platonic works!!!! The author’s other works are equally as good as well

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 10)

"Did you make the water too hot?" Kyle asked as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom, clean and dressed in fresh clothes after sweating all over yourself and Johnny. His eyes dilated briefly as he took in your softened appearance after the shower, his wings and talons twitching subtly, but he remained still.

"No...? I think... just warm...?" You mumble, shruging quietly.

"Okay, okay, good... can't be turning the water on too hot when you have a fever now, can we?" He rumbles, rounding your smaller body for a bit.

"It's not... it's really not that high of a fever..." You mumble shyly, keeping your eyes anywhere but on the Harpy.

"Nonsense." He croons quietly, his wing gently pushing you forward. "Are you still hungry, baby?"

"N-No..., no, thanks, I'm full...."

Which, you actually were. Sure, you didn't eat barely enough for hybrid standards, but you're human, and you're small... it was enough for you. Besides, John's bean and bacon soup was really good. You're pretty sure you ate even more than usual (even if it was mostly liquid).

"Good. But really, if you need anything, just tell us, yeah?" He smiles with that gentle tone of voice, like he couldn't hurt a fly, and....

Yeah, this guy was weird. Not that you would call Kyle outright fake, but... the wolf in sheep's clothing thing is very real.

You heard how he talks to his mates when you're 'not around'. But with you? It's just those weird, bird-like, cooey noises mixed with his gentle voice.

"Kyle, come 'ere." Simon's gruff tone came from behind you, the Wraith approaching you both with a raised brow and analytical eyes. "What's up with your wings?"

Kyle's face immediatly dropped, eyes squinting in annoyance as he turned to stare at his mate. That gave you the opportunity to see his wings for yourself, and... yeah, they looked a little messy, kinda.

"Nothing, hun. Why do you ask?"

Oh... oh, this sarcastic and sassy tone, accompanied by this fake, sweet smile, was definetly more up to Kyle's alley. So much, in fact, that Simon barely reacted besides a small impavient grunt.

"All unkept. Not like ya, bird." Then, his eyes fall on you, making you tense up a little in attetion. "Sick chick causing you stress?"

"Ugh, Si..." Kyle grumbles, frowning in displeasure. "I'm busy right now, so-"

"No, none of that." The wraith interrupts, walking over to the two of you before easily picking you up on his arms, a small squeak leaving your lips in surprise. "Go take care of them. Some nice an' good preaning, yeah? Call Price to help. Can't have you like this now, can we, bird?"

He drawls his words so slowly and paciently, it makes you think this man really have experience with children. It makes you want to do anything he says too, but this is probably just your feelings since Kyle's expression was pretty much one of displeasure, uncertainty and annoyance.

"The chick-"

"The chick's with me. And she's going to stay with me the whole time. No need to worry. I'll keep 'er safe an' healthy."

You flush slightly as he press your cheek against his, the slight stubble on his cheek scratching against your smooth one. Tho, you do calm down a bit as you feel his cool skin against your warm face.

"Hmm.... it's not worse. Actually, it feels like it has gone down a bit. You can go, Kyle."

It's not the tone, but his words seem almost... harsh. Not that Kyle seemed to mind. He just sighed in defeat with a small nod of his head as he retreated to the bathroom.

You watched as he went, eyes fixed on his wings. It was mostly curiosity that made you want to know more about Harpies, but you can't deny they were so freaking impressive. Big and beautiful wings, a tail that matched the pretty feathers on the wings. The shiny, black talons were just as pretty as they were intimidating.

"His wings are pretty, ain' they?"

You startle a little at Simon's voice, turning to stare at him properly as he carried you through the hallway.

"Harpies pride themselves in having those pretty and polished feathers.... Actually, their lives are their wings, really. They are always making sure they are in perfect state, both in health and in apperance..." He sides eye you carefully before speaking again. "Unless, something more important is taking their time."

"I-important...??" You question immediatly, flustered and surprised. "I... no..."

"Yes, kid. You're important to him. To us. You're our kid now, you know that."

"I'm... I'm just a foster... not really a..." You struggled to say more, not quite brave enough to outright disagree with your foster parent, but not really agreeing with his exaggerated words.

