#Take this as my online equivalent of screaming into a pillow

[yesterdayiwrote]

I’m so annoyed on George’s behalf. Why is it always him that gets the DNF due to reliability issues, and bad strategy calls despite qualifying ahead of Lewis. I really hope he’s told the team just exactly how unacceptable it is, and doesn’t take the blame for things beyond his control.

I think this is why I'm so upset on his behalf too, because he DOES take the blame. He went to the media pen and he immediately blamed himself. He talks up that team constantly, even when it's been shit and he shoulders the responsibility when he really shouldn't have to and he STILL gets spoken about in terms that don't reflect his actions, and he doesn't even get a fucking apology in public from Toto he just gets thrown under the bus.

This isn't about 'sabotage', it's occams razor, never attribute to malice that that can be explained by stupidity, but what I am pissed about is the sheer double standards and the same gleeful idiots who've spent the entire season gobbling up every excuse and mitigating factor to insist that George's achievements haven't been on merit ACKSHULLY... are now suddenly insistent this one thing is ALL on George when there's clear proof it's a team fuck up...

I'm pissed off that we've had to spend 3/4 months of ridiculous sabotage rumours, often over a matter of tenths or hundredths in quali, and they've been seriously entertained by more than just fandom communities, and yet George gets knocked out of quali because THEY DIDNT PUT ENOUGH FUEL IN HIS CAR and suddenly its "here's all the ways this is actually George's fault! Why are you mad about it?!"

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[jemelle]

So I’ve been having some Thoughts about tumblr culture and I thought I’d share them. A post like this would normally go on my main, but I want to make it clear that I am speaking to the Criminal Minds community when I say these things. 

1. Hate

First, I’m not going to pretend I’m a saint. I have mean, petty thoughts about people all the time; I have mean, petty thoughts about people in the CM fandom. But you know what I never ever do? Send them to that person. The equivalent of anon hate in real life would be like texting people I don’t like insults from a hidden number at random hours. Doesn’t that sound terrifying, and also a lot like harassment? 

It’s inevitable, both in person and online, that you won’t like every person you meet. You may dislike someone for completely irrational reasons, or even just get a bad vibe from them. That’s a fact of life, but I cannot stress enough that if that person has not actually done something that harms people, then there’s absolutely no reason to share those opinions, especially with the person themself. 

But maybe it’s eating you inside, and you want to scream about how much you hate this person? First, I would suggest unfollowing them. As someone who used to hate-read gossip forums, I can tell you that you will feel so much better when you’re not constantly provoking yourself into negativity. Maybe you’ve unfollowed them but you still see them on your dash and it makes you seethe with rage? The block button is right there, and you’re free to use it for any reason.

Second, share it with an IRL. They probably won’t understand any of the context, but that’s a good thing in this situation. Alternatively, scream into your pillow or the void (https://screamintothevoid.com/) or literally any place other than the face of the person you hate. Besides being just plain mean, I’m also willing to bet that it doesn’t make you feel much better, since so many of you seem to be repeat customers.

I fundamentally believe that most of you are not bad people (and I’m not an optimist, so that’s saying something). I believe that what you’re doing is cruel, but I also think that most of you are capable of remorse. 

So I want to remind you that when you send anon hate, those are words you can’t take back. Even if you feel sorry, even if you regret it, those words live on, and all the reassurance in the world from their friends can’t disperse those seeds of doubt. So next time you’ve typed out a malicious ask and are getting ready to hit Send, think about the lasting impact of your actions and disperse your anger in a different way.

tl;dr you can feel angry all you want, but sending anon hate only ends up hurting all parties involved

2. Friendship

This is a little tougher to talk about, because while anon hate is universally maligned, the concept of friendship can get strange on an online platform.

I see those posts that say “if we’re mutuals, I consider you a friend,” and you know what? I think they’re wrong. If we’ve never spoken, you are not my friend. You might become my friend, but you’re not right now, and I think that culture of overfamiliarity leads to a lot of problems.

Just because you send someone an ask or a message does not mean you are automatically friends. It does not entitle you to their time, attention or affection. I know a lot of people use “I love you” casually, but you shouldn’t expect that as a rule. People have a right to be guarded in their interactions, because (and I cannot stress this enough) you are not their friend as soon as you meet them.

Making friends is hard, and I understand that. It can feel like everyone else has an established friend group and you’re just hovering on the outside. I see the anon hate about “cliques” and while I will never tolerate anon hate (see point one), I do understand where that particular piece comes from. 

But I think it’s also important to understand that “cliques” are, in reality, just a group of friends. They might enjoy sending each other cute messages or responding to each other’s posts, but they’re not trying to rub it in your face. They genuinely like their friends, and they should be able to express that. If that makes you feel bad about yourself, I might recommend the unfollowing strategy I outlined in point one. Even if you like their content, if their blog is actively making you feel terrible about yourself, it’s probably not a great use of your time

Additionally, I would suggest trying to find your own friends. Doesn’t that contradict your other paragraph? Didn’t you just tell me not to talk to people? Nope. What I said is: don’t start talking to people like you’re already friends. Talk to them like you would any other person you’ve just met. Maybe you’ll come off as a little awkward, but if you and that person really click, it won’t matter. 

