#I could go on about these fellows but anyway

[thelov3lybookworm]

Reputation to uphold

Day 5: No need for poetry.

Summary: Hiding the letters is his first priorities.

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Word Count: 1368

Warnings: fluff, azzie being a shy baby 🥹

A/n: i loved writing this hehehe (i wrote most of this in 40 mins 💀)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

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"I missed this, mama." Hazel sighed, pulling away her cup of hot chocolate. Azriel smiled, looking over at his daughter, sitting next to his now son in law, Kaden.

What did I say? He was going to take away my daughter.

Y/n raised her brows. "It’s barely been a week since you’ve last had it."

Hazel grimaced. "Yeah, and his hot chocolate does not compare."

"Hey that’s mean!" Kaden sputtered, choking on his own drink.

"Yeah, stop being mean to my son."

Hazel rolled her eyes, turning to her father.

"Dad, come on, tell me a story." She had always been fond of listening to stories, and Az, wanting to make his daughter happy, had begun the new habit of telling stories every night.

Azriel glanced at his wife as she settled in next to him, warmth spreading in his chest. No matter how long they’d been married for, even just the sight of Y/n filled Azriel with happiness. Just as it had back when he had first seen her in the market, giggling with her friends over something.

"What do you want to hear about?"

Hazel leaned back, contemplating before perking up. "How you met mom and got married."

Azriel’s cheeks warmed, and he prayed his wife did not notice.

"Look dad, you’ve always said I was too young to know, but now I am even married. I want to know."

Azriel sighed, looking to his wife for help.

"Yeah Az, I wanna know the story too." Y/n grinned, not meeting his eyes.

Knowing he would not be allowed to leave without reliving his most embarrassing moments, he got comfortable in his chair.

"I saw her in the market one day. She was with her friends, and I instantly knew I was going to marry her one day."

She had been so ethereal, and she was in just a simple flowy dress. Her hair had been pinned out of her face, the breeze softly playing with the strands the way Azriel wished he could. Her smile, it could have brought him to his knees. And her sparkling eyes spoke of kindness far more louder than actions, the love and compassion for her fellow fae shining through every blink.

"Did you ever write her love letters and poetry?"

Azriel scoffed, focusing on the dark dregs at the bottom of his cup. "Me? I don’t have to resort to poetry."

Azriel felt his wife’s gaze on him, and he could picture her perfectly, sitting there, eyebrows raised in a are you sure about that? gesture.

"Yeah, he just ended up drowning in the river trying to impress me."

Azriel turned to glare at Y/n accusingly, who simply shrugged. "Now Az, lying is bad. Someone has to tell the truth."

Azriel grumbled, then again began. This time, truthfully. "Feyre needed some paint supplies from the market, and because I was free, I offered to get them for her."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel never thought he would ever ask someone for a romantic day out. After all, he never had to do that. He would just give females a glance and they would ask him to spend time with them themselves.

But this time, it was not happening. The female in the market square barely spared him a glance when he sidled up to her, pretending to look at all the brightly coloured pots on display at the stand she was giggling with her friends over.

"Y/n, that pot would look so good with your couch!"

Y/n. That name would certainly look good with Azriel’s name next to it.

"Yes Cindy, I’m going to cook on my couch."

Azriel smiled down at the pot in his hands, biting his cheek.

"It certainly is beautiful though." He mumbled, voice low so only Y/n could hear as her two other friends started bickering. He felt her stiffen before she glanced at him.

"That it is. But I don’t think I’m in need of more things."

Azriel swallowed, nodding. "You live near?"

Finally, he gathered the courage to meet her narrowed eyes. "Why do you ask?"

He smiled with a confidence he did not feel. "Where will I pick you up from for our dinner tomorrow then if you don’t tell me?"

She reared back as if his words had a physical impact on him.

"I- I’m sorry, I’m not interested."

Azriel blinked. But before he could say anything, she had grabbed her friends’ hands and dragged them away.

But from the slight blush on her face, he knew that he only needed to try and she would agree.

He bought the pot she had been eyeing so longingly just moments before, then hurried to go get the paints Feyre had asked for.

He was so sure he wouldn’t have to resort to poetry.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

The next day, Azriel was back at the market square, trying to figure out which direction she had gone. He had probably been wandering around aimlessly when he spotted the beautiful head of the lady he was so enthralled by.

"Hey. Pleasant day." He said as he fell in step beside the unsuspecting female.

She jumped, wide, frantic eyes meeting his own. Exasperation spread through her features as she realised it was him.

"You- what are you doing here?"

He shrugged, grinning as he held his gloved hand out. "I’m Azriel."

Her brows furrowed. She probably thought Azriel was loose in the head. "Y/n."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

She sighed. "Look, I’ve already told you I’m not interested."

"Why not?"

She paused. "I don’t like males who think they’re entitled to my time."

He nodded sagely. "Me neither. I hate people like that. But look at this like this, I want to get to know you. Maybe this could be something-"

She sighed. "No. Sorry."

Azriel’s palms turned sweaty. He had found her again, he did not want to let her go without getting something out of this. Even one evening of talking was enough. "I- I am the high lord’s shadowsinger."

Her gaze hardened. "Are you threatening me?"

His eyes widened. "No! I could never! I’m just trying…"

"Trying what?"

"To make you interested in me. It has worked before."

She rolled her eyes. "I don’t like males who try to entice me by stating their high powers."

Panic seized Azriel. This was going very wrong very quickly, and he did not like it one bit.

"I did not mean it that way-"

"Really, sir, I do not care what you meant and what you didn’t. Just leave me alone."

Azriel was left gaping after her, breathing heavy.

Fuck.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel balled up another paper, throwing it behind him before clutching his head.

He had decided that being arrogant and trying to keep up his records of never having to resort to poetry would not help him.

Your eyes like the sun,Shining so beautiful,Your hair like waterfall,You-

Was Azriel truly so bad at poetry?

He was doomed.

She wouldn’t give him the time of day, evident by her refusal to even acknowledge him the three times he had tried to interact with her after that day at the market, and he was losing hope. He had sent countless letters and poems already to her house through his shadows, and he still had received no response.

Maybe he was well and truly doomed.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"You know, I still have all those letters and poems."

Azriel’s head whipped to look at his wife, eyes wide. "Why?"

She shrugged, getting up from the couch and taking the cup from Hazel and kaden, both who grinned unabashedly.

"You think I would burn or throw away letters of desperation sent by the spymaster?" Y/n snorted. "Let me get them for you, children."

"No!" Azriel semi-yelled, shooting to his feet before dashing into their bedroom, hoping to stop her before she even tried to reveal all his secrets.

Loud laughter followed the frantic spymaster, but he did not care. All he cared about was finding those letters and burning them, or maybe atleast hiding them away so his wife couldn’t tease him about it.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

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Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

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Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

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@okaytrashpanda

[boopshoops]

Ah, how odd. It appears one of the puppets in Playful Land aren't quite like the rest. Almost like it has one of those consciences everyones been talking about, huh?

oc template by ai-kan1!! dividers by dollywons! Sound on!

Name: Isola Pinacirco-Cira

Nicknames: Pin, Pinpin, Goby

Gender: Demiwoman (Though she has not fully realized it yet!)

Pronouns: She/they

Sexuality: Unlabeled

Birthday: May 5 (Taurus)

Age: ??? (She has been asleep for a very long time, but she has been awake for 19 years)

Height: 5'0" or 152cm, though the height of the doll is adjustable.

Voice Claim(s): Lisa Hannigan, Miyuki Sawashiro

Twisted from: Pinocchio, Wendy's Music Box (From Tinkerbell/Peter Pan)

Unique Magic: "I've got no Strings" - The bearer can control and grant practically any unliving, immobile object the ability to move under their command. The more objects are being controlled, the more magic is consumed. However, the generation of blot is shockingly slow, allowing the bearer to use the magic for hours or even days at a time. Depending on the object, it may appear as though it is being haunted by a poltergeist. The magic, however, has a very short range. The object must be within five feet of the bearer, or it is no longer effective. Isola uses this magic to move her body on a day-to-day basis.

Grade: Freshman, though only after the Playful Land Event

Class: 1-D

Job: Playful Land Performer

Hobbies: Dancing ballet, face paint, makeup, putting outfits together, singing, sewing, wood carving, ceramic/pottery/resin repair.

Likes: Feather accessories, being alone, birds, rodents, bugs, performance, applause, classical, soul, and lofi music, animal figurines.

Dislikes: Rain, being alone, excessive heat, winter, bass boosted, fast, or hyper music, too frequent of doll repair jobs, cramped spaces, being unable to eat.

Fears: Being unlovable, never loving someone else, living a life alone, never living in a body they feel comfortable in.

Summary: A quaint performer at the renowned Playful Land, constantly known for putting on a show of elegance and grace. With her unusual cadence, she often struggles to maintain an audience despite her immense talent. Isola frequently scares off certain guests on accident. They have a very hard time handling their emotions, causing them to either come off highly unnatural or lacking facial expressions to a degree that could disturb others.