"But you're part of our pack now, kid. Even if you're a foster for now."

You just sigh slightly at his words, seeing this is taking you no where. Maybe that's just how it is with hybrids...

Wait, what did he say?

"W-wha... what do you mean, for no-"

"The point is, Harpies are a very parental species." He says easily, ignoring your small, indignated words as he keeps talking. You, of course, immediatly shut up despite your surprise. "So Kyle can get pretty stressed when there's a new addition to the nest."

He stops to analyze you for a second before ressuming his walk once again.

"Such a small, defenseless little thing too..." He grunts, his buff arms tightening around you a little more. "No wonder it's messin' with everyone's intincts. You're sleepin' in the pack's nest tonight."

Your eyes widen immediatly, caught off guard. Simon has managed to throw you for a loop at least four times since this conversation began.

"Pack's nest...?" You try to question quietly, clearly alarmed, but not wanting to sound disrespectful or rude.

God knows sounding or looking rude to your foster parents never end up in good things. Even your small act of not unpacking your backpack has caused comotion in an old foster house you used to stay at.

"Yes, kid. Pack's nest. Gonna be sleepin' with us, where we can keep an eye on ya and be there if you need help."

"B-because I'm sick...?"

He nods calmly, finally reaching the door to his room and pushing it open for you to look inside. It’s the room closest to yours—the master bedroom. You remember thinking it should have been where your room was. After all, what kind of house puts the children’s bedroom at the very end of the hallway?

Still, their bedroom was stunning. Spacious, with a massive nest carved into the ground at its center. The mattress inside looked both sturdy and soft, layered with neatly arranged blankets and pillows. Unlike your pastel-toned room, it wasn’t bursting with color, but it wasn’t dull either. The decor featured earthy and beige tones mingled with blacks and reds, visible in the furniture.

Very... modern and stylish.

"This is where ya'll sleep."

You nodded a little, brows still slightly furred. Maybe in worry, maybe a bit in fear. You weren't used to all of this.

"Right..., sleep... with you four...?"

"Yeah, kid." He nods, rubbing your back carefully to try and confort you. "What do you take us for? Neglectful parents? To leave our baby away from us when they're sick and weak?"

Okay, now he sounded more offended than calm.

"It's... normal, isn't it...?" You mumble, a little confused. "Otherwise... you could get sick too... sometimes..."

He scoffed at your words, shaking his head.

"Us? Getting sick from a human virus? If our immune system was that weak, we’d have died long ago eating those mystery rations during the Outpost Beta mission."

You raise a brow at his deadpan words, expression pinching in confusion and worry as the silence stretches between you two for a few heavy seconds.

"That was a joke."

"Uhum..." You hummed lightly, expression not changing much.

"What I mean is, we’re not getting sick, don’t worry, kid. And maybe it’s normal in human households to leave their children on their own when they’re sick, but that’s not how we do things here."

You quickly notice faint wisps of shadow curling from his gloved hands and masked face, the white of his eyes darkening to an ominous shade. A literal chill runs down your spine as the temperature around you drops. It makes you freeze in uncertainty in his arms, eyes wide as you stare into those shadowy, unrecognizable eyes.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for him to recompose himself. You’re not sure what triggered this, but he seems to calm down relatively quickly. The shadowy wisps started to dissipate, and his eyes gradually returned to their normal color too.

"Well, come on now. John wants to check on your condition." He says calmly, like he didn't just lose control for a few seconds there, turning to walk all the way back and down the stairs with you still on his arms.

You really should learn more about them. Like, quickly, cuz all these surprises are making you light-headed.

Japes and Jubilations, Pt 2

The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces Masterlist

The various antics of the crews and the various ways you’re involved in it.

(Part 1) | YOU ARE HERE | (Part 3) | (Part 4)

Part 2: Soaked

You learn a wise lesson about avoiding Penguin and Shachi after their swim patrols.

The seasoned members of the crew knew better enough than to hang around the wet room or the surrounding areas when Penguin and Shachi came back from their dives.

