#‘write a shitty poem’ they say ‘what do you have to lose?’

[diearchivarin]

Maybe It’s a Sign, diearchivarin, 2023

[starzwithapen]

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

JOHN DORY / READER ☆ DUET?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

☆summary: Brozone happens to play on the radio, and JD's appalled to find out you're not a fan

☆content: reader is not a pop-troll, reader is gender neutral, lowkey crackfic lmao, established relationship

☆a/n: Silver wrote this one!! And okay we KNOW realistically JD would tell his partner about being in brozone but for the sake of the comedic factor in the fic he's hiding it shshsshshhsbshshsh

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

You'd been sitting in the driver's seat, driving Rhonda around [a rare occurrence, but JD indulged you just this once] while John Dory stirred his sugar into his mug, handing you yours with a kiss to your cheek. You nod at him gratefully, looking down at the buttons spread across in front of you, one of them particularly sticking out to you.

“Woah, wait, I didn't know Rhonda had a radio.”

John Dory leans against the back of your seat, arms wrapped around you from behind, “ehh, I don't use it often in case it scares off all the animals.”

He pokes your arm playfully, eyes glancing out the window, “we're pretty far out, though, should be fine to listen to some tunes.”

You insert a random channel number, turning the volume upwards. This one seems to be a host speaking about the weather, so you switch to the next- sounds like a cheesy pop song of some kind, probably a boy band. You snort at the lyrics- you didn't know anyone could fit that many synonyms of “girl” into one song.

You switch onto the next channel without catching John Dory's wide, shit-eating grin, and the immediate way his face practically crumples apart, “wuh- hey, what's wrong with that last song? It was really good.”

“Okay, I know you're a pop-troll,” you start, trying to find a channel with your preferred music, “but you have to remember I'm not. That stuff hurts my ears.”

John Dory leans backwards, arms crossing around his chest, “Okay, yeah, you don't like pop music, but why that song specifically? I was really jamming out to it, y'know.” He makes that smug smile of his that normally has your cheeks heating, “guy's a lyrical genius if you ask me.”

You stare at him, unimpressed, because he's got to be joking if he thinks that song has deep lyrics.

“JD, he just rhymed baby with baby. Three times in a row. Within the same chorus.”

“Hey, it's hard to think of rhymes that don't throw off the choreo, okay?” He points an accusing finger in your direction before pausing, forcing a nonchalant pose and pursing his lips, “Or- uh, or so I've heard.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's what you pop-trolls always say. I think that guy just needs to pick up a dictionary every once in a while.”

You don't actually care about the song that much, but seeing John Dory get this riled up over it is funny enough for you to go further,

“I bet you I could write a better song by the end of the week than that guy has his whole career.”

John Dory's grin turns wolfish, and oh boy, you should've known better than to try and challenge him, even jokingly,

“Oh you bet, do you? We'll see about that.”

—-------------------

This whole thing was going. Uh. Badly.

Your conversation had escalated into another one of your bets, which you surprisingly lose more often than not, most likely because you bite off more than you can chew. John Dory's unfortunately very aware of this, and throws you bait whenever he can. This time was no different. Winner gets one request for the loser.

You are not a song-writer by any means. You're a troll, yes, trolls sing and dance! But you don't write songs! The most experience you have with rhyming is a shitty poem you made as a teenager that never saw the light of day.

You'd started with listening to more of Brozone's music, and okay, you have to admit, some of their songs were actually really good okay. You'd caught yourself humming them more than once throughout the day, and John Dory always gives you that smug look from your peripherals before leaning in to kiss you senseless. He knew you were coming around to them and it was humiliating, and he was also concerningly elated by it.

While listening you've come to realise the lead singer sounds oddly similar to John Dory, just with a higher pitch and none of that raspiness. Like, freakishly similar. It's had you thinking John Dory's calling for you when he's just sound asleep, and the fact you misheard Brozone's “baby” or “honey” as JD is frankly embarrassing.

You groan and slump against the couch, the pen tumbling out your hand and clattering onto the ground below. Okay, you had to admit, this was really difficult. You were suddenly gaining so much more respect for boy bands.

You'd wanted to use this ridiculous bet as an opportunity to show off, or…even bring you and JD closer together- you know how important music is to him, so getting to write him a love song under the guise of a bet? It's a perfect chance handed to you on a silver platter!

But you just can't seem to think of the words- it's already been a week and so far you've written, what? 4 verses? And they all sucked. You wanted it to mean something- you wanted it to sound poetic and elegant and meaningful all at once, unlike those silly songs on the radio, but it just wouldn't work out!

You muffle a frustrated shout into your hands, pulling them away from your face when you hear footsteps, looking up to see John Dory towering over you.

“You give up yet?” His smile is adorable infuriating to look at, so you cast your gaze aside, huffing and grabbing your pen off the floor.

“No, ‘course not.”

He hums, patient for you to admit defeat, trying to take a peek at your notebook from up above, though you're not too worried since he can't read upside down [or at all, you've come to suspect].

“Okay, fine, I give up. You win.”

John Dory lets out a ‘whoop!’ and throws a fist upwards in celebration, smile so wide you're afraid he'll split his face apart.

You sigh, “Okay, hit me with it, I'm doing the dishes for a full week? Scrubbing Rhonda's windows?”

“Sing a duet with me.”

“This is so unfair, you know I hate doing the dishes- wait- huh?”

John Dory looks at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, holding his palm out for you to take, “Sing a duet with me. C'mon, don't think I haven't seen you swaying to my- uh, ahem, Brozone's music the past few days.”

He recovers quickly from his slip-up, tugging you upwards once you take his hand. He carefully starts up his record player, and you're surprised to find you recognise the song immediately, since it'd become a favourite of yours this past week.

“You know this one?” JD grins in your direction, one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm, “think I've heard you hum it a few too many times during breakfast.”

The song starts off slow, as does your dancing, the both of you simply swaying together- you don't exactly…dance often, so your movements are clumsy while his are self-assured.

The lyrics are cheesy, all about young teenage love, but…they make you feel giddy, your steps becoming lighter, your heart fluttering about. And, well, the song may not have deep mind-blowing lyrics, but you think that's the point of it. It's just meant to be fun, have your blood pumping and your heart soaring.

“We're grown adults, this song is for highschoolers.” You say, though your smile is fonder this time. John Dory chuckles and spins you around in his arms, making your head spin in more ways than one, your feet tripping up over his, “C’mon, live a little! Who says we can't be young and free in our mid-thirties?”

You stumble in place, trying to blink the dizziness out your eyes.

“JD, I'm gonna knock you out.” You try your best to grumble, but it only comes out flustered with how hot your cheeks are.

He smirks, twirling you around, “You've already knocked me-” his foot slides under yours, and you fall down into his arms with a yelp as he catches you in a perfect dip- “off my feet.”

Just before you can spew another insult at him for catching you off-gaurd like this, he leans in to kiss you, lips melding against yours sweetly. You melt into it, his arms secured around you so you don't fall, the music fading into background noise in your mind. You know your voice will be hoarse from singing and your muscles sore from dancing by the end of the night, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

Would be superr cool if you left feedback if you enjoyed it's super helpful and much appreciated ! this guy is so cringefail I NEED HIM. -silver

[karlkapri]

Being a bitch about the leafs getting a dewey is immature. Sadposting and making little edits about how awful Toronto is? Fuck off. Just because your team cant make the playoffs dont blame the teams that can. We will love him on the leafs. Get over yourself.

okay so i normally delete these kinda asks without bothering w a reply because i honestly think they’re kind of tiresome & because i know you’re just being a fan and if i can forgive wild fans for being unreasonable about their team i then i can forgive leafs fans for it too. 

with that said: braindead take.

just. stupid. so stupid, in fact, that i will write a reply because i think it genuinely might make me feel a little better. 

okay so lets start right at the end. WHY should i get over the fact that a player i like is no longer on my team. why should it matter that you’ll love him. my team was sold of in little bits to teams i either don’t care about or actively root against. 

that?? sucks?? 

i care about my team. i want my team to win. i want my favourite players to stay on my team and when they don’t that’s upsetting. this is not a revolutionary concept.

also the way it all played out was kinda shitty. i knew we would likely lose duhaime, but after losing pat i thought we would maybe get to keep dewar. and when the deadline passed i thought we were ok. hell, even connor thought he was safe. and that he would get to stay with his friends. and then it turns out we lost him at the last second. and that’s fucking gutting. 

“we will love him in toronto” ok. even if that is true, my favourite toy was taken away and given to some other kid. i don’t care whether or not they’re happy to have him. i didn’t want to give him away. were you happy for the canes when bunting went there instead of coming back to the leafs??? no because that’s not how this works. i don’t want good things for the leafs i want good things for my team. i don’t want other teams to win i want my team to win

and that’s allowed.

encouraged even.

“sadposting and making little edits” ok this is fair and accurate and i might make it my blog title if you don’t mind. it is funny to me that you interpret that poem as being about how much the leafs suck and not about?? how being traded suddenly?? and your best friend being traded away?? sucks??? poems are funny things and don’t say anything definitively, so you are allowed to interpret it however you like, but i haven’t gotten any angry avs fans in my inbox yelling about my "duhaime sadposts"?

but ok! directors note & something worth keeping in the back of your mind when interacting w this edit and also all other dewar edits: 

This is not!!! About you!!! 

i am not trying to hurt your feelings!! i do not care about your team!! for the love of god please just unfollow my blog.

also. and this is pedantic but i want to say it because its been bothering me. you don’t get “A Dewey”, you get Connor Dewar. the deweys were a matched set and without duhaime on the same team what does that even matter. you don’t get “dewey 2” you get Connor Dewar. congrats! that's great! he’s wonderful. please treat him nice etc etc.

being a bitch about the leafs is immature and i will do a better job of tagging my anti-leafs posts from now on. ill even tag all of my dewey poems as anti leafs if they're this upsetting to you.

one final thing: the wild not making the playoffs is very much the fault of other teams and i absolutely could blame other teams for it. theyre better and they beat us and now we might not make the playoffs. again: that's how this works. i get your point though, its not the leafs´ fault the wild have been miserable this season but i reserve the right to dislike them either way :)

congrats on the cute little guy. i will miss him very much. and again: PLEASE unfollow.

[anonymousbardd]

꒰ ☕ ꒱ ┊: Bro's The

Type To...

↳ various x reader

- Just a cute lil sumthin sumthin because I'm bored :3

♯01 ┊: Daniel Park

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Have quality time as a love language.

To Help out with work/homework.

To Help out in the kitchen.

To Surprise you w/ homemade gifts.

To Try and write a poem about you.

To Give you snacks when waiting for something.

To Love you unconditionally 'till the end of time.

To Beat up anyone who harasses you.

⿻┊: Daniel would definitely be the definition of a "perfect boyfriend", although he's human of course, he still keeps secret and doesn't open up too much.

But once he feels really comfortable, he wouldn't have much a problem of telling you how he truly feels, he also has a bit of a habit to run away or hide somewhere when something goes wrong.

He's still gonna come back though, after he stops blaming himself.

♯02┊: Jay Hong

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Spoil you rotten with gifts and surprises.

To Get you flowers on special and non-special occasions.

To Do something for you with no hesitation.

To Go on a hunted house with you even though he's scared.

To Protect you on a rollercoaster, but ends up vomitting after.

To Loose his phone somewhere and ends up finding it in your hands.

To Get lose and ends up being found at a lost and found.

To Dress up his puppies and take them on a little fashion show.

To take you on a date at the dog park.

To Fall asleep in your arms while cuddling little puppies.

⿻┊: Without a doubt Jay tries his best to be the perfect boyfriend, he loves you unconditionally and does everything you ask for, only problem is that he spoils you way too much.

He's got a lot of money, yeah, but your home doesn't have much space, Jat tries to get you a warehouse because of it.

Your parents love him though, he's successful, academically smart, well mannered, according to your parents, he's a "husband material".

♯03┊: Jace Park

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Still crush on you even when married.

To Have matching piercings with you.

To Let you braid his hair.

To Let you put makeup on him.

To hold your bag while shopping, even while complaining about holding your bags, (complains more when you hold them yourself).

To Treat you to dinner even when he's broke.

To Take you on bicycle rides.

To Let you touch his ears while cuddling.

To Tutor you on a subject you find difficult.

To Go on gym dates with you.

To do a detective mini game as a date.

⿻┊: Jace is a simp, it's not really a secret, when he fell, he fell hard, he really likes to be around you and is very talkative.

Would share his interest with detective stuff with you, he definitely watched detective Conan as a child.

Jace loves ya, a lot, he'd be willing to accept no matter what your gender is, he'll be a bit confused at first, but he'll eventually get used to it.

♯04┊: Vin Jin

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Confess to you by rapping.

To Write you a song.

To Act all tough with you but starts to mentally panic when you pretend to cry.

To Say stuff like, "Shut up I hate you," then proceed to do nice things.

To be a tsundere.

To have pillow fights with ya.

