Too Many Times We Left, One Time We Stayed Together.

Mob Psycho Fic Recs Part 3

Here we go again! I’ve racked up another 10 bookmarks to share. As always, if you are the author of any of these wonderful fics and want to have your tumblr tagged just let me know!

Parental Supervision Author: piperita Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: dad reigen, good parent reigen, protective reigen, found family Summary: Reigen finds out that Teruki lives alone. No parents, foster parents, or even a hired caretaker. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to do with this information, but it’s certainly not ‘nothing’. Or: Reigen’s awkward, messy, and backwards guide to adopting psychic children. My Notes: Just a nice cute fic about Reigen looking out for and helping take care of Teru after finding out that he lives on his own. It’s cute and very sweet how Reigen takes a kind of backwards approach to helping out Teru, since Teru is way too stubborn to allow himself to be completely cared for by someone else. I really love Reigen and Teru’s dynamic in this fic so far and I’m excited to see more!

aquarium Author: amaranthinecanicular Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: ritshou, mermaid au, background terumob Summary: It was just a fairytale. One of those bedtime stories parents tell their kids to make them wary of the surface. Merfolk didn’t fall in love with humans, they didn’t fall for the sweet words of seawitches and they didn’t fall out of the ocean with legs only to fall back as seafoam. It was just a fairytale. It was supposed to be a fairytale. My Notes: One of my all-time favorite ritshou fics, I go back and reread it all the time! I’m such a sucker for mermaid fics and this one is super beautifully written. It’s poetic and flows so so well, it wraps you in from the very beginning with its gorgeous prose and mysterious story. It’s definitely been an inspiration to me in pursuing a more descriptive and flowery writing style for certain fics. The budding friendship between Shou and Ritsu is endearing and believable and very in character, and the little mermaid inspiration brings a familiarity to the story as well that makes it easy to follow and understand what’s going on behind the scenes. I absolutely adore how the author writes Ritsu’s point of view, it’s just a really really solid and fun fic that I’ll continue to go back to after this.

Out of Body Author: bobmoss Rating: M Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: serirei, slow burn, mental health issues, recovery, case fic, hurt/comfort Summary: Serizawa’s recovery seems to be going so well, but then he suddenly develops a habit of accidental out of body experiences during panic attacks. My Notes: A very sweet, emotional exploration of Serizawa and Reigen’s budding relationship post-world domination arc. I absolutely love the way the author writes these two as friends who know and understand each other, and how that leads into an eventual romance. It has some really heart-stoppingly scary dramatic moments, too, for being such a character-centered story, which took me pleasantly by surprise. I really look forward to what the author has planned for the future of this fic!

Night Terrors Author: futuresoon Rating: T Archive Warnings: Unspecified (there’s some blood/injury and horror elements, but nothing too extreme) Completion Status: Complete Tags: Yomawari: Midnight Shadows fusion (no knowledge needed to read), horror, angst, alternate universe Summary: Ritsu wants psychic powers more than he wants almost anything. But he didn’t expect them to only be good for seeing spirits, and he didn’t expect them to only appear after his brother walks into the forest and doesn’t come back. Now the town is full of monsters, and all Ritsu can do is search for his brother–but even powerful children are still children, and the night is not always kind. My Notes: This fic really took me by surprise, since I had never played Yomawari and knew nothing about it before reading this. It’s dark and relatively scary as far as my usual taste in fics go, but it’s written really well. The author is really good at displaying the hopeless aura of the situation without making it seem like all is lost, and the atmosphere and constantly moving story make it really easy to get lost in this dark alternate reality. It’s not really a happy fic, though, and the ending is rather bittersweet, so be aware if you decide to read this one.

The Accelerated Velocity of Terminological Inexactitude Author: LogicalBookThief Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: terumob, fake dating au, slow build/slow burn, crushes, pining, holding hands, slight angst, mentions of mogami arc Summary: Teru offers to fake date Mob in order to gain Tsubomi’s attention. His own crush on Mob makes this plan somewhat problematic. My Notes: Teru has a big ol crush on Mob and takes advantage of his crush on Tsubomi to become his fake boyfriend for a time, except it really does more harm to himself than to anyone else. The fake dating AU we all know and love, now with added mogami arc angst (just a little) and the slow realization that their fake relationship might have more truth behind it than either of them are intending. It’s a super sweet fic and a relatively quick read if you’re looking for something with meat that isn’t 100k words long. It brought quite a few smiles to my face and a couple of excited squeals as well.

Grow as we Go Author: lesboba Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: In Progress Tags: terumob, fluff, character study, hurt/comfort, dad reigen, established relationship, good person teru, post-canon, kissing, panic attacks Summary: Teru’s still working on himself, but he has time and the right people with him now. My Notes: This fic is so so good and sweet, it focuses on Teru coming into his own and figuring out how to be a good person post-canon. It’s so endearing seeing him interacting with the whole Kageyama family, especially Shigeo, who he’s dating in secret, and his parents, who treat him like their own son and it’s great. It’s so nice to see Teru’s struggle to remind himself that he can change and become better from inside his own head, since in canon we only get brief mentions of what that must be like. It’s also super soft, just very very soft, and it makes me feel nice every time I go back to refresh myself on it.