That's just the cons of being one of the many puppets on the premises, though. She is often mistaken as being one of the other, more robotic workers. Isola's body is detailed and articulated enough to stand out among them, but off-putting enough to be immediately recognized as inhuman. Nonetheless, she remains on the traveling amusement park as what is considered a "highly prized item" by the owner. Of course, you don't come across puppets like her everyday, do you? Might as well put her on display.

When night hits and protocol begins, when the consequences of breaking the many rules of the park take their toll, they can do nothing but watch over it all. It makes her feel sick, quite honestly. Disgusted. Yet, she isn't allowed to help anyone. Her attempts to help usually cause the visitors to flee from her anyway, followed by her own set of serious consequences imposed by the owner. The most she can truly do is make it harder on the other workers: including those she has no choice but to be closest to on the ship: Fellow and Gid- Ah. Wrong Identity. Ernesto and Gino.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST - INSPIRATION - CREATION STORY

Author's Note: holy fuck they have a chokehold on me. hOOOO they have a chokehold on me. she came to me in a vision and did nOT let me go until she was created, holy fuck. UGSDBGSDIUAAAAA anyway, i love her and she is my baby. my slightly fucked up baby.

Note that relationships are up for possible changes in the future- I have thought about possibly involving them with someone romantically, but i feel like I want her to put HERSELF first before that. Her story is one about self love, self discovery, and self care, and I feel like throwing her into oc x canon romance too soon would negate that. ALSO she is NOT a part of my TCOAV au!!! i mean. im probably gonna still do fun stuff where she could interact with my ocs from there since im an au fanatic, but- yeah. tcoav is a story more focused on Yuu Shi, and I feel that would also take away from important parts of Isola's character and growth. tis an excuse to try a new oc profile format too <333

that all being said and on a somewhat less related note. i wanna make a comic of her so badly. fuCK. evaporates into thin air. thank u for coming to my ted talk.

Tag list :D

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3

@thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @techno-danger @scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch

@beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto @qsoap

@sillyslipperybananapeel @tixdixl @twstinginthewind @gimmeurmoneyagh

[c4ttheart]

purple, inumaki toge x gn!reader

fluff. strangers to enemies to bffs to lovers, purple is your favourite color. shitty attempt at humor (this unfunny author’s fault) NOT proofread x 3.5k wc (i got carried away)

purple is your favourite color. it wasn’t always though, you used to prefer blue. the type of blue you can soar in. the type of blue you dream to swim in. or drown. the blue that was painted on the walls of your childhood room. the blue of your middle school uniform.

the first guy you liked was a douche. he liked giving you mixed signals, chatting your ear off about insignificant things one day- a simple way to get your attention- and ignoring you the next. once, you had asked about his favourite color, and he had replied purple after some thought. in the moment, you felt like it was cute, guys didn’t really often answer that. but then one of his friends nearby had laughed and exclaimed a big oooooh very loudly that had left you wondering why. it didn’t take long, because at the other end of the classroom a girl named violet was furiously blushing. you remember the way your brows furrowed as you quickly connected the dots- violet was another name for purple, or something. meaning you were not the only one he talked to, so when he asked what yours was, you were desperate to prove yourself to him. to convince him that you were better than her, more interesting. it wasn’t a very nice thing to think, now that you ponder on it, but you were in middle school. so, without missing a beat, you had replied « oh yeah, same! » maybe you had thought that having more in common with him would lead to something, or whatever. it was stupid anyways. liking him was a plot mistake. but you stuck to it, the same way your personality was (and in a way, stayed) completely attached to his.

when you met toge inumaki on your first day of high school after discovering you could do some sort of spiritual good/exorcism on what seemed to be negative emotions over the summer, the first thing he reminded you of was the normalcy of your middle school life. his eyes were of a purple so vibrant it blinded you, reminded you of why you had even agreed as to why purple was your favourite color. yet, at the same time, it left you uneasy, because you were, after all, being reminded of why you even liked it in the first place. toge inumaki looked at you and smiled on that first day, and it felt like he was applying pressure on a wound that hadn’t had the time to heal yet. you had remained impassive at his grin, and had promptly moved away from him, as if his very presence enerved you to the core. you hadn’t even shaken his hand, like you had with your fellow classmates.

toge’s world crumbled and crashed on that first day, when he saw your reluctance to be in his presence after a simple glance. he felt as if a piece of his heart had been shattered. the only reason he was in this school was to find people akin to him, that would understand him- yet you, with your piercing glaze and annoyed expression, you had promptly dismissed him the same way he had been his whole childhood. was he a freak ? a fake ? he deserved to be here. right ? so why, why had your feelings morphed into anger the second gojo had introduced him for you, since he was incapable of doing it himself, cursed speech and all. and if paining him wasn’t enough, you had to go and stomp on his pride, or whatever semblance of humanity he felt like he had left by getting along with everyone but him.

even the cursed boy that had appeared a few weeks after the start of the first year, you had taken a liking to him. everyone but toge, it seemed.

he tried to talk it out with you, well, as best as he could, but it seemed every time your eyes would lock you’d shudder away, furrowing your brows. toge wasn’t a mindreader, but he knew the expression on your face was distaste. so he rebuilt his world around you, pulling numerous pranks on you and clinging to you with a mischievous intent. it annoyed you to an extent you didn’t think was reachable.

it’s not that you hated inumaki, no, he just made you uncomfortable. well, he used to. at some point, he made you see so much red you forgot about the color of his eyes. and you weren’t the type of person to just stand back. you’d been a bypassser since you were born, and the only reason you were in this school was to stop that train of life. so you fought back. you played his coy little game and then broke down every single rule.

when inumaki added soy sauce in your drink, you’d cook for everyone but him. or you’d add soap in his dish. when he added bright dye to your shampoo, you added a lotion to lose hair in his. when he poured his water on your hair after training, you made sure to hose him down the next day. when he applied glue to your chair, you added small pins to his. when he cut off a strand of your hair, you made a big hole in his uniform pants, right where his crotch was. when he replaced your bedtime pills with foam animals, you used his toothbrush to clean the toilets. when he stole a piece of your food, you’d shove his head in his plate. while toge’s pranks were, for the most part, harmless, yours had a precise goal: humiliate him. (although you prefered the term annihilate, it sounded better.)

and apparently, you weren’t the only one suffering from inumaki’s pranks, just as he was from yours- your whole class loathed nothing more than being caught in the crossfire. (one time, panda helped inumaki replace your moisturiser with foot cream, courtesy of mean girls, the movie they had watched the night prior, and when you discovered, you sowed him to his own bed.) needless to say, they were ALL (including yuta, your sweet angel who could never hate anyone or do anything wrong) fed up with your antics. even gojo, who was amused at first, grew sick of having to comb out grains of rice from his hair from whenever the two of you would have a food fight.

so, gojo, being the genius he is (read: asshole), decided to pair the both of you up. and it would have been fine, you had worked with him before, if it wasn’t for the fact that he made sure every minute you were in class you would be together. he made sure that every single activity had to be completed in pairs, and he’d whisk yuta away whenever you would try and work with him instead. this lead to gojo’s new nickname being ‘senior citizen’, something you called him out of spite when he would not let you and inumaki work with different people. that only seemed to fuel him more, seeing as coincidentally, your chores became aligned with inumaki’s. all the time. you never got a break from the purple eyed mute, it seemed.

however, you suppose you should thank gojo in a way. thanks to him, you learned to not be bothered by the color purple in general. especially by the shade that flickered in inumaki’s pupils. you learned to resent him a little less. you learnt about him, and you learnt that it was never too late to make a new friend. however, that did not do anything but double the pranks you would pull. basically, the only thing that really changed between the two of you was that now, instead of pranking each other, it was anyone that managed to cross your mind. the way you looked at him also changed: slowly, annoyance formed into acceptance. the stars shimmering in his subtle glances never faded though.

when yuta, your sweet angel who could never hate anyone or do anything wrong left, you found a new best friend in toge. toge with his weird gelled up hair, toge with his weird manneurisms and his weird brainriot texts (god knows how many times he’d catch a ball and flash a grin that said´you ladies alright ?’), toge and his unique way of speech, toge and his weird sense of humour that, in a way, completed yours perfectly. toge with an expression so mischievous yet so patient at times you found yourself pouring out every single detail of your life till he knew every single nook and cranny of your former house, your old classroom, and most importantly, the desk where you’d exhange post its with the first guy you ever liked. why you ever disliked him. you thought that the whole reason was stupid now. toge who had also told you (in his own special way) how his childhood went. and why he didn’t like you all that much at first either. but it wasn’t resentment he had felt, it had never been. toge was sweet like that. not once did he bring himself to hate you in the beginning of the year because he didn’t know you well enough to do so.