You, however, were not a seasoned member of the crew. You were never around when the pair headed into the waters, or came back, so you thought nothing of it when you stuck your head into a room upon earring splashing sounds coming from it. Your eyes widened when you saw the strangely structured room and the two equally drenched crew members. 

“Well, that was a good patrol, Peng!” Shachi said, muscles staining as he closed the door and sealed it shut with the hand wheel.  “And we got fish for dinner, too!”

Water poured from them both—and the net of writhing fish at Penguin’s feet—running in rivulets to the drains set throughout the room.

“Oh, hey!” Penguin grinned, catching sign of you. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” you began. “I just heard water splashing and got curious. What’s this room?”

Penguin let out an ‘ah’. “That’s right. You haven’t seen it yet, huh?”

Before you could even blink, Shachi was right next to you. To your horror, one soaking-wet arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into an equally wet side. You flinched, hands coming up to push him away. The redhead clung to you like a limpet, however, dragging you into the room in question.

“This is the wet room!” Shachi explained, throwing an arm out as if to showcase it. In the background, Penguin made little jazz hands. 

“Cool,” you said limply, lamenting your clothes. It didn’t explain why they were dripping wet, though. 

Penguin’s hat-–still on his head—squelched as he wrung out the flaps. “You have no idea what we’re talking around, do you?”

You shook your head as Shachi wilted in disappointment.

“The island we come from is a North Blue island,” Penguin explained. “For ours, we have especially cold harbors, and a high percentage of the population also boast fishman ancestry.”

You squinted. “So you and Shachi are part fishmen, then?”

“Yep!” Shachi said, popping the ‘p’. He leaned closer and grinned, pulling at his mouth to show you his teeth. A veritable row of canines gleamed at you, sharp and pointed like a predator’s.

“Huh,” you said eloquently. Your uniform dripped onto the floor.

Penguin lifted the ears of his hat when you looked over, giving you a peek of the short, dark hair by the side of his head. On his temple was a scattering of smooth, pale-blue and black  scales, glinting in the light. They littered his hairline in small patches down to his neck, peeking through the dark strands of hair there.

“Pretty…”

Shachi groaned. “‘Pretty’, is that all you have to say??? Seriously?? I have fangs! We have gills!”

“Back to the point,” Penguin redirected before Shich could strip down to show you wherever his gills were. “This is the room Shachi and I use to get in and out of the sub underwater. The inventor who made this submarine built it especially for us, but it’s good for the crew to know how it works too.”

Shachi finally left your side to slap the door he was closing earlier. “This bad boy is fitted with a two-door system, both with built-in seals. The first hatch is on the outside and opens slowly to let water and us in from the outside. It closes and a system drains and pumps it back out. Once done, this inner door unseals and Penguin and I can enter the sub.”

“The two-door system helps control the water pressure, so there’s less chance of a leak,” Penguin said.

“Penguin-ya, Shachi-ya are you guys still in here—” Law stopped and stared at you, a pitying look on his face. “Ah, you got poor Tailor-ya…”

You squinted at that statement and his all too knowing look at your state, trying to straighten out your clothes. “W-What do you mean? Is this like something common?”

“Well…” Penguin began.

Shachi began whistling innocently.

“The crew always avoid them when they come back because they always latch on to the nearest person before changing out,” Law said. “Everyone’s been a victim of them at least once. I forgot to warn you.”

“Well, at least I’m not all the way wet,” you grumbled, pulling at your shirt.

“I’m surprised about that, too,” Law drawled, shifting his sword on his shoulder. “Usually both of them go for their victim at once.”

That was the wrong thing to say as both men stilled, head turning to look at you before at each other.

“Hug time!” They exclaimed.

Your eyes widened. “Hey, hey, hey, NO—”

Two bodies slammed into either side of you, pinning you in between them with a wet squelch.

At seeing your distraught expression, Law grimaced in sympathy. 

Both men had to unstick themselves from you, attention going to Law as they dragged you along. “Let’s get Cap!”

He quickly pulled up his Devil Fruit Powers to Shamble away, a scrap of paper fluttering to the ground where he was.