To constantly argue with you and won't apologise even if you cry, because he sucks at that.

He'll eventually try to apologise, but it isn't too good of an apology.

⿻┊: Others think that he's a shitty lover, and they're kinda right, but the only thing is, he actually tries.

He doesn't remember anniversaries or any cutesy holidays, but once he realises the occasion he'll try to make a nice present...

He'll rap to you.

But it's the thought that counts, he'll try to make up for it though.

♯005┊: Euntae Lee

⿻ "Bro's the type to..."

To Get lost at the toy section at Walmart.

To play dress up with you.

To take you on a date on build-a-bear.

To pick you flowers from random bushes.

To go on fun carnival dates with you.

To go on the gym with you.

To have fun at the play area at the park.

To bake with you on birthdays.

⿻┊: Vasco is a cutie, he'll definitely do cute couple stuff with you, all wholesome.

He'll also protect you whenever you come across trouble, and if anyone does something bad to you he'll scare them.

[duncebento]

wanna hear me rant bae

i’m very frustrated with my romantic prospects at the moment. it’s bad enough to be a woman in the world in general because it means you’re always playing a game you didn’t necessarily sign up for in which you almost always lose. but beyond that being a black “woman” means that people project all of this weird random shit onto me, which affected my feeling about romantic interaction from an early age since i didn’t interact with any other black kids until high school. regardless, minus anything on my end what i want from someone else seems so fucking rare— or, i see people who exhibit it, but they’re all around 40, and the prospect of waiting 20 years….it doesn’t seem like something i should have to do, anyway. i just feel romantically wrong. when a man has his arm around my shoulders i feel like i’m pretending to be something i’m not. if i’m not pretending then i can’t escape the feeling that he’s going to collect whatever he needs from my honesty and then go back to someone more feminine, more normal, less monstrous (and not black, lol!) and i sound like a dick saying this but while i think dating black people could be helpful in some ways, i don’t actually have a lot of cultural connection to blackness, given that i grew up only around asian kids (had to fight the urge to write “other” there help) in a fucking country club, and my family are caribbean immigrants. i do love being black but cultural blackness is something i actively participate in, and have only been participating in, again, since high school. there are too many boundaries i operate at the cusp of to not just be a sort of freak to most people. even my queerness is hard to place. i think i’m so cool, but an acquired taste, not something any majority of people could contend with. but it gets difficult as time progresses to truly perceive that i’ve never been treated nicely by men. i know that in refusing to objectify myself i have always alienated myself from romance. and then the virginity, the abandonment issues, the daddy issues all intensify everything. experimentation and trial become impossible because everything is so suffused with meaning. i think that remaining “a virgin” until this point was a mistake, the sort of trick society would play on a woman to keep her knowledge-less. i am in a power imbalance with every man i’m sexually interested in. i think about hiding my inexperience— but how shitty is it to have to do that? to have to shield yourself from your lover? but now it’s too late, anyway, i’m far too easily bruised to attempt to do away with my virginity randomly, which just means my inexperience is stoked for another year, another year. i’m always thinking these days of plath’s poem about virgins like rotting nymphs.

but that’s all big stuff, and i’m after something small, which still seems impossible to find. a man who can contend with me for a month or so, so not an idiot or a conquistador. 20 is a very fucking lonely age to be.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Burning the Midnight Oil

Summary: You’re alone and miserable, up far too late losing your mind over an essay that isn’t even due tomorrow when Loki pops in with flowers.

Word Count: 1,858

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: So this is a reader fic, but also the reader is literally just me. I usually don’t like writing super obviously personal self-indulgent fluff, but I’ve had an incredibly shitty week and just ended up writing this in my notebook yesterday. This isn’t really edited, and it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense (like ... don’t question how Loki ended up dating a random college student), but it was therapeutic to write and I figured I might as well post it. Also, the line Loki reads aloud is from Sonnet 29, a poem that has absolutely nothing to do thematically with this story, but it’s my favorite sonnet and I wanted Loki to read it to me so don’t judge.

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Implied depression

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod​ @naterson​

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Your back hurts.

Everything hurts, actually. These dorm-issued chairs are not designed with long-term comfort in mind, and you’ve been sitting here hunched at your desk for a while now, several hours at least. There had still been light streaming through your weather-beaten blinds when you first sat down to work, but the sun had long since faded beneath the horizon—in fact, if your roommate had been here, she probably would have asked you a while ago in her soft, amiable manner if it was okay if she turned off the big ceiling light, her polite way of telling you to get the fuck off your laptop and go to bed. But your roommate isn’t here—she’s staying over at her asshole damned-lucky-to-have-her boyfriend’s apartment, a last-minute decision that left you alone and unsupervised for the night.

You’re fine though. It’s good to have time to yourself. Hell, there was a time where the prospect of a night of solitude would send you jumping for joy. It’s just … well, you have a tendency of turning a vacant room into an echo chamber to your thoughts, and these days your thoughts haven’t exactly been the kind of thing you enjoy being alone with.

It doesn’t matter. Tonight, you’re fine—you have a distraction. This essay isn’t due until Friday, but you’ve determined to finish it tonight, and now you can’t go to bed until the final period has been typed. It’s a messy business, essay writing. All night, you’ve known nothing but the relentless back and forth between the brilliant spark of a fresh idea that leaves you feeling like a genius and the all-consuming urge to bash your laptop against the wall over and over and over again before you allow your professor to lay her eyes on the wretched piece. At the moment, you’re beginning to stumble back into the latter, but you force yourself to swallow your self-contempt and keep going. It doesn’t matter how awful it is, just that it’s finished. Then you can lie on your heating pad and fall asleep to the sound of a YouTube art video you’ve watched a million times before.

“What are you still doing up?”

You jump at the question, nearly knocking your computer from its precarious position perched on the edge of your desk. Loki reaches around you to steady it with one hand—the other is supporting a vase the size of your head blooming with vibrant daffodils.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You let out a breath that’s shakier than you intended. One would think that after nearly a year of dating a literal magic extraterrestrial man of myth, you wouldn’t even bat an eye at his habit of just … appearing, but there are still times when it makes your heart race.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to drop these off. I saw them earlier, and I know you said they were your favorite …” He trails off, motioning to the daffodils as he sets the vase on your desk. You inhale. He’s right—they are your favorites, and you find yourself smiling at the playful yellow buds, basking in a kind of warmth you’ve been lacking.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

Loki chuckles, somewhat sheepishly. “I had meant them as a surprise for when you awakened in the morning. I assumed you would have been asleep by now. What are you still doing up?”

“Oh.” The headache previously flushed away by the flowers returns. You gesture vaguely at your computer screen. “Essay.”

“Ah.” He nods, scanning the document over your shoulder. “Have you been working on this all night? You must be exhausted.”

“Eh.” You shrug, trying and failing to crack an easy grin. “I’m alright.” You don’t need to look at him to feel the concern in his gaze.

But to your relief, he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he moves to rub your shoulders, a gentle massage that you didn’t realize you had been fantasizing about. You let out a sigh, leaning back in the Chair of Agony and melting into his touch.

“May I ask what the topic is?”

“Oh.” You inhale. “Well, it’s about socially constructed gender roles in The Convent of Pleasure. Like, how they’re so pervasive that even characters actively attempting to break free of them struggle to separate what is truly natural and what society has deemed to be natural. And, you know, how that’s still a thing in today’s society.”

You’re talking too much. You know it, even as you sit there rattling off your thesis. But Loki sounds genuinely intrigued

“That’s fascinating.”

You laugh. You can’t help yourself. He always sounds so earnest when you tell him about your classes, even when he has no reason to be interested in them. It makes you feel important.

“Have you heard of The Convent of Pleasure?” you ask. “It was a play from the English Renaissance.”

“Oh yes. Margaret Cavendish, correct?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he continues. “I remember seeing it when it was first penned.”

He loves doing this—slipping in these casual reminders that he is, in fact, an immortal being who was present for every bygone era that you’re studying. You remember the first time he did it, leafing through your decrepit copy of Hamlet and offhandedly recalling the production he saw of the play, with Shakespeare playing the role of the Ghost. You think he just enjoys how your eyes widen.

This time, however, something doesn’t match up. You narrow your gaze suspiciously.

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve never been more sincere.”

“No, you’re not!” There’s a kind of playful satisfaction in knowing you’ve outsmarted him. “Convent of Pleasure is a closet play. It was never performed.”

Loki chuckles. “I see my tricks are no match for your superior intellect.” You’re already glowing from the compliment, but then he leans over to press a kiss to the top of your head and you positively melt.

“I really did read it though,” he says. “That was the one with the utopia free from men and marriage?” You nod, still too dizzy for words. “I would love to read your piece on it, if you’re comfortable with it.”

It’s as if you’ve been doused in cold water. “It’s not finished.” You know he means well, that his interest is genuine—most days you’re thrilled to share your work with him—but thinking having to show anyone the bland, uninspired analysis you’ve spent every shred of energy forcing on to the page and face their judgment makes you want to cry. “And it’s really bad.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“It is. It’s horrible. Everything’s just horrible.” You actually are crying now—you can feel the tell-tale warmth prickling your eyes, even as you bite your tongue in a weak attempt to swallow it. You hate this. You hate this. You hate being this emotional little child in a world of adults, who can’t do anything without dissolving into a puddle of tears over the slightest and stupidest of non-reasons, who then has to endure the looks of confused pity, the way their voices jump in pitch to show their concern as they ask the age-old question: “what’s wrong?”

As if you know. As if you’d tell them if you did.

Loki, to his credit, doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He gives your shoulder another pat, a soothing sort of strength behind his touch as he kneels besides your chair.

“It’s late, love,” he says softly. “Writing will come easier after a full night’s rest. I promise things will be better in the morning.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper. You want to believe him. Desperately. But to go to bed with unfinished would be a failure to meet your goal—a simple, perfectly attainable goal were you only a more functional human. You’re tired of feeling like a failure. You’re tired of waking up a failure.

Loki takes your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours with a squeeze. “Perhaps not. But I do know that forcing yourself to stay up when you’re exhausted is only going to make you feel worse.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Come to bed darling.” When you hesitate, he looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please.”

You inhale. “If I do, will you stay tonight?” You don’t say “I’m afraid to be alone”—that sounds too pathetically desperate, even for you—but you’re sure he can hear it in your voice just the same.

His smile is warm and relieved. “Of course.”

He waits patiently in the dorm as you shower and change. The one positive about waiting until the witching hour to get ready for bed is that there was no waiting for a free stall in the bathroom, so you don’t take too long. When you return to your room, he’s sitting in the Chair of Agony, thumbing through your copy of The Sonnets.

Loki clears his throat as you enter. “For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings / That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

A beautiful shiver runs down your spine. Loki reading poetry, Loki reading Shakespeare, is nothing short of transcendent. His voice has a honeyed richness that seems handcrafted specifically for those sonorous words. He leaves you awestruck every time, and he knows it too—you see the self-satisfied smirk tickling his lips as he follows you into bed.

Your twin bed is probably too small for both of you to fit comfortably, but you don’t mind snuggling up against Loki’s chest like some clingy sloth creature, and he doesn’t seem to mind either, given how he pulls you close at first opportunity, stroking your back as the beat of his heart lulls you into a trance.

The minutes tick by in silence, and you’ve nearly drifted into slumber when he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

You glance up with a frown. “For what?”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you lately.” There’s a heaviness to features that you can’t bring yourself to address.

Glancing away, you swallow. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“Still. I wish I could help you.”

“This is helping.” You mean it, too. He might only be a temporary fix, but everything seems safe and far away in his arms.

“Good. I’m glad.” He tips your chin so you’re looking up at him again, sparkling eyes that seem to shine even in the dark. “Just remember I am here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I’ll be here. You need only ask.”

Your eyes are prickling again, but for a much different reason this time. You sigh, nuzzling against his shirt like a sleepy cat. Loki kisses your forehead, and you melt into the feeling of his lips lingering against your skin.

“I love you,” you murmur. You’re not even sure you actual said the words until his gentle whisper sweeps over you in return.

“And I love you, darling.”

[mindofharry]

In which bucky realises the mistake he made and does everything in his power to get you back.

losing you masterlist: here!

smut!! fluff!! angst!! i’m so fucking in love with this series. mean!bucky, sex and a bit of grovelling! ALSO!!! thank you for 2k, i never expected to get this far with this page. writing has always been a passion for me so thank you guys for taking time out of your day to read my stuff. i appreciate and love you all immensely <3 happy reading!

The first thing bucky notices about you not being here, is the how quiet and lonely his apartment is. Usually, your moans, whimpers and giggles fill the small space. Not anymore. The only noise he can hear is you saying those words to him.

“You’re selfish and mean. And i deserve better”

It felt like it was ringing in his ear, no matter how loud the tv is or the children running up and down the hall, it was on a continuous loop. Selfish. Mean. Deserve better. It was meant to be no strings attached, something to let off a little steam. But then bucky got those butterflies, he wanted to take you dancing, take you to meet his friends. He didn’t like the feeling, so he didn’t the only thing he knew how to do.