toge inumaki thought you felt like a sharp inhale of fresh air on a particularly cold december night. it’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome. it’s good for you. it’s painful at first, but it becomes more agreeable once you get used to it. maybe you were more of a cigarette. addictive, knocking all the air out of his lungs (both metaphorically and literally, he hated sparring with you.) it doesn’t really matter what you feel like anyways. what matters is that somewhere along the weird revenges you would pull, he found himself caring for you. in the way lovers do. and now, as you’re sitting criss cross on his carpet, your back resting against his bed frame as you explain to him your villain origin story (aka your middle school lore) for the nth time, he finds himself incapable of fully listening. he hears what you are saying, but the only thing his brain is focused on is the way your lips move or how your fingers twitch and he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if you raked your hand through his hair. or if you pressed his lips against his. or if you fell asleep near him, right here, right now, with your head on his shoulder.

and he knows he shouldn’t be thinking that way, not when you just called him your best friend, but he can’t help it. he can’t help the way his fingers itch for yours or the inhumanly fast pace of his heartbeat when you forget what boundaries are. is it selfish of him to want more ?

apparently, it is selfish. you don’t understand toge’s new behaviour towards you- it’s not like he understands this new fickle of emotion either, but he is pretty sure it is jealousy- as you gush about the ‘cute’ cashier that gave you his number. toge doesn’t think he is pleasing to the eye at all, in fact, he looks like he had to win a game of rock paper scissors to even secure a spot on this earth. his hair is flat and boring, his eyes common, and his facial harmony could probably win a negative score if he tried.

even though he knows he is clearly superior, the train ride home is quiet, too much to your liking. toge doesn’t seem to realise though, for the flock of thoughts swarming his brain is loud enough to fill the lack of conversation. but you’re not a mind reader, so to you, your platinum haired best friend just looks like a brooding mess. you quickly rule out the possibility that he might be on his period. as far as you know, toge was assigned male at birth. although maybe you should double check with panda, it’s odd for him not to be lively. when you finally realise that toge isn’t going to notice your raised brow or stop being grumpy, you plug your headphones in and lean your head on the window.

in front of you, toge wonders if maybe you’d like him more if he had straight hair. the cashier had bangs, so maybe he should get some too. he grimaced at the thought of having to throw away his expensive hair gel. he tried to distract himself because he knew the truth; you’d probably like him more if he could speak freely. but this is a destination he’s not ready to take. not now. maybe later though, in the confines of his own room. crying in front of you would probably make him change countries due to embarrassment. (he didn’t want to appear weak, especially not in front of you. you were always calm and cold headed, and you were so, so brave. and fierce. he loves that about you.)

when you finally arrive on school grounds, toge makes a beeline for his dorm, still moody from whatever bothered him during your city outing. you don’t like conflicts, and you certainly don’t like seeing your best friend upset. so after a long, tired sigh, you jog up to him, only for him to further ignore you.

« toge. tell me what’s wrong. » you urge, your footsteps growing quicker as you pace after said boy.

he groans in annoyance, throwing his hands above his head before letting them nest on his hair. you furrow your brows as him, waiting for him to turn around to face you. the hallways are strangely empty for this time of the day, but you’re glad no one will have to witness your outbursts, if that’s what it can be qualified as.

« talk to me. » you prod again, nagging him relentlessly as he visibly grows more impatient under your gaze. « you’ve been avoiding me all evening toge, i deserve an explanation ! »

he doesn’t answer to that either. no rice ball ingredient slips past his lips, and you’re growing equally distressed.

« you can tell me what’s wrong, we’re best friends after all aren’t we ? » you ask again, hoping your words will be enough to break him out of his temper tantrum.

« just shut up ! » he adds quickly, almost naturally, before you can properly finish your sentence. the aftermath of his actions is immediate as metallic can start to be tasted in the base of his throat. you’re left there, stunned, unable to open your mouth as small tears start to form on your lower lash line. no, no, no, he thinks, as he realises what he has done. he watches your hands claw at your lips, your throat, before your gaze settles on him again. all of a sudden, he is transfixed, immobile under the weight of your glare, like an ant waiting to be squashed. the beginning of the year flashes his mind, and he is left puzzled. you scoff at him, incredulous, giving up on trying to fight the effects of his cursed speech and instead waiting for it to subdue. he realises now, what the look in your eyes is. it is nothing but pure resentment, just like when you hated the color purple. he understands why a younger version of yourself crossed his mind now- there’s no mistake, your stare is the same hardened one than the first time he ever decided to prank you. stupid, stupid toge.

after a while, your vocal cords can resume their vibrations. you’re about to yell at him, he can tell, but instead, a flicker of doubt passes through you, visible through the window of your soul and that is enough to prevent cascades from falling out of his eyes. he does not want this friendship to end, not over something as trivial as this little mistake.

« what.. what happened, toge ? » you speak up, eyes glued to the floor with your eyebrows furrowed. tentatively, you continue, « you never use your cursed speech involuntarily. what made you lash out ? »

and although it feels more like you’re asking that to yourself instead of him, he finds himself pulling his phone out, already typing an explication. it’s a habit, because what is he if you don’t understand him ? what is he without you ?

he pauses before showing you the screen. 'i can’t tell you.'

« why ? »

he shrugs, but he knows why- he can’t let you go, he can’t let his jealousy get the best of him and push you away. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he-

his inner thoughts are interrupted by your calloused hand coming up to touch his. he notices the way his breathing becomes less ragged at your touch, and he notices the tear that falls flat against the back of your tumb. it travels down your arm before eventually disappearing and he looks at you, watches as the purple in his irises meets yours and he wonders if you can see how big his pupils become when he looks at you. so much for not crying in front of you. wiping his eyes, he pockets his phone, still silent as ever.

« why ? » you ask again, slowly depriving him of your touch. he wants to say it so bad, to give in to your sweet nothings like he has done so many times before just to hear a hint of happiness in your voice but he can smell the rejection from where he stands, and he knows he will not be able to bear it. maybe he should write it down, type it in and hover his thumb around the send button with a practised ease, because every waking moment that is not spent with you he itches to send you that text, those three words that summarise how he feels, but he can’t. even so, you deserve better than a text. but he can’t say it out loud, no, or his knees will give out quicker than his voice.

« toge, please. » you say, looking at him with the look on your face you knew he never said no to. his expression mirrors guilt, and suddenly, it seems as though your interior slippers are the most interesting thing in the world to him, seeing as his eyes seem so hellbent as to not meet yours. you hand him your phone without a word. when he extends his palm to push it back towards you, you gently cup his face using your fingers to angle it towards you. his heart skips a beat, etching to be released of this cage of ribs, longing to be with you. you remain indifferent, ignorant to the way his pulse races. you soften your eyes at him again, delicately placing your phones in between his fingers. he shudders at the contact, yet he unlocks it like he has so many times and, hypnotised by the feeling of your warmth caressing his skin, he types the words that almost slipped out of his mouth countless times.

‘i dont want to be your best friend anymore‘ the screen reads, and you swear you can hear your heart shattering while his races in anticipation. « what- what are you saying ? »

he doesn’t reply still, so you urge on. « toge ? what do you mean ? » if this was under any other circumstance, toge would’ve probably started humming the justin bieber song. but this wasn’t any other circumstance, because although he always felt giddy around you, never had he been unable to hear the world around him due to the adrenaline rush this was providing him. he looks at you, who is looking at the screen, perplexed and on the verge of crying. he always thought he could smell the rejection, but, maybe it was only the stench of his own fear, seeing as you intertwine your pinky with his, softly yet in a way that is so demanding- your own way to tell him you don’t want him to leave.

he thinks that maybe, the impact after the fall won’t be so bad because at least he was free falling for you. he thinks of you, of how kind you are, of you nimble touches, of your preference for sunrises over sunsets, of how you hate waking up, of how you never let your tough mask crack, of how you love him, even if it’s in a platonic way and he remembers that your favourite color is purple. the same purple you used to hate and the same purple that dances in his eyes. he loves you, he has never been this sure of anything else in his life. a bitter smile makes it’s way onto his face and he pulls his collar down, mulls over his words before opening his mouth. his tongue swirls and his vocal cords hum to form the words « i love you. »

and in that moment, you know your favourite color is purple, it has been for a long time, but now it is for an all different reason.

i took two weeks to write this is insane.. at least im out of writers block (i hope) LMFOA

i think im HILARIOUS but my friends all think otherwise so please… tell me you giggled (trying to prove a point)

might be the first time i lowk like an ending btw (prolly cuz its the first thing i wrote and then i wrote the beginning and then STRUGGLED with the middle part like i was grasping onto my sheets for motivation)

ID LOVE LOVE LOVE to write a part 2 so lmk if ur interested !!

[edenfenixblogs]

Date: 10/9/2024

Note: Over a year since the pogrom. No apology. No retrospection. No acknowledgement of the continued suffering of Jewish students around them. Only the continued, predictable false support for people far away. Of course Gazan suffering matters.

But I think it's really telling that these people only have empathy for those with whom they cannot see and interact with in the same way they see and interact with their fellow students. Students who have literally gone to the U.S. Congress to testify about how bad conditions are for them and how unsafe they feel.

No. No support for them. Because they can't be trusted. They are the enemy. And these students and even many of the professors justify their inhumane treatment of those near them by virtue signaling as loud as possible that they can't be bad people, because they care so much about people who are really suffering. Unlike those nasty Jews they're forced to interact with.