Okay gang new sacred spaces piece coming out soon i prommy

Aizawa: Oh god, how am I gonna explain my injuries to Eri?? Aizawa: I can't say I lost my eye & leg to my job, she'll never trust me to fight again!!! Mic: YOOO, TELL HER YOU GOT HIT BY A TRUCK!!!! Aizawa:

happy october! here’s some seasonally appropriate goth family

Sygna parade!

Alt version!

Ok first, I need to scream:

I LOVE THE SYGNA SUITS

THE FRILLS!! THE FASHION!! THE NOD TO OLD FASHIONED TRAIN CONDUCTOR SUITS FROM 1800’S!!THE ELECTRIC LANTERNS ARE SO CLEVER!!

POKEMAS EMBRACED THE YELLOW AND PURPLE WE LOVE TO ASSOCIATE THEM WITH AND IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!

THE BOOTS! THE FLOWER SLEEVES! THE BLACK COLLAR SHIRT ON EMMET! THE STRIPED TIGHTS!

*ahem*

The designs fast drew my mind into marching bands so I went for this idea first ahah! At some point I watched a ton of marching band videos, they cheered me up with the exciting and very complex perfomances and the players enthusiam was so catchy!! Also watching the 1st person POVs of i.e. the trumpet and drum players are super fun ahaha! Combined with the striking costumes all this directly reminded me of submas, and now it’s a thing!!!

I just love it when he stands there

allow me to offer a law in these trying times

Y’all if ygs followed me for one piece stuff I recommend reading hannahbarberra’s they are *chef’s kiss*

Snow Fall (Alpha!Izo x Omega!Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Summary: Izo’s search for his mate had ended before it had begun. He'd never been able to tolerate the scent of any Omega, finding their floral scents all far too strong. Until he meets you, a baker originally from Wano who sells desserts on a tiny winter island...

~~~

Yes. I know. Another one. But also.....it's fun for me! I just love Izo, OK? Not NSFW in this chapter.

~~~

Izo’s search for his mate had ended before it had begun. By the time Izo had reached puberty and presented as an Alpha, he’d found the scent of every Omega he’d encountered to be overwhelming and unpleasant. In theory, he was supposed to be attracted to the floral scents that the Omegas threw off but in reality they singed his nose and gave him a headache. He hadn’t had much chance to explore his options in Wano, quickly becoming a retainer for Oden and spending his time with the Shogun. But as he sailed the seas with Whitebeard, he came across hundreds if not thousands of Omegas across the Grand Line and all of them smelled absolutely wretched to Izo. 

Time and time again his brothers had urged him to find an omega to settle himself with, even going so far as to bring a few on board and leaving them in his room as a “surprise.” No matter how beautiful or kind they were, Izo couldn’t overcome his aversion to their strong saccharine smells, politely removing them from his cabin before opening all the windows. He’d admonish his brothers for wasting everyone’s time, but his brothers wanted to see him happily mated and hadn’t given up their quest yet. They didn’t understand - the Alphas among them loved the scents and the Betas couldn’t smell it as strongly. His brothers thought he was being too picky but the truth was he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as a flowering Omega. Izo had accepted the fact that he would likely remain unmated through his life. Sure, he could (and did) bed betas at nearly every island - but finding a mate seemed an impossible task.

The Moby was docked at an autumn island in its winter season, they’d been there for about a day, restocking what they could from the available resources. . The Commanders were bitching about the cold weather as they walked while huddling together on the icy sidewalks of the small settlement on the island.

Izo didn’t mind the cold, if anything he preferred it, and not just because he was from a snowy village himself. In the cold, the rancid and overpowering smells of Omegas were more muted than on warm summer islands. Once they were mated, the Omega stench was less pronounced but even then he could hardly bear it. Summer islands brought dresses, shorts, and exposed skin that all but coated the air with their smells, much to his chagrin. No, he liked the snow on the ground, the cold wind on his face, and the long sleeves and pants covering all the Omegas on the island.