Push you away.

Bucky didn’t like how he felt with you, he couldn’t understand it. He felt like he couldn’t be that person for you no matter how fucking hard he tried, bucky couldn’t be the one you cuddled up with after a stressful day. He couldn’t be the one cooking dinner for you. And he most definitely can’t be the person loving you, he’s just not programmed for that. Bucky hasn’t felt love in decades. He doesn’t know how to process it yet.

Bucky knew what he did was wrong and now laying on the ground, his back against the hard wood, the only thing he wanted was you. Y/N.

Bucky wanted Y/N.

He decided then and there, he would fix himself up, go to his therapist. And get you back.

Back in your apartment, you were still in your dress, only this time your make up was smudged and your date was cancelled. Who were you kidding? Nobody could replace bucky barnes, nobody. Fuck, you love him so much. This feeling, it’s so big. It feel like it’s taking up all of your body, this fire so big that no one can put out. Bucky is a drug, and you’ve definitely become addicted.

After what felt like hours staring at your wall, you decide it’s best to head to bed and just forget about what a disaster this night has been.

“So” Dr Raynor said, crossing her legs over. Bucky was sat in front of her, his legs bouncing up and down as his therapist tried to figure him out. Bucky hated therapy. He hated everything to do with it, he would rather be put in jail than do this bullshit sharing feelings thing.

But if he wanted any chance of getting you back, in his bed, kissing him than he would do it.

Bucky barnes was officially smitten.

“Tell me” Dr Raynor said, leaning foward. “What’s going on, james?” She asked and bucky sighed placing a hand over his eyes.

“I need help” He said and Dr Raynor nodded. “Well, yeah. That much is obvious” She teased making bucky roll his eyes.

“With a girl” He said and his therapist grunted leaning back in her seat. Bucky hasn’t been this embarrassed since middle school when he peed his pants and had to go home early, everyone laughed at him in the playground. He never forgot that, but right now, his therapist trying to keep her laughs in made him feel a little small and fragile.

“Fine. I’ll find someone else” He mumbled, moving to get up. Dr Raynor settled herself down and held her hand up to stop him. “Oh, be quiet. Tell me about this girl” She said putting her notebook down. Bucky looked down at his hands and smiled.

It almost startled the therapist, she’d never seen him smile like that. Or ever, for that matter.

“Y/N” He started.

“Y/N is the most beautiful and wise woman i’ve ever met” He said. “Always there for me, willing to do just about anything i asked her to do. Fuck, she’s the best thing that’s happened to me, since well ever” Bucky said and the therapist nodded.

“But i fucked it up. Said somethings i didn’t mean and now she won’t even look me in the eye. I was so shitty to her just because i couldn’t admit my own feelings.” Bucky groaned and Dr raynor nodded agreeing.

“James, what do you want me to tell you? You messed up, now go and apologise” She said and buckys eyes widened. “I can’t just apologise to her” He said and his therapist lifted her hand up.

“Exactly. Problem solved”

Bucky made a noise of complaint while dr raynor packed up her stuff. “See you next week, lover boy” she said walking out of the room and leaving bucky to his own thoughts.

Flowers? Chocolates? Dancing? A poem? What do women like you, like these days? God, he’s still way too new in this world to be thinking about these things. But he really fucking needs you. He needs you and your jokes, you and your witty nature.

Bucky just needs you, and he’s about to do anything in his power to get you back, starting with an apology.

You were sitting in your living room a glass of wine in your hand and new girl on in the background. Your mind was somewhere else, you’ve just felt off all day. You keep zoning out, not being able to concentrate. Is this what a broken heart feels like? A knock on the door brings out of your thoughts and back to reality. A shitty fucking reality. You sigh and put your wine down on the table and make your way over the front door, you nearly tripped over your stiletto heels on the way there. You didn’t move them last night because you were so exhausted and out of it.

Opening the door you see bucky. Just the man you didn’t want to see, you begin to close the door in his face when his foot blocks it. “Please, just hear me out” He begged and you sighed crossing your arms over your chest.

“Can i come in?” Bucky asked and you scoffed.

“Why should i let you come in? Do you remember what you did the last time?” You said and bucky placed a hand over his eyes, obviously frustrated. You didn’t understand why, he made your place in his life pretty clear.

“I should come in because i need to apologise to you. For everything. The way i treated you and the things i said. I need to apologise, so please let me in”

You sighed and opened up the door wider and walked down the hallway. You sat back down on the couch taking a gulp of you wine. You were so easy, you thought. You barley put up a fight, you should’ve just closed the door in his face. But you did want to hear what he had to say, what bullshit apology he’d come up with.

“So?” You said and bucky nodded sitting beside you.

“I miss you” He started and you rolled your eyes. “No, fuck. I do miss you, but i’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry” Bucky said grabbing your hand. You wanted to pull away but you just couldn’t, his hand felt so good in yours. You leaned over and put your wine on the coffee table. Bucky took that as permission to take your other hand.

“I had feelings for you, no i have feelings for you. I just, i’m not good at expressing myself, i’m working on it. My therapist told me to get you flowers and shit, but i left them in my apartment and this is just a whole mess” Bucky ranted, you had to bite your lip to make you not burst out with laughter.

“You talked about to your therapist?” You asked, giggling. Fuck, even your laugh is beautiful. What is there not love about you?

“I’m sorry” He said, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “I have feelings for you, and i didn’t know how to express that. So i pushed you away and treated you so badly. I’m going to apologise for that until the day i die. I just, i like you a lot Y/N” he said and you could feel your cheeks burn.

You really weren’t expecting that.

“My thought process was that i would never be that person, you know that boyfriend who’s ready to cook dinner and take the dogs for a walk” He said and you nodded understand.

“But i’m willing to do that for you, if you’d give me another chance”

You looked up at him, staring into those beautiful wide eyes. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

“Bucky....”

He moved closer to you bringing a hand to your cheek. “Please, i have hundreds of flowers and like 10 boxes of chocolates back in my apartment. Come back with me? Please?” He asked, so much vulnerability could be heard. You sighed and looked around.

You didn’t deserve what happened, but you know he’s sorry. Maybe a little more grovelling? Make up sex is the best, though. You contemplate a little longer and then nod.

“Yeah, i’ll stay at yours for a bit”

Bucky nearly cried when you said that. Maybe he’d actually have a chance.

He helped you up from the couch and watched you get your shoes. He could get use to this. “You ready?” He asked holding out his hand, you nodded taking it. It felt nice to be wanted.

After a short walk to buckys apartment, your met with (literally hundreds) of yellow flowers. You could cry, he did this all for you? You lift your hand to your mouth and look around the room.

“Do you hate it? I can get better-“

You interrupt him with a peck to the lips. He was shocked, but he didn’t hesitate with kissing you back. He placed both of his hands on the side of your head and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue in.

“Fuck, i missed you” you said in between kisses, you moved your hands to his chest. Bucky pulled away and moved back.

“I just want you to know, that i wasn’t planning on seducing you or anything. If you want i have sex we will, if you don’t, then we’ll watch a movie. There’s no pressure” He said reassuring you. You smirked and pecked his lips.

“Why don’t we go to your bedroom?”

Bucky pulls you along to his room, lifting you up once he opens the door. “Your room is messy” You said and Bucky laughed. “Hasn’t been the same without you” He said and you pouted, kissing his lips.

“I’m sorry about that, let me help you?” You said taking your shirt off, leaving you only in your pjs short and bare breasts. Bucky was staring at you intently, making your nipples harden. He reached out and ran his fingers across your nipples making you moan with pleasure. His finger was cold and just what you needed.

“Strip and then you’re going to ride me. Been too long princess” Bucky said and you nodded quickly taking your shorts and skimpy underwear off.

“Fuck” Bucky said as you lay down on the bed, legs wide open. You were dripping wet, your hands coming down to play with yourself a little. “You’re gorgeous,” He said, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Seems like you’re wet enough for me, yeah? i’ll play with you more later” He said and you nodded, just wanting him to be in you.

Bucky rolled over and took a condom out from the door, he quickly got out of his clothes and you almost moaned at the sight of him putting on that condom. He really does like hot doing anything.

Bucky lays down his head on his pillow and you quickly and swiftly move to sit on his lap, your knees either side of him.

You placed his cock, in your dripping pussy and loved the sound he made. Bucky groaned, his hands coming to your hips immediately, to guide you at a good pace. Your hands moved to his chest, scratching at it slightly, bucky moaned at that too. Pain kink, you figured that out pretty quickly. You began to move your hips and created a good rhythm.

“Oh, god” You whimpered, as you bounced on Bucky's cock.

“Missed you, and this” Bucky said and you nodded, your hips bucking.

You begin to move faster and faster, the bed frame hitting against the wall and bucky groans and your whimpers the only thing you can hear. God, you missed him and his cock so much. Bucky is so deep inside of you, you can feel everything. He’s so good at this, sometimes he doesn’t even have to try.

“This…. is so good…..” You said whimpering, leaning down to peck his lips. Bucky responded, moving his hands to your breasts and giving them a squeeze.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, bucking his hips up fucking you faster. You nodded and moaned.

“Please! Oh fuck” You screamed, feeling that pleasure start to build up. As the both of you came down from your highs, bucky brought you into his chest.

“I’m never losing you again”

Taglist: @formulamendes @ityagirljay @josegandulfo @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @beminetokeep @jbcalway @lxdyred @idkwhttocallmysrlf <33

[alexinyell0w]

ME COMPARING MIKE WILL AND EL TO ME, MY GIRLFRIEND AND MY BEST GUY FRIEND.

note: everyone is different. everyone would act different. yet I noticed our dynamics were pretty similar and I wanted to explain how I think mike feels the same way will does for him from my real life perspective. this does not reflect on canon relationships in anyway, i just think it's a quite interesting thought.

sometimes I compare things Mike and will do to be and my girlfriend, then turn around and compare it to me and my best guy friend since I'm an autistic lesbian and he's a cishet guy. I'd never grab his hand if he were shaking. to many romantic connotations. I'd side hug him and maybe rub his arm if he were shaking that bad. he's my BEST friend. my girlfriend is ALSO my best friend. I would grab her hand. if she was shaking I'd grab her hand or hold it with my arm around her to let her know im still there holding her in more ways than one. if I was a shitty friend for having out with my gf to much, I would probably confront my guy friend and apologize and have awkward eye contact a few times maybe crack a couple jokes and tell him I'd hang out with him more and set a date. if I were hanging out with my guy friend to much I'd confront my girlfriend, ask her how she felt apologize and probably make the most eye contact I could to let her know I genuinely care about her and how she feels. if I had painted for my guy friend (which I often do) I'd show it to him with GREAT excitement. if i had received something of the sort, I'd awkwardly smile and thank him profusely. I'm bad with gifts but I love them. (something I see in mike) if however I made my girlfriend something I'd want to show it to her, explain what it is and why I made it. (obviously I have different relationships with my friends. I'm dating one of them and the other I could never be attracted to) if she had made something for me, I'd be speechless. this has been an occurrence before since she likes to write and has written me several poems. I would never sit and stare at my guy friend like that. ever. I probably couldn't make eye contact or I'd be looking at whatever he's made me. he likes to write music. in the past he has written me some songs that I quite enjoy listening to. I thank him and tell him how good it is, how good he is at writing and encourage him to do more. with my girlfriend, she doesn't talk much and gets her a lot to but she gets excited giving me her works. so I listen and watch. I respond occasionally but only when she asks questions besides that I don't know what to say. noticing Mike's actions you can tell that he's listening closely to what will has to say there in the van.

ALSO by any means would I ever in my life worry about losing my girlfriend then proceed to never tell her I love her. it's a personal opinion but I think it'd tell her more if that makes sense. I love my girlfriend so much. i have for forever so why would I worry about a STUNT in my love for her? I've always loved her and I hopefully always will. I'd never refrain from telling her. when I get worried about losing her or her feelings for me, I sometimes wait for her to tell me or bring it up. yet I've never done that. it makes no sense unless you really don't love someone like that.

I love my best guy friend. I really do. he's helped me through so much and even helped get me and gf together so yeah I love him. I'd never struggle to tell him. I wouldn't get jealous if he wrote a song for someone else. he's written songs for my girlfriend and I couldn't care less.