It's insufferable.

And before the inevitable, predictable wave of "Wowwwwwww way to make an international humanitarian crisis all about you, you dirty zio" happens, a brief reminder:

I'm not a Zionist.

I have the unfortunate distinction of being directly affected by the hatred directly at me by people who hate me simply for being Jewish and feeling sad that Israelis were murdered. The vast majority of western leftist "activists" do not.

But also...

There's a scene in The Help where a bunch of White socialites are talking about all the fundraising they're doing to help starving African children, and well, I'll just let you read it.

The Home Health Sanitation Initiative that Hilly drafted is a racist initiative to force private homes to provide separate bathrooms for Black domestic workers in White houses.

Hilly, who fired her own Black maid for using Hilly's un-segregated home bathroom during a tornado. Hilly, who spread a malicious rumor about that same maid being a thief and rendered her unemployable because she didn't want people to know that it was Hilly's own racism rather than any failure of her maid (named Minny, btw) morally or professionally. And then Hilly took her racism and twisted it into some twisted form of activism for "health sanitation" until she could make it something she didn't have to be ashamed of. In fact, it was something she could be proud of. It was something she should be proud of, something she wanted others to notice. It wasn't racism at all now. It was good, actually. And anyone who disagreed? Well, they just don't care about health. They're disgusting.

And anyway, she can't be racist against black people! YOU'RE the ridiculous one for thinking that. Sure, she's part of a White Citizen's Council. But no need to look into that! After all, they're not anti-Black. They're just a group of good citizens who are white! And they can't be racist either! Because they send old coats and money from bake sales to...somewhere. And surely that will put a "big dent" in the humanitarian crisis of starving African children. How dare anyone accuse them of hating Black people when they spend their own time and energy raising money for African children! Would a racist do that?!

Yes. A racist would and a racist does.

Even if U of M liquidated all of it's assets and shut down and gave all of its money to "Gaza," it wouldn't put a dent in the amount of funding Hamas and Hezbollah are getting from Qatar and Iran. It wouldn't be enough rebuild the damaged buildings and restore the cultural heritage sites. It wouldn't do anything to "save" the people of Gaza. And where exactly are they proposing that money would even go? In some big envelope labeled "Gaza"? Oh, right. I forgot...

They weren't even trying to repair anything in Gaza. They were just trying to take money away from students who use that money to have a fulfilling college experience until they believed U of M had done enough to "divest from the Israeli campaign in Gaza."

Parents in this country re-mortgage homes to send their kids to college. Some students take on life altering debt. The least they can and should expect in return for that massive supposed-investment in their future is 1) a fulfilling campus experience 2) the right to feel safe on campus. These "activists" actively prevent both of those things.

It's super easy to send a few bucks of other people's money to starving children in Africa or take some of the money allocated to other people's campus experiences in the name of a cause that it is obviously good to support (Children don't deserve to starve. Gazans don't deserve to live in a war zone.), but it's a lot harder to do something that will actually make a difference--like address antisemitism and Islamophobia on college campuses or vocally support civil rights legislation. Because doing the latter means making yourself vulnerable and being perceived as "weird" or "uncool" by your peers. It means looking inward and addressing your own failures and biases and prejudices and changing. It means not getting to be the center of attention who is praised for helping. It means platforming the voices of those who are affected by a conflict rather than your own voice. It means not caring about being seen as socially ideal or morally pure but actually caring about other people who are hurting.

These student activists are no different from those racist White women trying to force Black people to use separate bathrooms with one hand while trying to feed starving Black children in Africa with the other. You can't erase the stench of your bigotry up close by spraying Febreze outside and hoping it makes its way across the world.

It's not about African children. It's not about Gazans. It never was. It was about using the suffering of others to make yourself seem more noble. And it's disgusting.

They aren't doing a damn thing to help Gaza. They are literally only interested in sacrificing their fellow students' college experiences and bullying an educational institution into symbolically punishing Israel. But spending their own money to help Gazans through reputable charities like Anera? Couldn't be them. Spending their time making Jewish and Muslim and Arab students feel safe? Couldn't be them. Doing anything that might actually make a positive difference in the lives of the people they claim to support? Couldn't be them. Disgusting. Unconscionable. And for many, unforgivable.

They're bigots. They just don't think anyone will notice if they wrap themselves tight enough in an activist costume.

It's been over a year since Jews were slaughtered and kidnapped along with anyone who was physically near enough to them at the time to be deemed as complicit by a bunch of terrorists eager to spill Jewish blood. And in that time these "activists" have done jack-fucking-shit to actually help any Palestinians in a meaningful way. But they sure have done a great job at destroying a sense of safety for Jews in diaspora and making the lives of Jews worse literally everywhere in the world.

Allegedly the pro Palestine activists then hacked into the CSG Instagram page and posted the same clip in the tweet with this caption

"Puppet" lovely jews control the world trope.

[bippot]

Hi hun 💜

I have a request for a smut fic with Bob Floyd

(This isn’t compliant with top gun maverick btw x)

ok so, Bob and the reader are in college together and the reader is a huge bookworm

Bob just like admires her from afar until he finally plucks up the courage to talk to her about a book she’s reading after class

She flirts with him and his lil brain can’t compute so he just stands there like 😳

anyway long story short they go back to her place and she seduces him

thought I’d leave it up to you bc you’re so talented 🩵🩵

Ducky's

Story Summary -> After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

Tags -> Fluff and Smut, College, Teacher-Student Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, cafe setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Study Date

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

(I took some liberties but I hope that's okay with you anon!)

The small bell above the door chimed as Bob Floyd walked into Ducky’s Café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He scanned the cosy, dimly lit space, noting the clusters of students, artists, and locals deep in conversation or study. It was a sight that felt new and foreign. Just days ago, he’d been stepping off his last Navy deployment, wrapping up a career that had spanned more than a decade. Now, here he was: a thirty-four-year-old freshman, feeling both out of place and oddly hopeful.

It was weird. He'd spent years in the Navy, living through it's strict rules and structure until they became second nature. He'd always wanted to fly planes and be an aviator adjacent, but he failed to realise how much it frayed his nerves. His mind had to be constantly alert, constantly be whirring, constantly be worrying, and it was a lot of mental strain. As soon as his contract was up, he declined to renew it. He wanted a slower life, one where he could focus solely on bettering himself without having to constantly deal with the pressures that came with a government job. And now, here he was at the cafe directly opposite the university he was enrolled at, living it up.

And living it up meant that he was audited every class he possibly could. He had the drive to be a Renaissance man, full of knowledge and talent and passion for the world that he’d never had before. Officially he was a creative writing major, but the psychology that he was carrying under his arm pointed to a different subject.

Sitting at an empty table, Bob spread out his materials, trying to arrange the chaos of notebooks, pencils, and highlighters so he didn't seem so unorganised in front of all of the other students around him. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. These eighteen-year-olds were his peers in academia, and if he made any mistakes, they would surely laugh at him behind his back for being so old and inept.

He'd been working for around half an hour when the lady behind the counter very loudly greeted, "Ah, she finally makes an appearance," and his head lifted to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at walk into the cafe.

The beautiful woman replied, "Mama, my class ran late, okay?" She flashed a smile as her mother handed her a large coffee and looked around the packed cafe. "Didn't save me a seat? You must not love me any more."

"You're spoilt, and you know it," her mother laughed. "I'm sure that handsome man over there will let you sit with him."

As if by magic, Y/N's mother pointed directly at Bob's table, and he smiled shyly and pretended that he hadn't heard their whole conversation. He hoped to God he hadn't blushed too obviously. Yes, he wanted her to sit somewhere near him, but, no, he would have no idea what to say to start a conversation. To his benefit, she started the conversation for him with a simple, "Hi, do you mind if I sit here? You look kind of busy, so it's okay if not."

"Uh...sure. Go ahead," Bob said awkwardly. "I can tidy up if you need some space; just say the word."

Quickly, she shook her head with a smirk and sat down next to him, crossing one leg over another as she settled herself into her chair and brought out a book from her bag. Glancing over the top of his glasses, he read the cover of her book, Room, and realised that he had a way in. He'd kept a reading list for the past few years, and for some reason, despite the fact that Room had always been on the list, he'd never actually gotten around to reading it.

"I've been meaning to read Room; how are you finding it so far? Would you recommend?"

She tilted her head as she came up with a response, and Bob couldn't help the way he let his head rest on his hand as he admired the profile of her face. She had an air of thoughtfulness about her, and her hair was pulled back loosely into a ponytail, framing her face and neck and giving her a very studious look. But then she opened her mouth to respond, and Bob found that he loved the way those lips curved as she spoke about what she was passionate about: books.

The detail she went into was insane; Bob was impressed and intrigued. It was fascinating to watch. There was passion, yes, but also humour and immense empathy. Her eyes were expressive as she told him all about the case the story was based on. It was a harrowing tale - they both knew that - and a little light-hearted comment every now and then helped to ease the discomfort that came along with discussing such a topic.