Ignoring his fellow Commanders as they moaned about their frozen fingers, Izo focused on the crunch of his boots in the snow and the sharp sting of the frigid air as he inhaled. There was a local bakery on the island and rumors were that they served authentic Wano desserts. Along with overpowerful smells, Izo also disliked oppressively sweet tastes. He would never say anything for fear of hurting the Chef’s feelings, but Izo hadn’t enjoyed a dessert since he’d left Wano with Oden. He didn’t want to get his hopes up for the bakery - he had come to realize over the years that “authentic Wano desserts” usually meant “Wano inspired desserts.” But the locals working the docks said that the baker was actually from Wano, barely speaking Common. 

A tinny bell ringing signaled their entrance to the small, cosy establishment. There were only two small tables with six old chairs inside, most of the meager space dedicated to the wares being sold. It was worn down but clean, the kind of place that opened at 5 to serve food to hungry dock workers. As he moved towards the displays, Izo detected something in the air that had him inhaling deep breaths through his nose, searching for more. There was the smell of snow falling on a moon lit winter’s night - a subtle smell that he’d long forgotten in the murky depths of his childhood memory. The smell was too weak and fleeting, he wasn’t able to track down the smell as he entered further into the shop. His nose was flooded with the smells of sugar, cream and other sickly sweet pastries he would likely gag if he tried.

Undeterred, Izo glanced at the offerings of the bakery to determine if there really was Wanese food for sale. Izo’s eyes widened slightly as he saw an entire case of Wano desserts sandwiched between the usual island sweet breads and cakes that the island workers likely favored. Approaching the refrigerated case, he raised his eyebrows as he saw noshiumi and nanbu senbei on the top shelf , the latter of which were his favorite treat as a child, when his family still had money to spare. 

“Are you going to stare all day or are we gonna order?” asked Thatch, already unbuttoning his wool double breasted coat and placing it on a coat rack by the door. Izou had been trailed by some of his favorite brothers - Thatch, Marco, and Ace - to the homey establishment. 

“Yeah, you’re practically salivating at the sight of those desserts yoi” Marco teased. Izo was often told that he was expressionless and difficult to decipher, but his brothers had no difficulty understanding his feelings. Izo rolled his eyes - after so many years living and sailing together, his brothers could read him like a book. 

“Yes, yes, don’t rush me,” Izo replied, flicking his long hair over his shoulder. Approaching the counter, he saw a lazy looking young Beta working the counter. She was staring at herself in the mirror, practicing her smile. Izou snapped his fingers in front of her face, bringing her attention away from her own reflection. Your face had a toad like appearance, large bulging eyes and thin limp hair that hung down in clumps by her face. 

“What do you want?” she asked, clearly unhappy to be taken away from her pastime. Izo wasn’t sure that practicing smiling in the mirror would help the Beta find a mate. As she spoke, Izou detected a slight smell of yeasty bread. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant but didn’t explain the light snow scent he detected upon entering the building. Alphas and omegas in food service often smelled more potent than the food they cooked. Izo had eaten many meals outdoors to avoid the stench. Though it was no one’s fault, sometimes he could hardly tell what he was eating in the presence of Alphas and Omegas.

“Who makes these desserts?” Izo demanded, pointing to the Wanese desserts in the case. The girl frowned and turned her head to the door leading to the kitchens.

“TASUKE! SOMEONE WANTS YOU,” the girl yelled, not bothering to fetch the woman herself. Izo raised an eyebrow at the name. It wasn’t completely unheard of but it certainly was not a popular name for females. A young woman with flour dusted up to your elbows and on your apron appeared in the doorway, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. Your shoulders were tightly drawn inward as she came to the call of the rude woman, as if to make herself smaller. Upon seeing Izo in the doorway, your pinched face broke into a huge smile as she bowed to the Commander.

“Can help you?” she asked in a chipper tone, your Wanese accent strongly affecting your intonation. She had your hands clasped in front of your, patiently waiting for the Commander to speak.

“Tasuke doesn’t speak a lot of Common, just show your what you want and she’ll get it,” the girl said in a bored tone, already looking at herself in the mirror again.

“Good afternoon, Miss Tasuke. Would you please tell me about these desserts in the window?” Izo asked in Wanese. It had been years since he’d spoken Wanese aloud but he relished the opportunity.