Blind Eye Author: NewWorldFool Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: ritshou, pining, fluff, mutual pining, john mulaney references Summary: “Yo, Ritsu!” Shou says with a nonchalant wave as he walks through the doorway, entering the threshold of the student council room. The boy in question sighs, but not unkindly. “Shou,” he says in lieu of a greeting. Shou showing up to the student council meetings has become a somewhat common occurrence even though he doesn’t even attend the school. He won’t admit the exact reason why, but Ritsu deduced it was probably to mess with him. Normally he’d be annoyed, but today? Ritsu is grateful for the interruption. (Basically a ritshou fic where they’re dating but not really dating and Ritsu gets an epiphany) My Notes: This is a super sweet, super cute one-shot about how Ritsu and Shou act like they’re a couple long before they actually start dating and I love it. Shou showing up at Ritsu’s school and house out of the blue is one of my favorite fanon interpretations of him and it’s played out really well in this fic. I also love the idea of the two of them just being unabashedly affectionate when it’s just the two of them, they have such a cute relationship in this interpretation!

Cinderella-Esque Author: beanpots and Floral Fancies (lovelycoris) Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: ritshou, terumob, cinderella au, curses Summary: Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was a tiny kingdom that was peaceful, prosperous, and rich in romance and tradition. Tucked away in the corner of town lies a charming little stone house that’s absolutely smothered by flowers of impeccable beauty. But the life around the Kageyama house belies the bane plaguing them - Ritsu Kageyama will do anything to lift the curse from his older brother. Even if it costs him a glass shoe. My Notes: This might be my favorite mob psycho fic like.. ever. I remember staying up into the early hours of the morning to read it all in one sitting because I just had to know what happened next. It’s beautifully written and leaves you on the edge of your seat wondering what might happen next, and the fantasy/cinderella vibes are so so fun to read. This art also comes with the amazing added bonus of having beautiful chapter cover art and even some mini comics slotted into the fic itself, which is such a treat to come across every single time. I highly recommend this fic to anyone who likes ritshou and terumob even a little, it’s so well-written and the characterization, specifically for Ritsu and Shigeo, is really solid.

first day Author: shcherbatskayas Rating: T Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: ritshou, school nonsense, hugs, undiagnosed dyslexia, lunch sharing, mutual pining, trauma Summary: Ritsu can’t stop himself from being excited about it: Shou’s first day in his class. He can’t stop himself from being nervous, either. My Notes: post-canon, Shou starts attending Salt middle school and ends up in Ritsu’s class. Shou’s not really cut out for school, unsurprisingly, but Ritsu’s there to keep him company and reassure him that he’ll end up alright. Ritsu makes a pro vs con list of what it’s like to have Shou as a classmate (and to have a friend in his class who he actually likes). It’s a really sweet, nice, fluffy fic and I love the way the author writes Ritsu and Shou’s friendship and how they support each other, I just really love all of the author’s ritshou fics actually. This one was particularly nice to read though, their interpretation of Ritsu and Shou’s relationship is really nice to read and comes across very natural and close.

It’s Hard to Read When You’re Fast Asleep Author: Squishy360 Rating: G Archive Warnings: None Completion Status: Complete Tags: good brother ritsu, family fluff, ???% as a character Summary: Mob passes out. ???% wakes up. Ritsu helps his brother take care of himself in the meantime. My Notes: This fic caught me by surprise in the best way. It’s short and tame and is such a fun and interesting take on ???%’s relationship with Ritsu, how he still recognizes Ritsu as his brother and has that sort of instinctual caring attitude toward him. It’s surprisingly wholesome and comes across almost like a crack fic but it just leaves you feeling warm and happy in the end. Ritsu’s initial fear of ???% and his slow realization that he’s not going to get hurt this time is so nice to read and very cathartic overall. I really love this idea and the author executes on it really really well!

SVSSS may be from Shen Qinqiu's narrative point of view but it is in fact, the Luo Binghe book, as he is the one that carries the plot consequences of Shen Qingqiu's changed plot beats.

It would not evolve without the core story relying on Luo Binghe's actions for and against Shen Qingqiu, the technical "villain" of the work, who, despite being the protagonist narratively for the audience, is not the in story protagonist. The role of the plot protagonist is still Luo Binghe as he follows the intro, exposition, fall, and conclusion of the main character.

As deemed by the system change, Shen Qingqiu is the deuteragonist and main love interest. As following the split of protagonist/antagonist, it is not Luo Binghe that is revealed to have been in the wrong, but of Shen Qingqiu's own assumptions due to "previous knowledge" that he insists is still the same that causes hurdles for both. He is made to step out of the villain impeding the growth of the main role, into realizing his role and place as the deuteragonist love interest.

villain monologue 2.0

Hua Cheng layouts! <3

ー like/reblog if u save/use ★

I love how Sha Hualing is trying her best to be the hated misogyny bait character that steals the man and creates all the relationship drama for the popular ships but she does such an incredible girlfail girlunpaidintern job at it that she's instead universally loved by the fandom and gifted 300 girlfriends for her efforts

im sexy and i know it girl look a dead body girl look a dead body

SeriRei Week 2020 extremely late day 2: touch

sfkdghksjlf I have dumb bitch disease, I thought I already posted this. I’m not going to do all of the prompts but uhhhhh I can’t NOT draw at least some of them

also I FINALLY found a website with some good free textures and now I’m going to use them for everything

oh hey, its the two most annoying anachronistic assholes on the planet

here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted:   Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.   They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees.   “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”