"... so, yeah, it's an intense read," she finished, her final words rushing into one. She'd gone on a full rant and, while Bob had added the occasional sentence or two, had taken the reins of the conversation without realising it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she mumbled, "Sorry for rambling like that; I didn't even ask your name." She gave him a sheepish smile. "And I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, no, please, keep talking," Bob said quickly, hoping that she wouldn't notice how he was staring at her lips. He held out a hand for a handshake, which she returned, unable to take his eyes from hers as he did so. "I'm Bob, Bob Floyd."

"I'm Y/N. If you hear my mother call me Ducky, please pretend you didn't hear it."

"You're the eponymous Ducky?!" he teased, his blue eyes flashing playfully. "You didn't tell me I was in the presence of cafe royalty!"

She lightly smacked him on the bicep. "Shut up," she chided softly. "It's a childhood nickname; my mom loves to embarrass me with it."

They laughed together, their voices soft in the chatter around them, and a gentle warmth washed over them as they gazed at one another. It was so comfortable and easy to talk to Y/N; a sense of familiarity overcame him, and he began to feel that this was exactly where he belonged. It was weird. They just met; they hardly knew anything about each other. Yet they felt so connected already. A bond seemed to develop between them that was almost instinctual, as if they were drawn towards one another in some mystical way.

They talked and talked and talked. Their shared fascination for literature led to discussions about various genres of fiction and poetry, and, before they knew it, time flew away. He mentioned being in the Navy briefly, just as a bit of flavour in a story, and he watched as Y/N's eyes roamed over his frame. 

She interrupted him midsentence by mumbling to herself, "Oh, that's why you're so hot."

Bob stopped. His voice abruptly cut out.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"...yeah," he replied, his cheeks burning at her compliment. In his life, he'd never really considered himself as hot. He was in shape - that's essential in the Navy - but he'd always been around other pilots like Hangman and Rooster, who were 'hunkier' by society's standards. 

That insecure nerd he was as a kid was still inside of him, and it was times like this that made his insecurity resurface. He wasn't vain - his ego was never big enough to allow him to consider himself that - but he knew for a fact that he was definitely a catch. He was kind and polite (his mama made sure of that), yet he didn't consider himself as 'hot'.

"You're incredibly pretty," Bob blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone as beautiful, inside and out, when I woke up this morning."

Y/N giggled, covering her lips. "Flatterer," she teased, though there was no bite to her words, just fondness.

"I'm just saying it like it is, Ducky."

The nickname slipped out so easily. For some reason, it felt right. So naturally, it felt like something that should fit perfectly on his tongue. And maybe it did. Maybe it did indeed belong. 

The conversation continued to flow between them, yet this time there was a hint of flirtation that neither had felt before. There were touches and looks exchanged across the table. The air became heavier and more intimate, and it became obvious that this wasn't just casual flirting that passed between strangers. 

"Hey Duck, I'm going to close in 5 mins. Get your butt moving," Y/N's mother suddenly called from behind the counter. "I love you, but I'm not extending my shift any further today."

"Okay mom!"

"Take your new 'friend' with you."

With that, Y/N rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to look at Bob, who was slightly red in the cheeks and trying to suppress a huge grin as Y/N stood up. "You heard the woman; get a move on."

Bob hurried to pack his stuff away and follow Y/N to the door until they were outside. "Did you walk?" Bob asked as the door was locked behind them and Y/N's mother turned the hanging sign to CLOSED.

"I don't live that far away, so, yeah, I walked." 

"Would... uh, is it okay if I walk you home?"

"I'd like that, Bob."

They made it to her front door in no time. They lingered for a second once they reached her doorstep, staring at each other for what felt like ages, feeling the energy build and grow between them. Then, Y/N gave up on the whole tip-toeing around the issue thing. "You should come inside. Someone might’ve broken in while I was out. I might need a strong Navy man to help me out," she stated plainly, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to refuse.

He didn't want to refuse. He simply couldn't, so instead, he nodded slowly and followed her inside the house with a blush high on his cheeks. "Strange, it doesn't look like a break-in has happened here. Maybe I should just -"

She silenced his joke by tugging his hand and, consequently, bringing him closer towards her. Bob looked down and smiled shyly at the sudden proximity between them. 

"I mean, I'm gonna stay. I want to stay. It's just... I don't usually do, uh, this," he explained, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and his thumb stroking the skin beneath her lower lip. "So..."

His words hung in the air, a little awkward and a lot nervous, but she understood nonetheless. She leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded and lips curling upwards in a small smirk. 

"Me neither," she whispered teasingly, leaning forward slightly and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw, and for the briefest of moments they were suspended in silence, their breath mingling as they looked into each other's eyes. 

Bob swallowed hard, his mind buzzing with questions. Was this wise? Was this a smart idea? He'd never moved this quickly before, but with Y/N, it was different. She was different. He liked the way she made his stomach flip flop, the butterflies in his stomach, her lips on his cheek, and the way she looked at him as if she wanted nothing else but to kiss him again.

"Are you sure? We can go slower if you want?" He asked quietly, breaking the spell they'd fallen under. She shook her head and placed her hand gently on the back of his neck, caressing him ever so gently, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

In a blink of an eye, her lips were on his. They were soft, pliant, and warm against his, and, within seconds, everything else faded away, leaving only her, the feeling of her soft lips against his, and the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

As they smooched, Y/N walked their connected bodies into her room. If they happened to be more than an inch apart at any point, one of them was closing the distance as soon as possible. Even when Y/N pushed Bob down on the bed, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and pressed herself against him within 5 seconds. 

She could feel the smile spreading onto her face as he groaned softly into her mouth as she began to trail kisses across his cheek and down along his jawline to his neck. Bob grabbed hold of her shoulders tightly, his breathing growing uneven as his desire rose. As he let his hands wander underneath her shirt, tracing soft circles around her back, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes. 

"Do you have a condom? I'd usually be prepared, but I didn't leave the house this morning thinking I'd be, uh, needing one, to be completely honest," he said nervously, biting his lip slightly, his eyes darting from hers down to her lips, and back up again.

"Yeah, of course," Y/N replied, sitting upright and reaching into her dresser drawer and rummaging through a bunch of items, eventually finding what she was searching for and pulling out an unopened box of condoms. "Bought these when I moved here, still haven't had the occasional to take the Saran off."

"Been a while?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Same here."

Their clothes were thrown off and fell into a heap on the floor somewhere in the midst of things. As soon as she felt his hands exploring the expanse of her back, Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. He took the opportunity to trail light kisses down her chest and neck, pausing whenever a gasp escaped her mouth to revel in the sound. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back slightly as she felt him nip at her hip. "Bob, please…" She pleaded quietly, barely able to keep quiet, the heat building between them rising higher with every passing second.

He grinned against her skin as he bit down harder on her hip bone than before, eliciting a moan from her throat. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Let me savour you properly, darlin'. Then, you better believe I will make you scream my name like nobody's business."

"Oh god..."

It sounded more like a whimper than anything, and he chuckled against her and kissed his way along her stomach and down her thighs. The feeling of being touched so deliciously and tenderly was almost too much to bear. His hands travelled all over her, tracing patterns, caresses, even kisses, and then, finally, he found her sweet spot. One gentle swipe of his tongue, and she was clutching at his hair and arching upward, moaning loudly, begging him to give it a little more attention. 

"Yes, baby," he whispered against her skin. "I'll give it to you. But we're going to take it slow, darlin'. I promise," he reassured, and then, after getting comfy on his stomach, he dipped a single finger into her.

After all, Bob was a patient man. He waited for her to adjust to him first; to get used to how he touched her before he dared to move another centimetre, and, even if she was aching now, he would wait. He would try and ease her body back into the rhythm, slowly increasing his pace until it felt right, until she was screaming his name, till he got the reaction that he needed. 

Foreplay had always been his favourite part of intimacy, and this was no exception either. He was careful and gentle, giving her the chance to adjust to him and teasing her just enough for her toes to curl, until her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding, until she was falling deeper and deeper into the haze of passion, her fingers digging desperately into his scalp and her breaths shallow and rapid.

It was all in order to prolong the pleasure and, hopefully, cause her to come back another day for more. And, oh, did he intend to make that happen.

Who knows how long Bob spent with his head between Y/N's thighs, kissing and licking his way along the insides of her legs until the sensation became too much to bear? Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her moans turning into cries as she begged, "Bob, Bob, Bobby, please! Please! Fuck me! Need you, need your cock in me, fuck -"

And, oh boy, was she about to find out just how much he needed her too. The desperation in her voice spurred him on, making him lose control and finally give in. With a heavy, panting sigh, he slid deep into her, filling her perfectly with all he was, all she was, and all he could be. All they were together. 

The moment he started to move, she threw her head back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice, grasping his biceps with both hands as if they were life preservers. "That's it, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling himself out once again and repeating the process over and over again. 

"You're doing such a good job, darlin', so very, very good..." he praised huskily and kissed the side of her neck repeatedly as he continued moving in her. "So, so good..."

Her nails dug painfully into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood from his body, and he gritted his teeth, pushing his weight down on her so she couldn't possibly move. She couldn't squirm away from him though; he was holding her too tightly. It was driving her crazy. 