“Good afternoon, Commander Izo. Of course, it would be my pleasure. Which are you interested in?” replied the young lady, already moving gracefully towards the shelving. Your Wanese was also accented, showing that she was originally from Northern Wano, like himself. 

“May I sample the noshiumi and nanbu senbei please Miss Tasuke? It has been so long since I have been able to enjoy such delights,” Izou replied with a small smile. He didn’t need to use his observation Haki or even turn around to know that his brothers were paying rapt attention to the exchange. They weren’t chatting with one another and Ace wasn’t complaining, he could practically feel holes being bored into his back from Marco’s intense stare.

“Thank you, Commander Izo! I hope they are up to your standard. Please, sit down, and I will bring them to you,” Tasuke said with a small bow, walking quickly into the cafe portion of the building. She was shorter than Izo expected, the top of your head reaching only to his chest.  He complied with your request, sitting at the remaining empty chair by his brothers. Watching the woman work quickly, he noted that the other woman didn’t move a muscle, not even bothering to get out of Tasuke’s way when she was carrying multiple plates. 

“Commander Izo, here are the desserts you requested as well as a few more. I wish I had known you were coming, I would have made something more befitting someone of your position,” the young woman lamented, placing several dishes stacked high with treats in front of him and the other Commanders. Your hands were shaking slightly and your face was flushed as she served the table of men. “Would you care for something to drink? I do keep some barley tea if you wish for me to brew it, but we also have regular tea, coffee, whatever you would like, Sir,” Tasuke asked, rambling on in your nervousness, gripping your serving tray tightly between your fingers as she held it flush against your stomach. Curiously, he couldn’t detect any scent from your, regardless of what your dynamic was. Though, working in a kitchen could dull your natural scent.

Smiling at you once more to try and alleviate your tension, Izou replied “Barley tea would be wonderful for me, thank you. The others will be satisfied with coffee.” You bowed again and turned to begin brewing the tea.

“By the way, how did you know who I was?” Izo asked before you left. He had a hunch but he wanted to hear it from your pretty mouth. you blushed deeply, which Izo found endearing.

“ I read and keep all your wanted posters. You are the only person I see from Wano on them and I felt a kind of…connection to you? It can be lonely not speaking the same language as everyone else and I…I just…I don’t know. I feel foolish for saying all this to you, Sir, I apologize” you finished with a small bow. You practically ran away thereafter, leaving Izo sitting with the corner of his mouth upturned.

“Whoa,” Ace said, with his mouth hanging open, reaching for the plate in front of Izo. Izo smacked Ace’s hand with his chopsticks as Ace tried to grab one of his dorayaki, wanting to keep the special treat all for himself.

“Whoa indeed. You practically proposed to that girl,” Thatch said, resting his head on his hand as he leaned on the small table

“What are you yammering on about now?” Izo scowled, admiring the nishiumi in his chopsticks. It was perfectly proportioned and formed, he couldn’t wait to taste it.

“You smiled at that lady. Extended smiles, too. You might as well tell Pops you’ve found The One,” Thatch teased, biting into an anko mochi. Chewing and swallowing thoughtfully, the Chef looked into the interior of the tiny dessert, rolling it between his fingers. “ ‘S good. Like, really good. I should ask for the recipe,” he mused, finishing it off in another bite. 

“Won’t be as good yoi. She’s from Wano, didn’t you hear them speaking together? Who knows what they were talking about,” Marco observed, biting into a mochi of his own. Knowing Marco as long as he had, Izou knew the Phoenix was teasing him as well in his own dry way. Sometimes it was pleasant having hundreds of siblings, and sometimes…less so.

Bringing the nishiumo to his mouth, Izo took a small bite. He closed his eyes as he was transported in thought back to his childhood, back to Ringo, back to the endless snowy nights under moonlit skies, back to a treat after dance class, back to the moon shining down on pure, glittery snow, back to Wano. The dessert tasted just as he remembered it, perhaps even better after all the years of longing for its flavor on his tongue.