I'd like to mention around the time I started liking my girlfriend I told her how I felt and I instantly became an awkward mess, I stopped holding her hand, hugging her, etc but she immediately caught on and hugged me back after a while of awkward hugs and horrible staring contests. I've never had an issue hugging my guy friend. why would I? o hugged him mere moments after I asked out my girlfriend. I practically tackled him. I'm not very comfortable with touching sue to sensory issues but I've never had issues hugging my friends unless I've liked them or secretly didn't like/trust them.

let's also be clear. (I keep changing everyone's roles) my best guy friend like feminine presenting folks and women. this gain way for him to grow feelings for me. I could never reciprocate and I'd be fine with it, yet he doesn't have feelings for me. I dont have to question that. with his actions I know he's straight and I know because he's told me that he's cis. if there was a possibility of him liking guys I'd be the first to know. we've known each other since we were kids. yet I don't act as a romantic interest to him. I'm more of a friend. I don't have to question being his best friend I know I am. I don't flirt. we don't have intimate moments. we might have moments of clarity or times where we open up about our feelings but I wouldn't consider it intimate. not exactly just clarity and closeness between two friends. I don't imply to him ever that we're just friends because he and I both know thats just what we are and that's all we'll ever be. I don't struggle to show him affection cause I know he won't take it as romantic. I hug him all the time and lean on him all the time. but I don't hold his hands or anything.

my girlfriend. Mike was funny for singing that song I'd do that two but I'd never shove my gfs arms off of me infact I kinda want them there. if she confessed she loves me which we've already said, I'd immediately say it back. you wouldn't catch us in a room, her walking away eyes shut in anticipation, awaiting an answer from me. I'd say it back before she could kiss me. hello, I'd say it when she asked what I said. sure it would be awkward but if I meant it than I meant it and whatever comes after would come after. I'd also tell my girlfriend if her dad didn't want me around but that's just me. she loves her dad but I'd totally have an excuse and need it whether she believed me or not. if my gf went to hang out with her friends, I'd let her go and watch her the whole time but I like to think I pick up emotions well. if she wasn't enjoying being around them I'd know. she's a very visual person. just like el. whose feelings are on her face in the rinkomania scene and Mike ignore it. ignore will. blames it on him even. I'd never blame my guy friend for my girlfriend not telling me something. I'd blame myself for not being there for her to talk too. I'd be to wrapped up in finding her too even speak to my friend even if I was mad about him "moping" since now is not the time. yet Mike seemed to care so much about will moping than to find his girlfriend?? mike? don't be a shitty boyfriend and go find her why don't you??

I'm just saying that the way that Mike acts is so similar to things I've done, my girlfriend has done with me and her. not me and my guy friend. this also gives way to implying that since i would never do these things with my guy friend since I'm not attracted to them that Mike does view will as a love interest regardless of feelings. again none of thos is actually canon, it just makes zero sense to how he is acting and I wanted to write it out to understand it better.

time for the counter argument

however my guy friend does 3rd wheel all the time. I'm sorry Aid, I love you please come to our park date I need you to drive I still didn't get my license. that's all. I also just really like him being there since he's my best friend but if I wanted to go on a soul date with my girlfriend, I'd call her up and have her drive us. seriously I could. we're just a happy group of 4.

going back into the full argument.

wait 4? my gf, aid, me? and my female friend who I am not dating and am not romantically attracted to to make the perfect 4 group. now that she is a woman and I have every ability to be attracted to her, let's set in. would I ever grab her hands? no I never have. I dont have a problem hugging her or holding her when needed though, since we walk side by side most days and she's an easy arm rest which is hard to come by. she doesn't come on our dates cause she can't drive but if she did she and aid would hand out. I wouldn't worry about her moping the whole time I'd probably ask her what was wrong instead of blaming her. maybe I'd be a little pissed if she was a jerk to my girlfriend but other than that I'd want to hear her side. she is bisexual. I'm a lesbian. we could be attracted to each other. we however are not. if I made her something (which I have) I'd present it to her in a jokingly honoring manor and joke and laugh about it the whole time. she's also autistic so she'd say thanks, I'd understand and we'd move on (this has happened many times) she's an artist and makes stuff for me. sends it online cause she hates confrontation and is a digital artist. I send an all caps thank you paragraph and we move on. I do love my gal friend obviously. she's amazing and I adore her. I'd never have a problem telling her I care just like my guy friend and my girlfriend. I love her just not like that. we're also very touchy people but I don't do more than sling my arm around her shoulder every now and then. we do have moments but not exactly as much as me and my guy friend, but definitely moments of clarity. but mainly not normally we don't really talk we just enjoy each other's company. we're a happy group of four and I love us. anyway that's my friendship dynamic and I see it that way. if anyone wants to know whose roles I've assigned for casual usage here

gf: mike

me: will

aid: dustin (they both have a bone disability so it's mainly a joke. I spend half my time bullying him and making your mom's jokes about his mom)

rah (gal friend): lucas

and IN CONCLUSION I've decided that Mike is in love with Will the same if not more than Will since his actions clearly speak louder than his words in the case of "I love yous" I'm not getting into his whole I love you speech and how it was copyrighted from other people's speeches and how I'd never use my best guy friends speech to tell a girl I love her but oh well. I guess I'll write that later. but based on our actions and the characters actions I've concluded that they are infact in love. this has no grounds and holds absolutely zero facts pertaining to the show and you just read me bragging about my 3 bestfriends (one a love intrest) all for nothing since this genuinely proves nothing and moves the plot zero inches further.

[uravichii]

bnha characters as swifties ~

— you convert them into swifties and there's no going back

characters: bakugo katsuki, todoroki shouto, yaoyorozu momo, jirou kyouka

warnings: swearing (bakugo's part)

notes: i don't know what came over me when i decided to write this,, happy 1 year of folklore ig ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

- bakugo katsuki -

katsuki would only know the name 'taylor swift'

he knows she's some famous celebrity, but he has no idea what she's known for : /

when you first introduce him to her discography, you started with her debut album and 'fearless.'

he didn't like it :') he said it was way too cheesy

katsuki also criticized how inaccurate love story was because romeo and juliet didn't end that way : |

he also despised the "shitty country music" pls never play 'our song' when he's nearby, he'll absolutely destroy whatever it is you're playing it from.

you then introduced him to the most successful album, 1989, hoping he'd at least give it a chance

no, he thought it was "hella annoying" 🙄

"YOU'RE TELLING ME 'ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY' AND 'I WISH YOU WOULD' AREN'T THE SAME FUCKING SONG? FUCK OFF."

but you persevere— you introduced more tracks, explained the lyrics to him, and you forced him to watch the reputation stadium tour on netflix.

he won't admit it openly, but he LOVES reputation.

he loves the new sound, the darker theme, and how edgy and angry it is.

his favorite songs are 'i did something bad' and 'don't blame me'

but he also secretly falls asleep to 'new year's day' 🥺

folklore enraged him in a good way,,

"FUCK JAMES, AUGUSTINE DESERVES BETTER."

and for the album red, "FUCK JAKE GYLLENHAAL, TAYLOR DESERVED BETTER."

this man will make a stan twitter account and demand a punk rock era from tswift because katsuki knows the queen is ✨versatile✨ and she can definitely thrive with a new sound like that 😌

- todoroki shouto -

"taylor swift??? what year and class is she in?"

"shouto— "

you need to present this boy a whole powerpoint presentation,, he badly needs it.

at first, he wouldn't mind the lyrics, he pays more attention to how it sounds.

he likes the mellow ones like 'begin again' 'untouchable' and most tracks from both sister albums, 'folklore' and 'evermore'

for some reason, he loved taylor's country music. those were actually the first songs he added to his playlist.

"it's a bop." he says this with a straight face and a monotonous voice 😐

then, you urged him to read and take in the lyrics, and shouto LOVED her as an artist a lot more.

he definitely cried to 'never grow up' :(((( he can't listen to it again though because he's afraid the song will lose its meaning if it was played too much.

he also appreciates 'seven' a lot. 'tolerate it' and 'soon you'll get better' reminded him of his mother :((

also, he always plays 'mad woman' when endeavor's nearby 💀

he turns up the volume when taylor sings, "does she smile... or does she mouth "fuck you forever. ~ "

he'd definitely buy a lot of merch from taylor, and he was very dismayed when the cardigans sold out before he got to buy one :(

he is very excited for red (taylor's version) and even marked november 19th on his calendar >:)

- yaoyorozu momo -

momo listened to taylor swift a lot when she was younger. she loved singing along to the album, 'fearless'

but she eventually phased out from her songs, not for any particular reason though.

she knows the famous singles like 'shake it off' and 'blank space' and she's mostly neutral about it.

so you force her back into the fandom by having her listen to her whole discography >:)

momo LOVES 'folklore' and 'evermore' this woman will break down the lyrics, analyze it, and upload long-ass essays about them.

"the lyrics are just absolutely exquisite! it's amazing how she manages to use a different sound each album and pull it of :)) you have my deepest gratitude, y/n for having me listen to such a beautiful masterpiece!"

she'll never stop gushing over the jamez-betty-augustine drama. she'll definitely be empathetic towards each one, but she does love augustine the most 😔

she understands james too though and loves 'this is me trying' :') she's not sure if she likes the song 'betty' tho 😧

you'd get under a blanket with momo and cry to 'champagne problems' and 'tolerate it' for fun.

"such a heartbreaking story..." she sniffles into a napkin.

momo was also inspired to write poems because of the two sister albums.

i don't think she'd be interested in taylor's dating life, but she does think it's amazing how you're able to witness the artist's growth by just listening to the songs she writes over the years :))

- jirou kyouka -

"of course i know taylor swift..." she looks to the side sheepishly. "i don't really like her."

"😦"

kyouka unfortunately thinks taylor swift is overrated </3

you can't really blame her though because apparently, she only knew her singles 😃 specifically, 'we are never going back together,' 'blank space, 'shake it off,' and 'ME!'

she says they're catchy but she doesn't really understand the hype.

so you make her understand >:)

you start with lover which later became her favorite album along with reputation and red.

she looves 'cruel summer' and she's angry that it wasn't a single in the album, she also loves the song, 'lover' she won't admit it but she thinks it's incredibly sweet and it makes her want to have a lovelife like taylor's.

she also loves 'the man' and she also sings the bridge of 'death by a thousand cuts' EVERYDAY.

kyouka will also make her own covers of taylor's older songs,, she'll make a cover of 'sparks fly' that sounds edgier. it sounds amazing 😌

she'll lie on her bed, and probably cry to 'superstar' thinking how sweet it would be if someone wrote a song about her like that :((

folklore and evermore aren't her favorites, but she adores the writing so much that it influenced hers.

kyouka will write a song for you out of gratitude for making her listen to the queen, miss swift 😌

[episkystyles]

Poetry In Your Mailbox // H.S. [PART THREE]

Summary: Y/N and the rest of her nosy neighborhood friends ogle at the man who just moved in next door — a man of mystery, silence, and someone who seemingly doesn’t want anything to do with his neighbors… until Y/N begins to receive anonymous mail. [PART ONE & PART TWO]

Warnings: Mature content

“I had my heart broken terribly once,” Harry had begun, taking a seat on Y/N’s sofa in the living. She stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed as she listened to his explanation. “I was afraid to love again, afraid of that same feeling of hurt so I hurt you. However, there’s no excuse to hurting you, so I’m deeply sorry that I did so, and in such a fucking shitty manner as well.”

“So then, if you were afraid of getting hurt again… why would you send me love poems?” she questioned.

In other words, were you trying to make me love you knowing full well that you wouldn’t be able to love me back, on purpose? She hopes that he’s not as fucked up as what she’s thinking, but then again, she’s not exactly sure what he’s capable of.

“I’ve never believed in that love at first sight bullshit, even before all the heartache,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head before making direct eye contact with her. “But the second I laid my eyes on you, I knew I was in deep shit, because I was instantly enamored. Your pretty face filled a void in my lost soul, and while I wasn’t ready to jump into a relationship, I wanted to get your attention. You’re someone I couldn’t talk to directly — too fucking nervous to do so — so I used my poetry to woo you. Honestly, Y/N, you’re the type of woman who deserves to be written about in beautiful ways, so I tried my best to write about you as beautifully as I could.”

Her heart was racing incredibly fast and hard, so hard that she had to grip the wall she was standing nearby so that she wouldn’t lose her composure and fall. His words were melting her like a flame would, and while she was swooning within every second he spoke, she knew she needed more answers.

“How did you get your heart broken, Harry?” Y/N whispered, not wanting to sound too demanding or too rude. “Who did it?”

Harry glanced down at his lap and sighed. It was clear as day that he didn’t want to talk about it, as it would bring back brutal and painful memories, but he had to otherwise he might just lose someone who has the potential to replace all that hurt and make him feel complete again.

“Her name was Rosalie,” he began, running his hand through his mess of loose waves. “I was in love with her, and I thought she was in love with me, too, but her family despised me. This was back when I was in my early twenties, back when I still smoked and drank heavily and was the textbook definition of rebellion. I’ve definitely calmed down with age but Y/N, I was bad back then, but I still cared for the people I loved. Her parents were very overly religious and protective of their daughter, so eventually Rosalie had broken it off with me.

���To say I was devastated was an understatement. It destroyed me. She was my first love and I just couldn’t handle it. I tried to get her back, so I started writing her love poems — they weren’t as articulate and charming as the ones I’ve written you, as I was still in school and still wrote like shit — and I sent them to her everyday for the next year or so. She never responded back, even though she had already moved out of her parents place so they couldn’t have gotten a handle on any of her mail. But one particularly shitty day, a friend of hers messaged me — they were sort of a friend of mine too, I guess, but more of Rosalie’s.