With each thrust, Y/N's intelligence dropped until she was left as a sweaty, dumb mess beneath him, gasping and sobbing and pleading and cursing. "Oh, pretty girl," he smirked, burying his nose in her cheek. "You look so beautifully stupid right now. Am I fucking your brains out?"

It was a rhetorical question, but if it needed an answer, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she came was the answer Y/N gave. She let out a silent scream of his name one final time as her walls clenched around Bob, squeezing tight, and tipped him over the edge too.

They lay there, in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, listening to the sounds of their breathing fill the space around them.

"...Holy shit," Y/N breathed.

At the same time, their heads turned to make eye contact, and a laugh erupted from their lungs. Neither was able to stop giggling as they tried to calm themselves down and make sense of what had just happened. Slowly, Bob lifted himself and hopped out of bed.

"Where's your bathroom and kitchen?"

"Door opposite the bathroom; the kitchen is left of the living room." 

Within 2 minutes, he came back with a warm flannel and a bottle of water. He helped Y/N sit up, wiped the sweat from her forehead before cleaning up the mess down below, and then wrapped her in his arms as she rehydrated. 

"Can you pass me your phone?" she asked him, looking up towards him through half-closed eyes. Bob was quick to rifle through the pockets of his discarded jeans and hand her his phone. Y/N added her number to his phone and took a selfie of their post bliss faces to use as her contact picture. "You better not ghost me or you're dead meat, capiche?"

"I wouldn't dare to, darlin'," he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Well, it was supposed to be quick, but when he felt Y/N's hand come into contact with his jaw, stroking softly across his stubble, he lost any intention of stopping. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, his other arm coming around her waist to pull her closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly. 

When the morning came, their parting was bittersweet. Both of them were reluctant to leave, but Y/N had a job to go to, and Bob had already missed one of the lectures he was planning to go to. Plus, he had his first creative writing lecture - y'know, the one for the major he'd chosen - at lunch, and, as much as he wanted to be around Y/N, he didn't want to miss that lesson.

He knew it was silly to feel this way after one night, but he couldn’t help it. Y/N had a warmth about her that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He thought about texting her but decided against it, not wanting to come off as too eager.

Bob stepped into the classroom with a spring in his step, the remnants of a whirlwind night with Y/N still buzzing in his veins. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the rows of desks, and for a brief moment, he felt invincible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. As he slid into an empty seat, the door creaked open once more, and his heart nearly stilled in his chest. There she was — Y/N L/N. She strode in with an air of authority, her demeanour polished and professional, a stark contrast to the intimate whirlwind of the previous night. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes as they locked, a spark of shared secrets that sent a rush of heat through him.

Her confidence radiated as she introduced herself to the class, her voice smooth like silk, but Bob caught that fleeting glint in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction. His mind raced, processing the surreal scenario: he had done what most frat boys only fantasise about—he had crossed that line and succeeded in banging his professor, all before the semester had even begun.

Bob tried to focus as she outlined the syllabus, yet every time she turned to face him or glanced away, his thoughts derailed. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken tension, a delicate dance of professionalism clashing against the wild intimacy they had shared. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders today, soft and inviting, and Bob's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her collarbones, and he caught a glimpse of faint marks that still lingered—a testament to their passionate night together. His heart thumped wildly as he fought to maintain his composure, a mix of pride and sheer disbelief bubbling within him. Could it really be that he was sitting in a class, learning from the very woman who had wrapped around him so tightly just hours before? 

As the class finally emptied, a rush of relief washed over him. He lingered, letting the last stragglers filter out, the echo of chairs scraping against the floor fading into the background. Bob stepped forward and approached her desk, the thrill of their secret coursing through his veins. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, unable to contain the playful lightness of the moment.

Y/N chuckled, a delightful sound that danced in the air between them. She seemed to gather herself, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her features. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Small world.”

“Look, if this is going to be an issue, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice steady and assured. “We’re both adults. I see that you're actually enrolled in this class and not just auditing, and if this is the course you want and as long as we keep things professional, I don’t see a problem."

“Right. Totally professional,” he replied, the teasing lilt in his tone betraying the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, the memory of her beneath him fresh in his mind. "I guess I should wait until the end of the semester to ask you on a date."

“Probably for the best, yes,” she laughed, the sound rich and warm, her laughter drawing him closer despite the tension. Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance. Then she stood up straighter, a subtle shift that reminded him of the professional façade she wore so effortlessly. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you during class, by the way.”

“Good,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “Because I’m not exactly the type to settle for less than perfection.” 

The air thickened with unspoken promise, an electric connection that pulsated between them, holding the weight of their shared experiences. Bob felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, invigorated by the thrill of the unexpected and the rush of possibilities. As he left the classroom, a smile plastered on his face, he felt the eyes of fate watching him. What had started as a night of reckless passion was transforming into a tangled web of feelings he was only beginning to understand. The world outside bustled with the chaos of students and faculty, but for Bob, the universe had narrowed down to one singular thought: he couldn’t wait for the semester to end.

She was an exceptional teacher, guiding discussions with a skill and insight that made literature come alive. He watched her command the room and admired the way she could turn a simple line of poetry into a profound discussion on life, love, and human nature. And every so often, he’d catch her looking at him with a hint of a smile, a glint in her eye that reminded him of their night at Ducky’s.

They developed an unspoken understanding, exchanging glances that held layers of meaning. He often stayed after class to ask questions, sometimes just to hear her talk. And though they kept their conversations professional, there was always a tension lingering beneath the surface, a shared recognition that they both wanted more. Sure, they’d agreed to boundaries, and Bob respected that, but he was counting down the days till he could hold and touch her again. Their amorous exchange had been a blip in the grand scheme of his life, and he was determined to expand it with no more delay than was necessary.

Fortunately for Bob, time went by in a flash. Thanks to his extensive study schedule, he was always busy. It was necessary. Whenever he slowed down, his brain would flash back to that night—her soft gasps, her sweet taste, their intertwined bodies, entangled in passion. Being busy ensured that he could wait it out, that he wouldn't interrupt his lecturer half way through her lesson to snog her face off, that he wouldn't get distracted, because he knew if he did, the day would take so long to come.

He had done a good job at suppressing his desires until one fateful library session. With only a few days left until all her students had to submit their writing portfolios, Y/N held a study session in the library to help them refine their work. This session wasn't anything unusual; it was simply a teacher helping her students prepare for the upcoming exam, and by the time they got to Bob's work, he'd completely forgotten that the subject of all of his poems and prose was her.

Obviously, some part of his brain understood that, yeah, she was his lecturer, so, duh, she'd have to read and analyse his work. Each student got a private 1-1 with Mrs. L/N (as the younglings knew her as) in one of the quiet rooms, and Bob was dreading his session. Whenever they had academic meetings, Y/N always saved Bob for last. He knew it was so he couldn't distract her halfway through her shift, but it always left him sat twiddling his thumbs in anticipation as he watched everyone else go before him.

Once it was his turn, he walked briskly toward the table, pulling out his chair and setting his folder down next to her. "Hi Y/N," he said breathlessly, his palms becoming clammy as he gripped the edge of the table. He forced himself to calm down as she peered at him curiously, her brow wrinkling slightly as she noticed the beads of perspiration forming along his forehead. 

"Hi." She reached out to wipe a bead away, a tender gesture that caused his insides to stir. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothing really, just… uh…" The words came out awkwardly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He sighed heavily, attempting to push through his nerves. He leaned over the table towards Y/N, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you pretend to not know that all of these poems are about you?" Bob asked shyly, gesturing to the papers. A slight flush coloured Y/N's cheeks, a coy smile curling onto her lips, and she tilted the folder so she could read what was inside.

Beneath cold waves and navy blues,   He holds secrets in tight-lipped views.   In cockpits, sky-bound, firm and sure,   A warrior, honed, clean, and pure.   But here, she breathes with ink-stained hands,   Weaving worlds like soft, dark sands.   Her voice, a rhythm, raw and deep,   Stirs dreams he'd hidden, locked to keep.   His uniform, his life’s firm chain,   Feels lighter now with her in frame.   Her words unfurl like silken thread,   Untangling thoughts he'd left unsaid.   In every story that she spins,   He finds a place his heart begins.   Though bound by orders, flight, and tide,   For once, he feels alive inside.   And as she speaks in gentle prose,   A warmth inside him blooms and grows.   The warrior leans close to learn,   While letters smolder, pulse, and burn.

She flipped to the next page.

In shadows deep, where pages softly turn,   A quiet soul with ink-stained hands does seek,   The whispered call of words, where passions burn,   A bookworm’s grace, her thoughts both pure and sleek.   Her gaze is lost in realms of untold dreams,   Each line a kiss upon her trembling lips,   While I, entranced, watch every quiet gleam   Of knowledge wrapped in the softest fingertips.   Yet though her mind is bound to tomes she’s known,   Her heart, like mine, still seeks what words can't say,   For in her eyes, a warmth I’ve never grown,   A yearning deep that pulls me in each day.   Oh, let me trace the secrets she may keep,   And in her world of words, my soul to steep.  