By the time you had come back bearing the tea and three coffees, nearly all the desserts were gone, leaving only empty plates stacked high. Ace and his voracious appetite were partially to blame, but the other three Commanders had indulged just as much. They’d left at least one of each type of dessert for Izou but had rave reviews for all the sampled items.

You unburdened your serving tray by handing the other Commanders their coffees first, walking around the table and picking up the empty plates and placing them on your tray. As you worked, you spoke to Izou.

“I hope it is ok that I am speaking only to you, Commander Izo. I mean no offense to the other Commanders, I don’t speak much Common and would not be able to communicate all that well with them. Besides, I haven’t met anyone else from Wano since I left. It feels…pleasant to be speaking to someone who can understand me once more,” Tasuke finished, reaching past him to place his tea on the table.

As your arm moved by, Izo smelled snow fall once again. It was faint, but emanating from the woman at his side. Grabbing your arm suddenly in his large hand, Izo brought your wrist to his nose and inhaled deeply. Tasuke startled, dropping your tray plates, and tried to retract your arm. Izo couldn’t let go, not when the smell was so enticing. He dragged his nose from your wrist to your elbow, taking in the subtle scent of the omega in front of him. 

“TASUKE! PICK UP THOSE PLATES OR I’M GONNA TELL WIDO!” the other girl yelled from across the room. Izo felt you wince as the name was mentioned, he’d have to investigate further. Izo noted that the girl didn’t bother to help you or stop him from scenting you, just commanded you to continue working. 

“Izo, what the hell?” asked Thatch, watching the scene unfold. He wasn’t moving to help the woman escape Izo’s grasp, but Izo knew his actions were…out of character. His brothers looked from one to the other with concern but allowed him to continue his scenting.

Izo couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the smell of snow falling on pine trees…The smell of snow falling under the moonlight…a meter of snow already stacked high on the ground…walking on snow packed hard from others who already have used the path…his hand in his sister’s, shivering in the cold of the winter…

“Please, Commander, I apologize for my misdeeds! Please forgive me for what I’ve done!” Izo belatedly realized the woman was trying to pull your arm away and apologizing while he’d been lost in his memories. Turning your delicate arm over in his hand, he saw a number of finger shaped bruises lining your inner arm. He didn’t let you go but he did avert his face from your arm and looked into your frantic face.

“You are an Omega, yes?” Izo asked the scared baker.

“I-I’m not sure, Commander Izo. I was supposed to be, but I never developed a scent,” Tasuke explained, still weakly trying to remove your wrist from Izo’s grip.

“You have the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever smelled on an Omega. Are you mated?” Izo knew he would likely embarrass the young woman but he had to know. Your cheeks heated red as you averted your gaze. He heard his brothers pick up an awkward conversation to pretend they weren’t trying to listen in, perhaps to give you some emotional space. 

“No, I’m not mated. I, um, I’m not allowed to be. Please, I apologize for what I’ve done, please allow me to clean this mess,” you pleaded, still trying to remove your arm from Izou’s grasp. Reluctantly, he let go and you immediately bowed deeply to him, practically parallel to the floor. You then took your tray and started cleaning up the plates that had clattered to the floor from earlier.

“ What do you mean you’re not allowed to be mated?” Izo asked, crouching on the floor next to you to pick up the dishes off the floor. You tried picking them up before he could, preventing him from aiding even though he’d caused the spill. You still wouldn’t look at him, instead focusing on cleaning the crumbs off the floor. 

“Please, Commander, sit, I don’t want you to sully your fine clothing. I, um, the family who I work for says that my debt is not paid off and that I can’t be mated until it is. Besides, no one has ever expressed interest, so…” you trailed off, tucking your hair behind your ear. Izo turned your face to his own with a gentle hand.

“I will speak to your family,” Izo declared, pushing off his knees to standing. Offering you a hand, you gently placed your calloused hand in his softer one as Izo pulled you to standing.

“ Please, don’t. I -” you started but Izo already knew the rest of the sentence as your scent turned sour from fear. You were afraid of reprisal from your adopted family, most likely from your eldest “brother.” 