“They informed me that Rosalie had been setting my poems on fire or throwing them away for some reason. She had a boyfriend who she had been dating the same time as me, and they couldn’t stand to see her continue playing with my heart, so they told me everything. That woman got off on the way I begged and cried for her back, joked to people how obsessed I was with her even though she never loved me, but rather used me to rebel against her strict parents. That she was anticipating for the day that I’d give up, just so she could laugh in my face and to others about how lovesick I am. This was enough to make me stop loving at all.

“I’ve always been rather shy, but I started cutting people off and focused solely on my work. I moved around frequently, not wanting to get too comfortable in one place out of fear of missing people who will eventually leave me one day, including friends. I’ve never desired to stay in one place for a long time, until you came along. You made me feel so excited and so full of life, but when you asked me on a date, I reverted back into that fearful and cold man, and did the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do; hurt you.”

There were tears flowing out of Harry’s eyes now, him being wrecked by reliving his traumatic past, and Y/N knew she had to comfort him. She took a seat close to him and grabbed his trembling hands, pulling him close to her body. “I’m so sorry Harry, you didn’t deserve any of that. No one does.”

“It just hurts to my love language was just some cruel joke to her,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, I could see how cliché and corny it all is, but that’s how I express myself, verbal communication doesn’t come to me as easily as everyone else.”

“I understand, Harry. But let me tell you that your poems are not cliché and corny,” she assured him. “Let me show you something.”

She urged him to stand him, and he does, following her upstairs and into her bedroom. She goes to her nightstand and opens her drawer, pulling out all of the love poems he had sent to her mailbox and put them on display for him to see.

“I’ve kept every single one, even the one when we weren’t speaking anymore,” Y/N smiled, her eyes grazing over the very first one he had given her. “You see, poetry is my love language too, and I know when someone’s art has to be cherished and cared for.”

Harry was staring at her in silence, even when she was putting the poems away. He stood there for a good few minutes without saying anything, and just when she was starting to get scared, he finally opened his mouth to speak. “I love you.”

“You… you what?” She was suddenly breathless.

“I love you, Y/N,” Harry repeated, taking a step closer to her. “Perhaps the realization is hitting me at this current moment due to the fact that you kept all of my poems, or maybe it hit me when I was filled with envious rage as another man flirted with you, but I do love you, sunflower. You may not forgive me just yet, but I will wait for you every single day for the rest of my life until you are willing to give me a second chance.”

She couldn’t take it anymore, she just had to have him. She took off into his arms, grabbing his face to pull him into a passionately rough kiss, and when she pulls away she murmurs, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Harry. Not only do I forgive you but I… I love you too.”

Harry looked her into her bright, beautiful eyes that were truthful and heartfelt, as she had meant every word she just uttered to him. So, he kissed her again, with as much passionate as she did. His arms wrapped themselves securely around her waist, pulling her to his chest as close as he possibly could as their kiss deepened, mouths moving together in sync at the rate of a lightning strike. He could write a billion poems about how wonderful her kiss felt, how kissing her just once could make him happy for the rest of his existence.

And when she started unbuttoning her sundress, the one that had driven him wild the second he had seen her in it, he knew exactly where this was going to go. “Are you sure, sunflower?”

“I’m more than sure,” she replied, looking up into his eyes. “Are you sure? We don’t have to if you don’t-”

“Oh, trust me, I want to. I want you.”

That was enough to make her drop her dress completely to the floor, exposing herself in her lacy bra and underwear. She smiled innocently, crawling on top of her bed where she soon laid down upon. Harry practically jumped on top of her, flinging off his shirt in the process. Their bodies were on fire as they kissed again, her fingers trailing up and down his bare back as she’d always do in their dreams. His pressed his body roughly against hers, where she could feel something hard in his tight pants. Harry pulled away from Y/N’s lips just to place them on her neck, teasing the area just a bit before he had sunk his teeth carefully into her sensitive skin. She moaned quietly in delight, arching her back a little and letting his hands clasp around her backside. His fingers find the hooks of bra, unclasping them to remove her bra in its entire. He pulls away, observing her naked top half, his hands now softly grazing her breasts. She felt herself burning underneath his eyes.

“You are so beautiful, every single part of you,” he hummed, lowering his head to place a kiss upon her bare stomach. She shook from the touch. “You are so, so heavenly, my sunflower, like an angel built you from everything that is lovely in this world.”

That’s when Y/N giggled softly. “I love it when you speak poetry to me, Harry.”

He smirked, a tad too full of himself at that, but his ego fueled at her praise. “If you liked that, than you’re going to love what I plan to do to you next.”

The next thing she knows, he’s tugging off his pants, and then he’s pulling down her underwear, and then he’s up every part of her thighs, especially the stretch marks, where he whispers beautiful compliments about her body. Then, he’s kissing her there, and doesn’t stop until she’s squirming and moaning and tugging on his hair roughly, only to finish with nothing but stars lining her vision.

But the night’s not finished yet. Harry is on top of her now, kissing her and touching every single part of her body as she begs for their bodies to finally reunite at once. He eases himself inside of her, slowly rocking his hips against hers, moving faster by each second until they’re both moaning messes for one another.

This feels like art to him.

This feels like poetry to her.

And they both knew that it was forms of love they were feeling.

When it’s over, and Harry’s laying right beside her with their naked bodies pressed together underneath the blanket, Y/N asks with a chuckle, “So… how about that date?”

He smiled. “How about a lifetime?”

“Even better.”

a/n: god i am so single :,) (hope you guys enjoyed!)

[rataltouille]

please tell us what a million homes and none of them is yours is! it sounds so cool

sure! a millions homes is my ongoing project which i started on a whim simply because i hadn't written in weeks and was desperate for a fresh idea. i started drafting it with literally no idea what it would be about and around 500 words or so in it kind of just clicked!! which was great!!

it’s a novella [yay!] and i originally planned on finishing it entirely in a month just because but then school + college apps popped up and i didn't have time to draft oops

basically i was reading this is how we lose the time war and it struck me that a novella is a convenient form that exists and i really would benefit from a shorter long form story so follow your impulses i guess?

this is a project that i’m keeping pretty personal, so i don't know if i’ll do intros or dedicated updates like i did for house plants! we’ll see though

anyway about the story itself, here’s a shitty logline:

tired college student goes home to visit her mother and the first thing they do is argue, hope the two don’t spiral downwards– *literally falls down a chasm into a different dimension and are left to deal with their issues there*

aka what i lovingly refer to as mommy issues: the novella. here’s the playlist for reasons ig. and some funky facts because i can no longer type without making bullet points apparently:

told fully in second person present tense because i said so <3

it's full of vignettes that are sometimes poems, sometimes recipes, sometimes both in the same chapter, sometimes a video recording, sometimes just words descending slowly into nonsense ft the void because i said so <3

what made the story click i suspect is because i simply wanted to write a story where the child doesn't forgive their parent for the messed up shit they did to them [who needs therapy when you've got fiction haha 😔]

possibly speculative litfic because they are transported a a different dimension which is a weird steampunky victorian style world with adventure time-esque people. idk man genre conventions are fake

themes of girlhood vs motherhood because is it really a book of mine without that

finally, an excerpt :)

Everything about her is alien and homely; they’re interchangeable to you, anyway. You stare. She’s on the verge of tears. She sniffles. She rubs her nose with her index, wipes her index on her sleeve, gently pats that with her other hand, and then hugs you. You don’t respond. Can’t tell if it’s shock or contempt. You always think you’ve got her memorised every time you leave. You always return to a reinvented woman, like your mother’s only hobby’s unsettling you, to throw you off course, to make you keep coming back just to glimpse how she’s tweaked herself this one last time. Look, yellow dye on her pristine nails. Scandalous for a forty-year-old, she’d say with a wink. Now she’s pregnant.

You’re twenty years old and you’ve got a mother twenty years older and a sibling who’ll be twenty years younger. In some other timeline, you will find this amusing.

also, i forgot to mention that both the mother and the narrator are nameless [because i said so <3] i love stories where the mcs aren’t named, it’s like they’re these developed people with definitive shapes who are also just blobs in space.

and that’s all for now!! i would say stay tuned for more but who knows when i’ll talk about this project next, certainly not me ⛹️

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter fifteen: i’m single and incapable of mingle

part sixteen of sudden desire

warnings: mentions of pregnancy/infertility, pining, sweet, sweet pining, angst

word count: 2.9k

Marcus Pike hopes James Casey knows he’s the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. Because he gets to call Coraline Meyer his girlfriend.

They’ve been dating for a couple of months now - the longest few months of his entire life, he’s sure - and it’s fine.

Really, it’s fine.

He’s happy for them.

Because Coraline is happy. And she’s all that matters.

August bleeds into a snowy November and it’s even colder without her there. He doesn’t see her every day like he used to; she’s busy with work - filming and interviews and red carpets where she outshines everyone - and with James, because they’re together now and they’re okay.

And it’s fine.

She makes time for him. Of course she does. He’s her best friend and god knows she wouldn’t survive without him and his beautiful warmth, and the way he holds her just a little longer when they say their goodbyes for the night. But Marcus feels selfish when it hurts him to realise he doesn’t see her as much as he wants to, as much as he used to. But happiness truly looks good on her - she’s the sunshine when the sky turns slate grey - but, sometimes, she still falls into him and she cries, the weight of their loss still weighing heavy on her shoulders.

Marcus can’t find it in him to cry. Maybe he should, because it’s his loss too, but the ache holds his chest tight and terribly uncomfortable that crying sometimes feels too painful. He mourns in silence, with her there those snowy nights, beside him, and that’s enough for him. That’s all he can muster.

He’s started to date, too. Or, at least, tried to. Coraline’s eyes had lit up when he’d told her that the pretty girl from the office had asked him out, and she’d almost lost her mind when he’d told her he’d accepted. They’d been on a couple of dates - and she’d been lovely and the date had been lovely; really, it had - but his mind had been elsewhere. It wasn't her fault, because he’s sure if things had been different, he’s sure things would have been great.

But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s sure that it’ll always be Coraline.

At least, for now.

When they’re together, Coraline tries not to talk about him. They talk about everything and nothing, but she only brings him up when it’s almost unavoidable. She tells him about the dates they go on and about the daughter he has with his ex, the little girl that she’d adored before they even started dating, and who seems to adore her; the red-haired, rosy-cheeked four-year-old, Bea, who’s always giggling and asking her for candy. Coraline seems to treat the girl like she’s her own, but Marcus has yet to meet her. Or James, for that matter. She feels bad for droning on and on and on about James around him - she’d hate to bore him with tales of her lovelife - even though he listens with renewed interest and a smile on his face, every time.

But he’s her best friend, and Loren has heard it all before, and sometimes she can’t help spilling all her stories to him when they’re curled up beneath a blanket with their takeout, watching a shitty movie.

They try to do it every week, now. But they see each other far too little for either of their likings.

They still see each other, but those days of sharing apartments and waking up beside each other every morning, hoping and praying they’d have a baby to show from it, are long gone. Sometimes, Coraline lies awake at night and wishes he was still there, holding her close like she was this precious thing. James holds her, too, but it’s not the same. She can’t quite place why.

“Daniel’s worried about the gallery, again,” Coraline tells him, idly, over takeout. It’s Sunday night - and the week has been so long that they’d both practically collapsed onto his couch, exhausted and giggling at each other’s dishevelled and half-asleep appearance - and the only time they’d managed to see each other in between their hectic schedules. There’s a lot to catch up on, and Marcus fears it’ll be over too soon. “Some guy sat outside for two days last weekend, but he hasn’t seen him since.”

“Get him to give me a call,” he insists, “I’ll look into it.”

“Do you even have time?”

Marcus chuckles. “No-” He leans over and plucks an egg roll from Coraline’s carton, much to her displeasure. “-but I’ll find time.”

“Well-” Coraline reaches over, pokes him sharp in the arm with the end of a chopstick, and steals one of his dumplings from his tray. He smirks at her as she savours the taste of the stolen snack. “-I appreciate that, And I’m sure he will, too.”

“Anything for you, sunshine,” he hums.

“That sounds sarcastic.” She chuckles.

“Well, you did just steal my dumpling.”

She pokes him in the leg with her toe.

He grins.

“I’m serious, though. I’ll take a look into it for him.”

He misses those months when it seemed like he was part of the family. When he’d met her parents, had dinner with them and her brother, played with her nephews in the living room and rocked Piper to sleep one night when she’d grown tired in his arms. He misses that little cobbled-together family they’d built on the hope they’d soon have one of their own. His family are so far away - his parents and brother still in Texas, and rarely free long enough to come and visit - and Coraline gave him somewhere to belong.

She still does. With her, things seem to make a little more sense. The memories of Teresa and his first wife don’t seem to matter when he’s with her.