And the next.

In shadows deep where passion clings,   I wait, as silent longing sings,   For her whose touch once set aflame   A heart now bound to her sweet name.   She taught me words, but not the art   Of keeping still my wild, torn heart,   A glance, a breath, a fleeting kiss,   And now the night is void of bliss.   The fragrant pages know the tale,   Of stolen hours where senses sail—   Her lips, a promise, soft, divine,   And every sin that calls her mine.   But cursed be this love so frail,   Where tender fingers weave a veil,   For though the flame within me burns,   Her absence leaves the world to churn.   I ache to feel her near once more,   To know the taste of that sweet lore,   But now, I am but shadows cast,   Forever bound to the lessons past.

And the next and next.

Then, when she raised her head to meet his gaze, she found his seat empty, the only sign of him being his jacket draped over the wooden back. With a sigh, she set the folder back on the desk with a small frown marring her features and went in search of him. It didn't take long before she made her way outside, as some of the younger ones had swore they saw Bob dart to get some fresh air. He hadn't made it far. 

In the purple of the evening, Bob sat on the bench right at the side of the building, staring blankly ahead. The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him away from his reverie, turning towards her with wide eyes, his face pale with shock and worry. Luckily, most students had already left campus or were cramming in the library, so despite the fact that they were out in the open, they had some semblance of privacy.

"Do you want comfort or space?"

"... I don't know." His voice trembled. “Both, maybe?” 

Y/N nodded in understanding and sat down beside him, not too close or too far apart, giving him the space to breathe and compose himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, taking a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"I'm not used to putting everything out there like that," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I know that you know that I'm infatuated with you, but... well, now you know that I'm totally in love with you. Like, writing bad sonnets about you kind of love." 

"I quite liked your sonnet," she said with a reassuring smile, placing her hand atop his own gently as she offered him an encouraging squeeze. "Your poems were beautiful and heartfelt and full of so much emotion and passion that I was moved beyond words, and though it's currently irresponsible for me to say, the feeling is mutual."

He smiled bashfully in response, then turned his attention to her hand, studying the smooth skin, her graceful fingers, her delicate nails trimmed short and neat, and the silver ring on her finger shining brightly. Without thinking, his index finger ran across the surface of her hand, brushing the top of the ring with his thumb."Bobby," she murmured softly, turning her palm upward and allowing him to caress her skin. He did so slowly, reverently, as if it were something sacred and fragile, something which he may never have the pleasure to touch again if he weren't careful. 

Once he made contact, he began tracing circles around her wrist, following the lines of her veins and mapping the contours of her skin with featherlight touches, drawing shapes and words into her flesh wherever possible. She remained still and patient and silent, letting him draw as many hearts and roses as he wanted to let him calm himself down enough to speak again.

When his breathing eventually evened out somewhat, he lifted his hand from her arm and looked up at her again, smiling shyly. He brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone in greeting, and she giggled, her eyes crinkling and filling with mirth, before they both realised that maybe this wasn't the place for this amount of affection. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he stood up hastily. "Um, let's go back inside?"

"Yeah, good idea."

Y/N had only taken two steps before Bob caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. Before she had time to react, he yanked her body closer to him until their lips met and all thought flew out of her mind. Their lips collided in a hungry rush, tongues tangling together as if their lives depended upon it. Her hand clutched onto the front of his jacket while Bob's hand went to the back of her head, cushioning it so she wasn't concussed when he pushed her up against the cool brick wall of the library. Their kisses grew heavier and more frantic with each passing second, desperate and needy. 

Their chests pressed against each other tightly, leaving no room between them; their bodies moulding against each other with ease and familiarity like two halves of a whole. He gripped at her hips tighter than ever, pulling her impossibly closer and deeper into the kiss. Their mouths moved together feverishly, their tongues tangling with the taste of mint and salt and everything nice in the universe. They kissed and kissed until her back was flush against the wall, and her legs felt like jelly beneath her. 

The only thing that broke them apart was the signature chatter of her class quoting brainrot memes as they began to get closer and closer to the library exit. They stepped away from the wall reluctantly, trying hard to hide their flushed faces as they tried their best to calm themselves and gather their wits in the minute before they were found out. But it was hard when you could barely think straight.

As they walked, Y/N kept glancing towards him, her eyes full of questions, her lips curled into an amused grin. He knew exactly what she was asking: Are we really okay? He answered with a nod as he took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hey everyone, I'm sure you're all going to do brilliantly. Please don't overwork yourself. Sleep. Stay hydrated. Eat. And, pretty please, don't worry too much! You've done the work, you got feedback to think about, and a whole semester of notes to fall back on," she instructed, giving a little wave as they passed by her class. "Good luck. Let me know if anything goes awry before next Friday and I will do my best to help you! 

With a last smile and a wave, they returned to the study room with the knowledge that they were truly alone in there. Only the librarian was there, reading a book behind the counter, her face devoid of its usual stern countenance as she snoozed in her chair. They had no plans to do anything salacious, not today anyway, but they didn't have to have that student/teacher pretence anymore. Today was just theirs, theirs to enjoy, and they could have an open and honest discussion about his poetry without having to ignore the context behind them.

Bob, his heart racing with a blend of joy and mischief, slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they strolled side by side. The world around them blurred into a backdrop as he pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head, a gentle act of affection that sent a shiver of warmth cascading down her spine. “If I take you home and fuck you stupid again, will you give me extra credit?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock outrage, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that could rival the evening sky. “Robert Floyd!” she exclaimed, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder, the impact barely registering through the haze of laughter enveloping them.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” he laughed, his laughter infectious, echoing against the brick buildings surrounding them. But the teasing wasn’t done; he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Although...” he trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air like a promise, and was rewarded with a flurry of soft hits from her.

He tightened his hold around her waist, stopping in his tracks and squeezing her tighter, their laughter mingling in a melody of youthful abandon. Y/N, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, buried her face against his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Thanks to that comment, I’m going to give your assignment to another professor to grade,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression feigning seriousness, yet a spark of amusement lingered in her eyes.

Bob’s smirk widened, his confidence soaring. “That’s understandable. You are very, very biased towards me, ducky,” he replied, leaning forward to plant another quick peck on her lips, their mouths brushing together in a soft and intimate connection that set her heart racing.

“Oh, I am indeed,” she agreed, her voice a mock solemnity that was impossible to take seriously. With a playful tug on his hand, she continued, “Shall we go home so I can show you how biased I am?” The sultry tone slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and tempting, causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright crimson as he stole a glance at her.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rush—the desire to be alone with her, to explore the depths of their connection, propelling him forward. The thought of returning to her apartment filled with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of their newfound intimacy made his heart race.

As they weaved through the familiar streets, the golden light of the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the pavement, each step taking them closer to their sanctuary. Bob felt like he was walking on air, buoyed by the weight of Y/N’s presence beside him. With every shared glance, every soft touch, he was reminded of the warmth and brightness she had brought into his life, a light that pierced through the fog of his worries and anxieties.

Weeks turned into months, and when the semester finally commenced and all the assignments had been graded, a wave of euphoria washed over Bob. He learnt that Y/N’s lecturer friend had awarded him a high score, a testament to his growth and effort, and in that moment, he felt like he was soaring through the skies in his beloved F/A-18F Super Hornet. 

Bob cradled the subject of his poetry in his thoughts every morning, realising she was not just a muse but his sun itself, illuminating every dark corner of his mind and guiding him through the clouds of uncertainty. The world was suddenly a canvas painted with their shared moments, laughter echoing in the hallways of his heart, and he knew he would do anything to keep that light shining brightly.

*Click here for my Bob Floyd masterlist (including Rhett Abbott and Miles Miller), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

[jesswritesthat]

can i request a kuroo x reader where reader is bokuto’s sib? that would be so funny and how would he act towards them? and HOW BOKUTO WOULD REACT AT THIS😭😭 love yaa

A/N: omg I love this idea!!!

>>>>——————————>

Kuroo Dating Bokutos’ Sibling Headcanons:

• Ironically Bokuto was the one to introduce you to Kuroo, and he would never have shown you off so proudly if he could predict the future.

Alas - you walked into a busy Fukurōdani Group Training Camp during their second year equipped with a bento box and a string of curses.

“See how amazing my family is Rooster hair? My biggest fan brings me lunch!” Bokuto slings an arm around your shoulder beaming with grateful pride.

“Ugh, yeah yeah. I figured you’d need energy and I wanted to see Akaashi too…” You retort, looking for your fellow first year in the gym.

• Bokuto issued you an expression of feigned hurt, hand on his chest and putting you at arms length as he hunched over.

“You wound me!”

“If that’s all it takes, I need to take notes.” The Nekoma player commented, this leaving Bokuto barking back at him before returning to ‘normalcy’.

“Anyway, this is my wonderful sibling (Y/n) and this is Kuroo Tetsurō. A middle blocker for Nekoma.”

“Nice to meet you Kuroo.”

“Likewise.”