“ You have nothing to fear. No harm will come to you. Can you trust me?” Izo asked, placing his fingertips under your chin and lifting your face. You looked up at him with your doe eyes and Izo knew in that instant you’d be coming with him on the ship. He’d been wavering on it since he smelled your scent but the fear in your eyes and the bruises on your arms told a story of their own.

“ I trust you, Commander Izo.” You hadn’t tried to scent him but he wondered if his presence was as calming to you as yours was to his. You picked up your tray and scurried to the back to begin working again.

“Who is it? I’m guessing whoever Wido is” Marco asked quietly. 

“Wido, likely the whole family. I’m not sure exactly what the situation is but it’s nothing good,” Izo commented, finally able to take a sip of the barley tea. He closed his eyes to enjoy the long forgotten taste on his tongue, the simple drink bringing his taste buds to life. “Let me finish the tea first then we’ll investigate,” Izo requested, taking another sip. 

A crash and a voice hissing in the back kitchen told him that wasn’t going to be the case. Izo exchanged a brief glance with Marco before standing so quickly he toppled his chair.

“You stupid bitch! You dropped all those plates? You’d better hope those pirates don’t dine and dash or it’s being added to your debt,” Izo heard the man whisper-yell. Already in motion, Izo had his gun in his hand as he passed through the half curtains into the kitchen. You were cowering from an ugly man, pig nosed just like his sister. He had your upper arms in his tight grip, bruising you even further. He was in the process of shaking you, your hair loose around your face where it had fallen from its style, your cheeks already stained with tears. Izo cocked his gun and pointed it at the man.

“Let go,” was all Izo had the ability to say through his anger. He wanted to shred the man with his bare hands but that would ruin his manicure. Wido let go of you, his arms lifting into the air in the universal image of surrender. 

“ Come here Tasuke,” he called to you in a soft voice. Looking first at Wido, who hadn’t moved since Izo had come into the kitchen, you looked at his gun pointed at your adopted “brother.”

“Come little Omega, I won’t hurt you,” he continued to coo at you as you tentatively came to his side. He put his arm around your shoulders, wrapping you in the scent and comfort of his winter kimono. 

“She’s leaving. For good,” Izo informed the paling man.

“B-but we need her, she’s -” Wido stammered. You gasped as Izo fired a warning shot, grazing the man’s ear. He screamed in pain and fell to the ground as if Izo had shot him in the stomach.

"Get up," Izo sneered to the crying man. He had no patience for those who would inflict violence on others but were weak to the smallest injury themselves.

“Let’s go,” Izo told the shaking Omega. He’d explain everything to Pops, he wasn’t worried about your reception. You could easily join Thatch’s division with your obvious talent in baking. He’d be there to help you every step of the way, basking in your scent all the while.

“Don’t know why you’d want the scentless bitch anyway, useless trash,” Izo heard Wido mutter under his breath as you left the kitchens. Marco frowned and stood up as Thatch finished off the rest of his tea and did the same, cracking his knuckles. He made eye contact with Ace and smiled. Ace’s eyes lit up with glee as his hands crackled with fire, the implication between them clear. 

“Have fun, Ace," Izo said, herding the Omega out of the shop. 

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

when the objectively bad person has traumatic and honestly reasonable reasons for why theyre like that but it doesnt excuse their actions and only serves to make them more tragic as a character

if anyone needs me. i will be in the corner. contemplating the characters

sometimes a theme recurs in your work without your permission. and sometimes it reaches a threshold where you're like. well now i think this is saying something about me against my will. don't know what though

My dream as a writer isn’t to get published and make a lot of money, it’s to have a fanbase devoted enough that I can post a story about a background character that had four lines or drop a piece of obscure lore and they go crazy over it

Ruthless contract killer rendered completely powerless in the grip of his golden retriever man…..

the author's barely disguised lack of socialisation and profound sense of alienation from all other human life

The security robot sounds like a little kid tattling on their siblings. "MOM! KATSUKI AND IZUKU ARE BEING BAD AGAIN! THEY SHOULD BE GROUNDED!" Dadzawa is just done. He's just trying to do his work and now he's questing his job choice. Aizawa should also wear his hair up more often.

"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years