There’s a little silence; a comfortable one, at that, their familiarity still thick between them, despite the distance. Marcus breaks it with a question he’s been itching to ask. “How have you been?” It’s a heavy question, loaded with meaning; the question could refer to anything - to work, to life, to loss and sadness, or to James and his daughter that she sees as her own, now.

Her eyes raise to his, brown eyes that melt her soul, comfortable and wonderful.

There’s no necessity to his question. Marcus had asked because he cared, not because he had to. Coraline tips her head back against the sofa. “I’m doing good,” she admits, though it seems foreign coming from her. How dare she be happy when they’d lost so much, only a few months before? It feels wrong. “Really good.” She sighs. “How about you?”

Happy that you’re happy.

But miserable. Completely fucking selfishly miserable without you.

“Fine.” He brushes her question off.

Coraline narrows her eyes at him. She knows him too well; she can tell when he’s lying, and that’s the worst part of it all. She knows him better than anyone — cares for him more than anyone ever has, too — and she can see right through him. Through the facade and the lies he’s all too comfortable telling. She probably knows how much he adores her, too, but she’s just too lovely to admit she doesn’t feel the same way.

“Marcus-“ His name is urgent. She takes his cheeks in her palms.

It takes everything in him not to pour his heart out to her. “I’m fine.” He repeats.

“Promise?”

Another pause. More uncertainty. He hates lying to her, when she’s so honest with him. “Promise,” he says after a while.

Coraline eyes him, still sceptical. But her shoulders relax, just a little. “How’s it going with Lisa?”

Oh, he hasn’t told her. “Things didn’t work out.”

She pouts. “Why?”

She’s great but she isn’t you.

Marcus shrugs. “I’m not ready to date, yet.” I’m not over you. “I guess Teresa really did a number on me, huh?”

Coraline squints at him; the Marcus she knows is absent, hidden behind hesitation and something she can’t quite place, something that wavers whenever she looks at him. If she presses for answers, she’s terrified she’ll lose him. So she doesn’t. He’ll tell her when he’s ready.

If he’s ever ready.

She places her half-empty carton of food on the coffee table, leans forward and buries her face against his shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around his torso. Her cheek presses against his chest, warmth radiating through the thin material of his white shirt. He relaxes at the feeling of her curled into him, and the warmth of her at his side. “I missed you,” he sighs. His voice rumbles through her.

Coraline hums. She buries further into him, as if she could get lost in him. She has many times before. “I missed you, too. So much,” she whispered. Her words are muffled by his shirt. “Sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

“That’s life for you.”

“But-“ she sits up stock-straight, and almost knocks into his chin with the top of her head. She utters a breathless apology because she carries on, with exuberant enthusiasm. It’s so damn infectious. “I’ve been writing a screenplay,” she tells him. “I started it about six months ago but I didn’t want to mention anything until I was committed.”

She’s always wanted to write one; she’d told him not long after they just met, when she’d sat and fiddled with the straw in her drink like what she was saying was hopelessly boring and not the most interesting thing in the world to him. She’d told him she was worried she had no stories worth telling, which seemed ridiculous to him, because he would sit and listen to her recount what she insists are silly little stories.

To him, they’re intricate poems and elegant ballads, and the most beautiful things he’s heard in all his years.

It’s no surprise, because the whole of her is priceless artwork; every inch deserves to be admired.

“I’m so proud of you,” he insists.

“Hey, don’t say that yet.” She drops back against the couch cushions behind her. “Could be terrible.”

“I doubt that, sunshine.”

Her green eyes light up bright again. “Will you read it?”

Marcus takes Coraline’s hand and his thumb brushes over her knuckles. “I’d be honoured.”

“Good, because I was intending on forcing you to read it, anyway.”

“On second thoughts-“ Marcus crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. He can’t help it. “-maybe it’s not a good idea for me to read it.”

The glare she gives him is playful. She’s back in his arms in an instant, cheek pressed back against his chest, eyes closed. “I really did miss you, you know?” She brushes a hand over his chest to keep him close after she reaches for her Chinese food again. “Let’s not make a habit of it.”

More comfortable silence.

He could almost fool himself into thinking they’re something more than friends.

And he almost does, until the doorbell rings and a soft rapping comes from the other side of the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Marcus declares, standing with a groan and a crack of his hips; he really shouldn’t be putting off gym training so much. Life’s starting to take its toll on his body. Life and takeout with Coraline. “You expecting someone?” He questions as he stretches out his long legs before him and shuffles towards the door.

“No.” Coraline can’t help the yawn that pushes its way from her chest. “It’s probably just someone selling something.” Her eyes follow him as he rounds the couch and disappears down the hallway towards the front door.

He reaches for the overly-elaborate doorknob; it’s carved with flowers, and brass juts out around it, like the rays of the sun. It’s all so typically Coraline, and it makes him smile every time. He’s greeted with a reminder of her whenever it’s time to leave.

And, when he opens the front door, he’s greeted with a reminder of all he can’t have.

“James! Hey!”

He’s greeted by James Casey blinking back at him, a big bouquet of flowers in his grasp, surely expecting to see his girlfriend and not some unfamiliar guy in her apartment. “Marcus! I didn’t realise you were here.” It’s not meant to sound rude; in fact, his expression is one of surprise, but not as if it’s a bad thing. His southern accent rips the edges of his words. “It’s great to finally meet you.” He tucks the flowers beneath one arm and extends the other hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh-“ For some reason, the idea that she talks about him when he’s not there hits him. He can’t quite place whether he takes it as a good or a bad thing. Though Coraline’s stories usually paint people in wonderful technicolour. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” He nods as he accepts his handshake.

He can’t help but feel a fool next to James; he’d turned up with flowers, bright and beautiful, and sunflowers, Coraline’s favourites, while Marcus had turned up with nothing but a greasy bag of takeout food and a smile. James rushes a hand through his short hair. Marcus smiles bright again, and goes to say something, but Coraline’s lilting voice interrupts the beginnings of their conversation. “James! What are you doing here?” She calls from down the hallway.

Marcus had been taking suspiciously long at the door, and she’d hauled herself up — reluctantly — from the comfort of the couch to see what was keeping him. She draws towards her best friend and her boyfriend, the pair of them surprisingly thick in conversation. She reaches them, drawing up on her tiptoes to kiss James, before her hand brushes against Marcus and she settles beside him in the doorway.

They both look at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

She definitely is.

“I managed to get the night off, so I thought I’d come and surprise you,” he tells her. His eyes flicker to Marcus; he’s trying his best not to look at either of them, stuck in the middle of this unavoidably awkward situation, but his eyes keep trailing back to Coraline. They always do. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realise you had company.”

Coraline shakes her head. “It’s fine.” She giggles a little. “I wanted you both to meet, anyway. But we maybe could have planned it a little better.” She looks down at the yellow joggers and white vest she wears, the only things she feels comfortable in whenever they’re eating so much takeout they could burst.

There’s quiet for a moment, the three not knowing what to do or say, or even think. Marcus’ mouth opens and closes a couple of times, the words falling short; he’s sure he looks like a fish to Cora and James. “I can go,” he suggests sheepishly, eventually finding his words.

It’s terrible and selfish, but he can’t shake the feeling he’s being replaced again. He knows Coraline will always love him — maybe not in the same way he loves her, but she’s insisted he’s her best friend one too many times for it to be a lie — but it’s all too familiar, that the woman he loves loves someone else instead. The cycle seems endless.

“No!” Coraline insists, reaching for his hand. She squeezes his fingers between her palm. Marcus wonders, then, if James knows about their agreement, and why it fell apart. Coraline smiles up at him, bright like the sun. She spins to James a moment later. “Do you mind?” Her eyes are gentle, not quite pleasing but hopeful. “I haven’t seen him this week.”

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’.” He smiles bright at her in return and ducks to kiss her cheek. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And these are for you. Bea picked them out yesterday,” he tells her, handing her the bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she gushes, running her fingers over the delicate petals peeking out from between the brown paper wrapping. “Tell Bea I said thank you.” She tips her eyebrows up at him and he hums.

“I’ll be sure to.” His southern accent rasps strong. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He ducks to kiss her again, then turns with an outstretched hand to bid farewell to Marcus. “See you around, Marcus. Great to finally meet you.”

He shakes his hand again and nods, once, curtly, familiar. “You too, James.” His name sounds stiff in his throat. He hopes Coraline doesn’t notice the unintentional tightness in his tone.

Marcus steps back to allow them to say their goodbyes, paying mild attention to the things they say. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. He hears the door click shut as he shoves himself back into the couch, aching lithe legs drawn out long before him. Coraline’s hand brushes over his shoulders as she passes, swapping the wilted flowers in her vase before the window for the fresh ones James had brought, before flopping down onto the cushions beside him.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was coming.” She sighs, settling back against him. Her carton of noodles is back in her hand again, but she pokes at it idly.

“You don’t have to pity my loneliness, Cora.”

Coraline scoffs. “I’m not pitying you.” She sits up straight and almost glares at him down the end of her nose. She nudges him in the side with her elbow. “I’m just not going to abandon you.” She leans up and dots a kiss to his cheek. “I promise you.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @its--fandom--darling @alberta-sunrise @sara-alonso @madslorian @freeshavocadoooo @giselatropicana @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[thickenmyblood]

heeeeeey random question but i was wondering if you have any advice in terms of writing consistently? it’s very hard for me to get the motivation to write everyday/on a schedule and you’ve taken on the monster (in the best way possible youre a goddess i love this story) wtsioa with such grace so i thought it was worth asking! ❤️

My advice on this is very uncool, which I hope means it’s useful. Uncool things tend to be useful, in my opinion. 

Writing is very hard, as you probably already know. It’s also very draining—you have to be focused, it takes mental effort and time, it’s extremely frustrating—and so it makes sense that you won’t always feel up for it. But sometimes you just have to force yourself to do it anyway.

The whole “I only write when I’m feeling motivated” thing never helped me, because I’m never motivated. Sometimes I think I am, but I’m not. It all evaporates when I sit down and try to write. I also don’t have a lot of free time during my normal life (as in, when I’m not quarantined for nine months or on summer break) so I can’t really rely too much on motivation. If I did, then I... probably would never get anything written.

I write a lot faster and a lot better when I outline in advance. For example, if I know a chapter has five scenes and I know what happens in each of them, I can simply skip the scene I don’t feel like writing or the dialogue I’m struggling with. But I don’t take a break, I just move on to another scene, dialogue, description, etc. 

I don’t know the specifics of your situation, but if you think you can manage it I’d definitely advise you to set up a weekly word or page count goal. What works for me is a daily word count goal of around 500 words, but that’s only because I’m on summer break, quarantined, and I do most of my writing at 4 AM. So, like, I’m not the best role model. I’ve also said this before but most of what I write doesn’t even make the final cut, so there’s no point in over-writing or pushing yourself too hard when you’re just going to edit it out later on. This is a lesson I’m still trying to learn.

At first, you’ll want to die. You’ll want to watch TV, talk to your family (absolute insanity), or read a good Lamen fic like The Mannequin Gallery instead of sitting down and writing that chapter you’ve been daydreaming about. Push through it, ignore temptation. Writing is very hard, but the more you force yourself to do it the easier it gets. And by that I mean it gets easier to force yourself to do it, not that writing gets easier. Writing, sadly, never gets easier.

Maybe it’s just me. A lot of people describe writing as soothing and comforting and relaxing. I’m not one of those people. I think writing is relaxing only because I’m a very controlling person and writing allows me to be in full control of characters (what they say, how they’re dressed, what their thoughts are) and plot and… everything, really.

Unpopular, but I have an “only two serious WIPs at a time” rule that I try hard not to break. It’s easier to lose motivation when you’re grappling with several projects. You need to focus on one thing at a time, or at least I know I do. When I’m writing a fic I literally can’t think of anything else for a good four months. Sometimes even longer. For example, I’m still thinking of Second to the right and it’s been three years. So.

Another thing that helps me “get motivated” is reading. To me, reading is like making myself hungry, if that makes sense. I look for things I want to write about in other people’s works. I ask myself, ‘if I could change anything about this story, what would it be?’ or ‘what topic do I wish the author had gone into more depth about?’ Reading poetry is especially helpful because poems evoke emotion and don’t focus too hard on The Plot Issue. They make you feel things, which in turn makes you want to write about those feelings.

My last bit of advice is terrible, but it’s what works for me. And you asked me, so I guess you don’t think I’m insane. Or maybe you do and that’s exactly why you asked. Anyway, my last tip is: write for yourself. Write what you would like to read. Even when you know it’s bad, or when you feel like it could be better. The truth is that it could always be better, but what’s important is that you fucking do it. It’s better to have a shitty first draft than no first draft at all. 

Mariana explained it quite beautifully in this reply. To summarize, she started writing Étude because she couldn’t find anything similar on AO3. So I guess I’m not the only one who does this. Maybe I’m not insane. 

Don’t write things because you think others will like them or because you want to be groundbreakingly good at writing. That’s the closest to motivation I can give you: if you finish this self-serving, masturbatory fic, you’ll get to read it. And weren’t you writing it because it was something you wanted to read but couldn’t find anywhere else?