• It was meant to be left at that, and each of you involved in that situation would’ve agreed too. Except, you found that the way he matched your wit magnetic, and how he’d join you when teasing Bokuto became a highlight of your time spent at the camp.

• Akaashi had noticed it too, addressing it rather bluntly since he was the one you lingered around most often.

“You and Kuroo-san get along well.”

“I know, he’s kinda cool. I’m glad I got to met players from other teams, no wonder Kōtarō likes these training camps so much.”

“You’re right, they are fun.” He’d dismissed is as friendly acquaintances. For now.

• It wasn’t until the next practice match between Fukurōdani and Nekoma that you saw Kuroo again (and you’d ensured to come by the gym before the match to see them). This time warmly greeting each other like friends rather than strangers. A ritual that continued very time Nekoma were involved in Volleyball events.

• It’s near the end of second year that Bokuto finally started to notice, this wasn’t how ‘just friends’ acted. Your brother was oblivious to this stuff usually, which is why it had taken an interaction longer to catch on, but when it came to you he was more observant with such things.

• It’s written in the way Kuroo leans in to listen to you; how you refill his and Kenmas bottles; that you seem to be laughing together more often than not; and in the way you look at each other. It incurs a narrowed analytic gaze from the Fukurōdani Ace.

• When you felt hands clasp your shoulders and steeer you away with an intimidating undertone to his upbeat voice, you figured he was on to your little crush.

“I’m taking (Y/n) away rooster hair, my sibling and I have things to discuss. Don’t we?”

“Crap.”

“Oh yeah, you’re damn right.”

• Golden eyes boared into you intently as if expecting you to spill all your secrets, Akaashi also present to such painful tactics.

“This isn’t going to work Bokuto-san.”

“Give it time Akaashi! I‘ve been unbeatable since we were kids.” The Ace dismissed, not breaking stern eye contact with you.

“Kōtarō, you’re an idiot.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Oh nothing about Kuroo hm? That scheming bastard not charming enough huh?”

“Yes he— I mean no— argh this is so unfair!”

“HAHA! See, told you I’d get ‘em.” Bokuto smugly nudged Akaashi who looked far too tired for your sibling antics right now.

• Well at least you’ll only see each other at volleyball events, which aren’t too frequent to build on. Especially a long as Bokuto lives and breathes.

“I got his number.”

“YOU WHAT?!” He’s dramatically shaking your shoulders as of its going to realign your senses.

“He — gave — number — in touch.”

“I’ll spike his stupid face!”

“You’d do that anyway.”

“Not the point (N/n)! I’ll do it 100x harder now!” It was rather eccentric, but you’d like to think he would actually commit to such a thing ‘purposefully’.

• So your secrets out. Bokuto isn’t happy about it. And Akaashi is the embodiment of Switzerland but with more conspiracy.

Oh you want a moment to talk to Kuroo without Bokuto knowing? He’ll distract him. Bokuto can’t supervise all the time? Akaashi is monitoring Kuroos interactions.

• However you manage to meet up in Tokyo without the pretences of volleyball games or training camps. It’s purely to see one another and through this developing friendship, and with each outing creating a level of comfort, it was natural for the flirty banter to start.

• Such a tiptoe game preceded to their third year, and it became dangerously obvious that the pair of you had a thing for each other but neither of you had acted on it. At first Bokuto was relieved and eager to pettily drag you away whenever the opportunity arose. But now he’d kind of understood that the growing feelings were more genuine than he’d originally assumed.

• It’s still a surprise when Kuroo charismatically pulls him away to an empty gymnasium after training, only to take a more awkward and serious tone when the nerves set in.

“Bokuto, you know you’re one of my best friends right?”

“Yeah man, but I’m not into you that way.”

“Woah, you wish frosty tips.” Kuroo breathed out with a smirk, more at ease thanks to that remark. “I was gonna ask for you blessing as lame as that sounds.”

“Eh? What for?”

“To ask (Y/n) on a date…”

That’s when the humour tainting his expression fades, when the amber in his eyes burn, and the muscles of his crossed arms tense up.

“I see.”

• It takes you a moment to grasp the situation too, of Tetsurō actually asking you to hang out with him after the camp ends - with the specificity of it being a date this time. It doesn’t take long for you to accept, even if you did tease him a little.

“Has becoming Captain made you braver?”

“Oya, I asked before you did (Y/n). Let alone the fact you couldn’t resist my offer~”

• Kuroo finds the situation the easiest to deal with you think, he acts natural even if he is a bundle of nerves underneath it all. His existing relationship with Bokuto and teasing personality make it easier to adjust to. Although sometimes you’ll over hear conversations between the two.

“Thanks for asking rooster hair. Anyway… how’s (Y/n)?” Bokuto asks, slightly more apprehensive than their previous conversation about teams.

“Happy I hope, though I annoyed them the other day - ate the last snack from the packet.” Kuroo snickered, only for Kōtarō to cut in.

“Yeah? You should try taking a bunch of photos, that really gets to (Y/n).”

“Hey?! Don’t help him!” You shout down.

• It amused you in the beginning, one specific time when Kuroo came to your door to pick you up only to find an expectant Bokuto.

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in. I can’t possibly allow my beloved sibling—”

“I have fried chicken.” Kuroo held up a warm takeout bag, conniving smirk in place.

“Deal, take ‘em wherever you want.”

“Kōtarō?!” You explained, your brother accepting the food without a second thought and ushering you toward the door.

“Eh? You haven’t bribed me in a while, rooster hair is my favourite right now. Out you go, don’t keep the man waiting.”

• They also go shopping together whenever it’s a celebration that involves you. They gladly put yen together for a big gift, or give one another recommendations - yet act completely innocent about it when you call them out on it.

• Sometimes you even feel like you’re third wheeling if Tetsurō visits the Bokuto household, their bromance truly was one of a kind. Though you didn’t mind, grateful that your brother and boyfriend got along so well.

• Bokuto still had that big brother protectiveness though and Kuroo was a scheming bastard when exploiting it. He’d playfully kiss you or show affection in front him - Kōtarō immediately pulling you into him with a look of utter disgust.

“How dare you lay your hands on (Y/n)?”

“Kou, he’s my boyfrie—“

“He knows what he did!”

• Overall it’s a positive experience, and it feels like Kuroo is already apart of the family due to the connections you each already share. They both make the effort to ensure you are happy when they can, and keep in touch fairly often. To be honest your certain they let the other know if your in a bad mood… so much for loyalty y’know?

• However, one thing you haven’t discovered yet, is that when Kuroo asked for Bokutos’ blessing, he readily accepted.

“I see.”

A look of contemplation, and then a beaming smile.

“Finally man! Course you have my blessing bedhead, I can tell you care about (Y/n) and would protect them like I would. Plus I know they’d be happy.”

“Thanks Bokuto, I’ll give it my best if they accept.”

“You better. Else I’ll kill you.” This was sinister, it was that deranged look he got when lost in a match, the one before the most earsplitting spikes - suddenly replaced with his usual carefree grin.

“Whatcha waiting for huh? Get out there and ask (Y/n)!”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[bzedan]

I am being brave and trying new things (poetry) and sharing the result. The impetus is Storytelling Collective's April Daily Poem challenge, but I am using a a Carly Rae Jepsen song title generator instead of their prompts.

-

Shadow (04/02/24)

It feels like loss that the birds on the wires don't know how much I love them. But maybe it's for the best.

That depth of love is frightening to some who receive it I know I shy from the shadow of it. Though maybe I should be braver.

There were crows once who we fed and watered, and we watched them and they us.

We knew each other's schedules, we chased away each other's annoyances, we could tell them apart and so could they us.

I don't think they knew we loved them but they knew we cared.

And years later, both sides could yell

hello hello hello I see you again

[ID: A photo shot from the bottom of a set of worn wooden stairs leading from a second floor door outside. On the railing at the landing above, a crow perches, their tail hanging and pointed-up-beak making a lazy-z shape against the cloudy blue sky. End ID.]

[u3pxx]

[bad omens] you know how it is with me and body swaps and roleswaps orz

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes

[cerealmonster15]

caytober day 21: this is the funniest way that poll couldve gone why did you do this to him LOL 😭

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[t-u-i-t-c]

"I've finally met someone else who's like me. I guess I'm just really happy about that."

[muchmossymess]

you guys have no idea how much i think about the malice champions (the game calls them "hollows" and thats quite frankly terrifying)

[headroom-moods]

When you realize it, Tim was never the other woman— it always has been Lucy.

[herrshepard]

there's so little good m!Tav/Durge & Astarion stuff :c

[junk-culture]

to clean my glasses i used to always just use the cloth from the opticians or whatever suitable item of clothing i have on me but lately ive found that literally nothing will suffice except those little wet glasses wipes that come in sealed packets. why is this. are Big Spectacles manufacturing glasses that are more susceptible to smudging and smearing these days or is my eyesight or sensitivity to my eyesight getting worse and therefore im just more conscious of the smudges and smears. i don't know. this post falls very much into the category of Boring Post i know but it's a problem which has been frustrating and irritating me. especially like now when i run out of my stupid little glasses wipes. #SMUDGELIFE