I hope this helped you in some small way. If nothing I said works for you, just watch this video until your motivation kicks in. 

[weakzen]

Sausage Apparatus

Mason puts the magnetic poetry tiles on the Detective's fridge to good use.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m warning: absolutely filthy poetry

AO3 version

-

Fuck these late summer heat waves.

Fuck the damp clothes bunching up every available crevice. Fuck my car's broken air conditioning. Fuck this stupidly hot, sun-baked molten doorknob.

Okay, actually—maybe that car one is more on me for not getting it fixed some time in the past five years. Sorry car, you've never done a single thing wrong in your entire beautiful life.

Unlike this front door, burning my goddamn fingers.

With a pained hiss, I wrest my keys from the lock, step inside, and kick the whole thing shut behind myself. The grocery bags stick to my shoulders for a moment, canvas straps caught on my top before sliding down my arms to plop on the floor by the shoe bench. Mason's are already tucked inside it, I notice, in their usual spot. A tired smile pulls at my lips.

At least I'm not the only idiot who wore boots today.

I dart over to the kitchen as soon as I manage to peel mine off, hunching over the sink first to wash my hands, then to fill a glass with the coldest water the tap can muster. It doesn't really cut it, though. Not today. But the freezer does, and I linger inside its open door for a long moment after the ice cubes splash and stop spinning in my cup, bag of frozen fruit pressed to my neck while I waste energy in front of the only shitty and inefficient form of air conditioning available in my apartment.

But right now it's completely worth the increased hydro bill, and Mason's probably hogging the damn fan again in the bedroom, so fuck it.

I stay put.

At least until I'm a bit cooler with a glass much emptier and a bag of raspberries that's starting to get a little sad and flaccid.

I toss it back into the freezer and shut the door, only to see see a new message stuck to the other side, apparently. A longer one. Which is… strange. Because Tina hasn't been over in a few weeks.

Shrugging, I take another sip and start to read—

I shot lust and pounded you raw

—and immediately fucking sputter. Choke. Shit. Water down the wrong fucking tube.

Water down the front of me too, throat retching violently as I try not to spit everywhere.

And somewhere between the deep, wet, eye-watering coughs that tear though my chest, and the burning gasps that follow, a raspy, “Oh my god,” escapes me too.

I think, anyway. I mostly focus on trying to wipe all the dribble away from my chin and neck.

Priorities.

The hand at my mouth is quickly joined by more across my body, one sliding around my hip to squeeze, another stroking up the center of my back. Mason hooks his chin on my shoulder, stubble scratching gently against my skin as he presses in close from behind.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, quiet concern in his voice. He rubs circles between my shoulder blades for a moment, then adds, more suggestively, as his lips brush against my ear, “If you want to choke, we can find you something much more fun to do it on.”

A laugh wheezes out of me, followed by a few weak coughs and a hoarse smile. “I'm sure.”

I set the glass down on the counter, then close my eyes to take a few deep breaths. The burn in my throat almost matches the one on my face. My cheeks are swollen, uncomfortably hot. Mostly from the choking, the afternoon heat.

Maybe a little from what I read too.

With a final pat, Mason's hand glides down to curl around my other hip, his chest and bare arms nestled against me while his long fingers trace paths above my waistband. I fold my arms and sink back against him, into his familiar warmth, heat I actually enjoy, even on scorchers like today when we mostly end up sweat-stuck together.

And we're already starting to do a good job of that.

“Did you read my message?” he asks, smirking against my cheek.

“Didn't really get a chance yet. That first line nearly killed me.”

He chuckles deeply, wrapping his arms around me, folding them beneath mine as he kisses my neck. “Not the kind of death I wanted from it. I was hoping for something… smaller. And repeated.”

I grin. “Well, I'm not finished, so maybe you can still make that happen.”

He scoffs in response. “There's never a maybe about that, sweetheart.”

“There's a first time for everything, sunshine,” I tease, chuckling. “But, alright. Gimme a moment to brace myself for this.”

His smirk widens as I inhale deeply and open my eyes to the clumpy, loose ring of words spread around the face of the freezer door.

There are hundreds of them. Tiny white strips bearing black text. All from a set of magnetic poetry.

Tina's gift to me, a long time ago, one she pressed into my hands at the station the morning after she visited my apartment for the first time. She said my fridge looked lonely—and I countered that it looked blissfully empty, but still let her stick her words to it. Sweet, cheerful messages. A new one every time she visits. Keeping me and my fridge in good company and happiness.

I'd say the appliance might be blushing furiously at the moment, from what Mason undoubtedly arranged across its surface, but I know it's already witnessed far worse things from the two of us and our other… creative uses of the kitchen.

A smile pulls across my lips as my eyes fall on the message centered within it all, a laugh already building in my chest while I start to read.

I shot lust and pounded you raw panting you moan from a thick milk pole sausage apparatus crying at the sky I make her soar come hard by the lake rocks water sun sweaty us we lie together lazy smelling luscious enormous purple meat still deep in her juicy woman eating you after lather from me & our delirious want frantically licking her smooth pink hot honey smear my spray through your fingered ache bare beauty beneath him one thousand sordid times cold winter through summer rain why whisper gorgeous please scream elaborately as I tongue worship you with love sit on me

In the end, it's not a laugh that sputters out of me, so much as a long, shuddering, high-pitched and very dry wheeze. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes as I buckle, sag, and shake against him. His arms slide even tighter around my body, holding me steady, smirk sharpening against my skin while a deep chuckle rumbles out of his chest.

“Fuck me, wow.” I wipe at my eyes, another bout of laughter seizing me, one that he joins as he kisses along my neck. “Did you write a goddamn poem about the time we fucked by the lake?”

Mason only grins briefly in response, hand sneaking up to grope my breasts while his lips continue to press distracting kisses. Wetter ones. With a tongue that drags hot along my throat and teeth that nip to tear goosebumps from my entire body. He sucks me into his mouth in a way I know will leave a mark later, but his lips pull a low moan from me rather than a protest, and all I can do after that is angle my head to give him even better access.

And he wastes no time in taking advantage of it, wet suction, his groaning breath, and my soft moans of pleasure the only sounds in the apartment for a long moment.

Eventually, he murmurs into my skin, “You're gonna have to be more specific about which time by the lake you mean.” He smirks again while I laugh, and his hips roll forward too, cock pressed hard and even more firmly against my ass. “But I'm glad you enjoyed the poem so much, sweetheart,” he continues, thumbing my stiffened nipple through the layers of fabric. “I thought you might find it… stimulating.”

I want to protest that too, if only for the smug way the words leave his mouth and the little tug he gives me after for emphasis. But I already know he felt it the moment it happened, that he can always sense it when it does, just like he'd be able to tell right now if I lied and told him that his raunchy fucking poem hadn't stirred a single thing in me.

Hadn't gotten me just the tiniest bit aroused.

Not at all.

I huff out a breath.

The bastard.

“It is pretty good,” I admit, only a tad begrudgingly. My hand finds the top of his, and I start interlacing our fingers before he immediately completes the movement and curls both of us together in a secure grasp. “Didn't think poetry was really your thing, though.”

“It's not,” he says, then shrugs slightly. “I told Nate what I got you for your birthday and he said I needed to be more thoughtful in the future. And that I should try doing something romantic for you to make up for it.”

A deep laugh bursts from me. “Fuck, I wish I'd been there for that conversation.”

“You didn't miss much.” He grins against my neck. “It was more sighing than talking.”

“I dunno, his sighs are still pretty good. Did he at least give you credit for putting a bow on it?”

“No, and he couldn't say anything or even look at me for a minute after too.”

I laugh again. “Well, I liked your birthday present.”

“Good.”

With that firmly said, he spins me around and immediately kisses me, directly, deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth as he pulls me tightly against him. My arms curl around his neck, and I lose myself in it, in him, in our embrace, his hands roaming me, squeezing me, his dark, rich scent enveloping me, the heady taste of him rolling sweet into my mouth, layered with salt from my skin and the moans passing hot between our lips and the other heat building steadily between us, between my legs, from the aching and pleasurable familiarity of it all.

From him.

Mason. Sunshine.

My partner.

A wild thrill jolts through me at the notion. An unfamiliar thrill, still so unused to thinking of him that way. A frightening thrill too, in a way, like falling through the darkness, unable to see, unable to stop, unable to discern anything except the silent plummet and the certainty that, no matter how far I fall, I'll never shatter against the ground.

Because he'd never let me.

And I know he feels it. My thrills, my arousal, the tangled mess that lives inside my heart. All of it.

Maybe that's why he breaks away to rest his forehead against mine, gazing at me through half-lidded eyes and long lashes and wide pupils darkened with want. Maybe that's why his hand comes up to cup my face too, thumb stroking something soft across my cheek. And maybe that's why he smiles, a small, quiet, devastatingly genuine lift of his lips before he speaks.

“'Cause your opinion is the only one that matters, Alex.”

That gets an honest blush out of me and I have to look away, overwhelmed by the soft swell of emotion expanding rapidly through my chest.

I fumble for a clever reply. A snarky redirect. I find one too. But… it starts slipping away somewhere within the freckled expanse of his neck, the few sweaty strands of hair curled against his skin, escapees from the tie he's borrowed from me to pull it all back.

And, whatever I was going to say, I lose it entirely when I glance back up and notice the way he's staring at me with those pretty grey eyes.

I wonder if it will ever stop taking my breath away. Or tugging at something that aches within the deepest, most painful parts of me. I wonder if it will ever feel familiar, the way my heart speeds up, the heavy warmth spreading across my chest, the tingle that ripples and reverberates throughout my entire body, the one he drops into me with that look of his, every damn time.

And that look… the unrestrained desire. The ferocity softened by fondness. The tenderness. The deep adoration. The absolute certainty guiding the entire intensely focused expression.

Every time, it's like he's gazing into my soul when he looks at me like that. Like he's truly seeing me. Like he can't see anything else but me.

And doesn't want to either.

I have to look away, a knot forming in my throat.

It's too much. It's still too hard to see. Too hard to even think about.

I don't know if I'll ever get used to it. Any of it. Or if it will ever get any easier, not seem so overwhelmingly impossible despite it happening. Despite feeling that. Seeing that. Being wanted like that.

Being loved by him.

…But.

I do know that I don't want him to stop.

And I also know that he never will.

“…Well, I liked your poem too,” I finally mutter, exhaling a shallow breath before I summon the courage glance back up. “So, thanks.”

Maybe the words are weak, shaky, coming from a dry mouth and a barely cooperative tongue. But they're honest. They're an admission I can manage at the moment.

They make his smile widen too.

I have to glance away from that as well. It's… too much right now.

So instead, I uncurl my arms from around his neck, slowly drawing my hands down the front of him, letting my gaze fall too, back into his freckles while I hope the tremble in my touch and the sudden shine in my eyes isn't as apparent to him as it is to me. But I know that hope is futile. And completely unnecessary too, when he's already seen far worse, far more humiliating things from me.

When he's already witnessed the hardest, rawest, bloodiest parts of me and did nothing but handle them gently with no judgment.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply to keep that shine from becoming something more, but an unexpected texture under my hands forces them open again.

Hair.

It takes me a moment to realize that he's not wearing a shirt.

It takes me a moment longer to realize that he's not wearing anything else either, save for the crystal dangling from its usual spot around his neck.

It takes me significantly less time to realize I need a better view—so I blow out an exhale and lean back to get one.

Of course.

One that he's only happy to oblige too, of course.

Mason angles himself for me, smirk on his lips, teeth on them too, tugging the lower one into his mouth as he groans out a low noise of encouragement. I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips in response, or the way my gaze roams down his chest, his abs, down the long and solid length of his legs, and down the long and solid length of something else straining eagerly against me.

Raising a brow, I chuckle slightly and give him a grin.

“You hot today or something?”

His smirk deepens, and reels me back in against him. “I'm hot every day. Thought you knew that already.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it's hard to tell behind how modest and humble you are.”

“What can I say, I have a lot of good qualities.”

“Can't argue with that,” I reply unthinkingly, then stiffen slightly, a flush rolling across my cheeks.

I glance away again, but his hand returns to my face, thumb stroking over that blush before he draws my gaze back to him by kissing me once more. His mouth and lips move with a slow intensity, a deliberateness, a familiarity too, in a wholly different way than before. I know this kiss, just like I know his look and so many other wonderful things about him.

It's reassurance.

And it's something I lose myself in too, wrapping my arms around him again, my own lips speaking gratitude in response before our conversation shifts into desire.

Into pleasure.

Until we finally break for air.

I smile softly as I breathe against his lips. “You wanna go steam up a cold shower—”

The words barely leave me before he starts pulling me toward the hallway, but I plant my feet and pull back.

“—after I put the groceries away,” I finish, giving him a pointed look.

His shoulders slump, and he groans loudly as he rolls his eyes, but he still immediately stalks over to the front door and snaps up the shopping bags. Then he yanks open the fridge and starts shoving everything into it, regardless of whether the item belongs in there or not, and regardless of whether it's on the correct shelf if it does.

Regardless of my loud protests and swearing too, as I scramble to fix his chaos, snatching the fucking cans and rice and goddamn laundry detergent out of the fridge to be put away elsewhere. But he doesn't give me a chance to do much more than that before he's tossing the bags away empty and tugging me down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I grumble a little as he does.

At least the tomatoes are safe on the counter, though.

Soon we're in the bedroom, and my top is flying somewhere behind him. My bra quickly follows, and he follows me, kissing, stumbling, as I lead him by the hips walking backwards toward the bathroom. He pulls off the tie at the end of my braid too, stretching it between his thumb and forefinger before he lets it shoot off toward the window with a soft plink.

Sighing, I cock my head and give him a look, but he only chuckles in response and starts combing his fingers through my hair to unravel it.

I carefully pull the tie from his hair, then roll my eyes and shoot it off in the same direction. “You know, I do have a question about your poem.”

“What about it?”

“Where, exactly, did you want me to sit?” I ask, slowly grinning. “Your face or the sausage apparatus?”

“Both.”

I huff out a laughing breath. “You're so greedy, sunshine.”

Mason smirks, then slips his finger down the front of my jeans to tug me closer for another kiss. As he undoes the button and yanks the zipper down, he murmurs against my lips.

“Only for you, hot honey.”

[notwhatiam]

Tumblr Questions Meme

I was tagged by @missroserose and this looked like fun. Bear in mind that it's 3am and I have two needy cats by my side, so my answers might not be entirely coherent.

How did you choose your URL?

One of the most fulfilling roles that I have ever played was Viola in Twelfth Night (not just because of the play and character, but because some of my best friends and memories came from that production). For those unfamiliar with the story, there's a moment in Act III, scene i where Olivia is hardcore flirting with Viola (who is disguised as a man). Viola tells Olivia that she thinks she is "not what she is", Olivia retorts that she thinks the same of Viola, to which Viola responds, "then think you right; I am NOT what I am." I always found that line hilarious, because ha-ha, she's actually a woman, but also because there's an element of metatheatricality to it: it's being said by an actor who is, inevitably, not what they are. Plus, ambiguous gender stuff is very fitting.

(Iago also says a similar line in Othello, but I don't have personal memories associated with that instance--yet.)

2. any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

Not... officially? I have distinct memories of making at least three other accounts, but they're either inactive now or related to specific projects, so I don't really count them as "side blogs", per se.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

I dunno, like... six months? Not long.

4. do you have a queue tag?

No, but I definitely know what a "queue" is and what people use them for.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

I had always kind of wanted to start one, but never kept up with it. The thing that finally got me to stick around was my passing interest (ahem, complete obsession) with the Locked Tomb, and my desire to view amazing fanart and fics.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

It was the best thing to come out of my Harrow photoshoot back in December. It was 2am, I was in full costume, and I'd been fully possessed by the spirit of a trash-making soup goblin... I mean, a soup-making trash goblin. In a moment of (completely unplanned) photographic serendipity, the picture came out EXACTLY how I picture that scene. I still kind of lose my shit every time I look at it.

7. why did you choose your header?

Because black coffee is my lifeblood, and I relate to Five Hargreeves way more than I should.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

I can't remember off the top of my head, and I don't know how to do that thing where you link to another post in-text, but it's either my post about Tamsyn Muir writing an Eeby Deeby joke or my meme of that kid's tiger poem except it's about Alecto.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

I dunno... twelve? What's a normal amount of mutuals to have? How do you even find that information on this godforsaken website?

10. how many followers do you have?

No clue, but rest assured, it's not that many.

11. how many people do you follow?

It feels like a lot, but I'm not entirely sure.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

If you're here, you already know the answer to that. The question is whether I've ever made a post that WASN'T shitty (and the answer is no).

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

How OFTEN? I mean, I open the app at least a few times a day, but I usually don't do much. I probably spend a half an hour to an hour on here every day, depending on how much is going on in my fandoms.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

Not yet, but I would fight each and every one of you (*as a joke, and only about stupid shit-- please don't come for me. I WILL cry*).

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

Fuck you. Don't tell me what to do. My awful blog is mine and mine alone.

16. do you like tag games?

I like participating, but not tagging, because I don't have that many real-life friends on here and I feel awkward about tagging relative strangers.

17. do you like ask games?

Yeah. Ask me stuff.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

"Tumblr famous" is quite relative, don't you think?

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

Romantically? No. I have some squishes, though.

20. tags?

Like I said, I don't tag people, but do it if you want.

[peachy-inserts]

HCs for Todoroki, Deku, and Bakugou on their reactions when their (s/o) is ill, but trudges through their ailment to support these guys (despite the boys’ protests not to) in the Sports Festival and passes out in the audience due to the illness and fatigue, resulting in quarantine, please?

Sorry for the wait! God… you can really tell I don’t write for Bakugou enough by how off topic I am. I just have so much to say about this lovable dick that I don’t typically have the opportunity to 

Warnings: Cursing

Midoriya:

When you first began to show symptoms of sickness, Deku became a worrying mess and found himself slacking off on training despite the sports festival being so soon

Not that he really needed it, but it’s Deku

Like I said before, he’s a total worrywart. We know this about him! No matter what it is, he is an absolute anxious mess. You’d better not tell him that you came out to watch him anyways!

He knows how much it means to you, and while you got good seats as a result of being in general studies, you could always watch it from home! It was broadcasted nationally, and it’s not like you would miss anything; they did a pretty good job covering all of the details!

We’re gonna go with the scenario where you don’t tell him you came out to support him, because if you did he simply wouldn’t participate until you caved in. Deku is a chaotic force of good and more importantly, incredibly fucking stubborn. I know he’s a sweet boy, but good God he does NOT take no for an answer. Kid doesn’t listen for absolute shit!

In the middle of the festival, he notices a little bit of a commotion in the crowd but shrugs it off; he’s gotta make sure he impresses you, since you’re supposedly watching him on the television!

It’s not until afterwards that he hears about it, being informed that you’ve been put on quarantine as well

Let’s just say he is heartbroken. More than anything, he was looking forward to coming back to the dorms to pay you a visit and relax after a long, tiring day. With the sports festival off of his chest, he can take care of you without being so stressed about it… Except, that’s not the case

Since you’re contagious, you’ve been sent to your own house. That way the sickness doesn’t spread, and you can be properly taken care of

As soon as he gets permission to, he is on his way! ...Only to be greeted at the door by a family member who shoos him away, since you are quarantined after all

Deku would (impatiently) wait it out with you, trying to make it as easy as possible. He’ll run to all of your teachers collecting work, and even try to do some of it for you. He does spend a lot of time studying, after all, so you don’t have much to worry about

He had the next two days off after the tournament to recuperate and rest, which was spent almost entirely on FaceTime with you, showing you his new injuries (we all know it happened, the boy has no rationality), trying to help you with your makeup work by the tutoring the best way he can, and fawning over your tired but loving expression. Actually, mostly just that last part

Delivery man Deku! He’d pick up all of your favorite snacks, candies, and bottled drinks, then deliver them personally to your house. Being shooed away the last time though, he opts to leave them in a woven basket with a poorly tied bow and a note in the bottom, which is just for you

Todoroki:

While he would be worried about you, he ultimately believes that it’s your decision on what you do. If you wanna come to the sports festival and watch him he won’t stop you, but he can at least try and persuade you by telling you just how he feels about it

That’s not to say he isn’t disappointed, though. Like Deku, he wouldn’t know that you had passed out until after the festival; either because he’s so focused or even because he’s just too dense. It could even be a combination of both, knowing him

Shouto would be quick to chastise you, almost akin to Bakugou in the way he wastes no time in telling you just how you fucked up. However, he’s still timid and suffers from commitment issues stemming from insecurity and his upbringing. He’s just as quick to apologize, sighing and wishing you get wells from the bottom of his heart

The sports festival is long off of his mind by now; to be honest, he didn’t really care about it in the first place. Whether or not you saw it is beyond him, although he appreciates the thought

He knows better than to try and come see you while you’re quarantined, but he doesn’t really give two shits. If he gets sick that’s his own problem, so he won’t stand for being denied time with you; he’ll at least take precautions and wear a mask, though. 

Besides, you’re in this situation because of him. Even though he stands by his stance on this being your choice, he still feels deep down like it’s his fault

Shouto is sort of the awkward type in this stage of your relationship, so he won’t necessarily go out of his way for you. He’d gather your work for you since he’s still at the school, but if he’s unwelcome in your home due to the sickness he won’t fight it or show up again. 

Still yet though, he misses you and is worried more than he would like to admit. Lots of random calls and texts from him

He would spend all day looking for those cutesy heart edits and sending them to you, or finding shitty memes and teasing you over them, saying it reminded him of you

ONE MORE THING: He’s sappy as shit, and being inexperienced and sort of isolated from society in a way (he didn’t even know what a concert was) he’d try and stick to cheesy romantic ideals. This man would write you a whole ass poem to give to you with some chocolates whenever you returned to the dorms, waiting on your bed

Bakugou:

The most assertive in telling you to stay home. He’s hyper aware of your sickness and how it spread, but most importantly aware of how badly it’s going to affect you. Let him catch you coming anyways and he’ll kill you

Because he’s so knowledgeable on the topic, he’s easily the most worried by far. It’s not that he’s scared for your safety so much, but more so your general wellbeing. Katsuki is miserable whenever he’s sick, so the thought of you going through the same thing is almost agonizing for him

He acts like a total mom and you can’t change my mind on this. Also, I don’t agree with fanon Bakugou being arrogant and hateful towards his s/o. This man is putty in your hands, and although he acts annoyed at times he prioritizes making sure that you’re comfortable and know how he truly feels. He’s always had trouble communicating his feelings because of his relationship with his mother (we all love her but I will die on this hill) and as a result of it, is honestly terrified of fucking up and losing you by being too closed off

Anyways though, back to the point: he would be a total mom when you’re sick! Bossing you around, don’t do this, eat this, breathe some of this in, here, have some tea- It’s honestly exhausting having to listen to whatever miracle cure he’s concocted for you next, but you know he at least means well. He really does go above and beyond for his s/o, especially when they’re unwell. The most important part in a relationship to him is being able to lean on each other when you can’t stand up on your own, and by God he’ll carry you for as long as you need him to. Literally and figuratively 

I know I’m going off on a tangent but I just have so much to say about my interpretation of Bakugou: he’s the boyfriend who insists on trying to fix all of your problems instead of just listening to them, and it’s one of the most frustrating things

ALSO BAKUGOU DOES NOT, CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, CALL HIS S/O NAMES LIKE ‘IDIOT’ AND ‘BASTARD’. HE DRINKS HIS RESPECT (WOMEN) JUICE

Katsuki is very intuitive; even though you most likely lied about staying home to get him off your ass, it doesn’t take long for him to know that you’ve come anyways, and HOOOO BOY is he pissed (not that he’d ever take that aggression out on you, though. He’ll save that for the finals)

His head is swirling throughout nearly the entire tournament, and he’s thrown completely off of his game. On a typical day, he’d be trying to show off for you and flexing whenever he can while flawlessly demolishing his opponents, but this time he only makes it into the top ten

He can’t stop stealing glances into the stands, his mind wandering into the empty seat beside you and dying to know whether or not you’re okay, all while absolutely fuming. More than anything, he’s mad at himself. It’s been proven to us time and time again that he tends to blame himself for things, and takes it way too personally, to the point of being self destructive as a result of a sweltering, nasty inferiority complex

Immediately after the tournament, when he’s released and free to head back to the dorms and rest, he sits down in the locker room and calls your cell. Two times, three times, and finally four times with no response. Ok, now his heart rate is shot

By the time he finally comes into contact with you he’s in a cold sweat, brow furrowed in aggravation and concern; a strange mixture. Calm him down, let him know you’re alright, and assure him that you’re perfectly safe and comfortable at home, well taken care if

Once that’s over with, expect a lengthy lecture about the dangers of exposing yourself while you know you’re sick, thoroughly chastising you and expressing just how worried about you he truly is (Seriously guys, if you’re sick even in the slightest STAY HOME)

Like Deku, he would want to spend as much time with you as possible, even if it’s over FaceTime. He tends to be a little paranoid over germs, though, so since it’s not like you live together he won’t pay any visits to your house. Quarantine means business! 

However, though, he will prepare a nice little surprise in your dorm room for when you come back. A carefully decorated array of dried flowers, candies, and small snacks. Katsuki prides himself in all that he does and strives for perfection in every aspect of life; this is no exception. He lives to impress you!

Once you’ve beaten the worst of the sickness, he cracks down on you and will begin to act like he’s a professor on Zoom; man schedules FaceTime meetings between the two of you for him to catch you up on everything that you’ve missed. Let’s not forget, he’s at the head of his class and devotes a large portion of time and dedication into his academic studies