And you won’t click with everyone. That doesn’t happen in real-life; it doesn’t happen online. Sometimes, you’ll introduce yourself to someone and then the conversation will peter out. Or maybe you’ll just remain friendly acquaintances. (If you’ll indulge me in a little bit of optimism) That’s okay! There are so many awesome people to meet, and just because this person wasn’t the one doesn’t mean that they’re a bad person or that there’s something wrong with you. Move on and keep on trying; it’ll be worth it in the end :)

tl;dr you’re not entitled to anyone’s attention. it can suck sometimes to feel lonely, but the only way to solve that is to meet people. not everyone will be your new best friend, and that’s perfectly fine!

[shockpop]

         being  a  textbook  overthinker  is  a  strong  suit  denki  is  not  particularly  known  for .    a  head  regularly  presumed  empty  has  worked  to  incessantly  churn  the  argument  on  playback  over  the  course  of  three  days ,   violet  staining  crescents  beneath  his  eyes  at  some  point  between  the  late - night  mumbling  and  a  time  wherein  he  doesn’t  even  remember  falling  asleep .     his  oh - so - gracious  host  is  left  at  a  loss  when  she  is  forcibly  tasked  with  shoving  him  awake  each  morning .    

as  much  an  empath  as  mina  prides  herself  in  being ,   it  ain’t  exactly  a  cakewalk  to  get  into  a  neurotic’s  mindset  when  he’s  the  one  insisting  that  he’s  fine ,   that  everything  is  fine    ;    practiced  charisma  a  much - appreciated  plus  in  attempts  to  persuade  his  longtime  best  friend  that  he  just  needed  a  little  breathing  space  from  the  situation .     because  that’s  what  they  have  to  call  it ,   now .    ‘ the  situation ’ .

this  was  all  before  denki  proceeded  to  peel  himself  from  eyesore - chartreuse  cushions  an  hour  late  each  day ,   and  the  reason  why  mina  now  harbors  heavy  concern  beneath  the  initial  irritation  as  she  beats  him  awake  with  a  pillow  for  the  third  day  in  a  row .

astonishingly  enough ,   through  all  the  budding  bruises  and  little  cricks  of  his  bones ,   denki’s  still  not  used  to  it  ----  confused  as  to  why  in  place  of  a  fluffy  orange  butt  sat  directly  on  his  face  is  a  firm  pink  hand ,   squishing  freckled  cheeks  that’d  never  quite  lost  their  baby  fat .  

the  phone  promptly  shoved  in  his  face  (  raw - eyed ,   drool - sticky ,   red  where  strong  fingers  have  imprinted  themselves  into  his  skin  )  reads  7:12  am ,   a  good  hour  and  some  past  his  normal  wakeup  time .    he  shouldn’t  be  so  pikachu - meme  shocked  when  this  scenario  is  the  direct  result  of  a  profuse  refusal  to  take  the  device  off  silent  mode  these  past  few  days  ----  afraid  to  wake  up  to  any  late - night  texts  or  calls .    

and  yet  here  he  is ,   eyes  squeezing  shut  as  he  mutters  his  third ,   grumbly  shit  this  short  week .

       ❛   seriously ,   dude ?   ❜      mina  chides  as  she  flips  through  the  unsung  alarms ,   each  set  five  minutes  apart  from  one  another  beginning  at  5:30  in  the  morning .    

getting  himself  out  of  bed  always  had  been  something  of  a  chore ,   emphasized  by  recent  reasoning  that  he’d  not  been  catching  more  than  half  a  wink  prior  to  that  exact  time  each  day .      ❛   you  teach  people  for  a  living  and  yet  remain  willfully  oblivious  to  the  very  accessible ,   very  convenient  do  not  disturb  function .   ❜      

she  lets  the  phone  fall  unceremoniously  onto  denki’s  lap ,   cushions  creaking  beneath  their  weight .       ❛   get  off  my  couch ,   spud .   ❜

he’d  love  to ,   actually .    every  node  in  his  spine  pops  in  agreement .

the  minutes  between  then  and  hurriedly  collecting  stray  pieces  of  clothing  off  the  floor  pass  in  a  rheumy - eyed  blur ,   other  possessions  that’re  repeatedly  tripped  over  a  courtesy  of  the  emergency  overnight  bag  he’d  emptied  out  over  the  week .    kept  in  the  back  of  his  car  for  situations  that  call  for  it ,   this  doesn’t  really  qualify  as  one  of  those  times .

        ❛   hey .    what’s  the  status  of  you  reevaluating  your  life  choices  so  that  you’re  not  crawling  out  my  door  late  to  work  in  the  same  inside - out  v - neck  you’ve  been  wearing  all  week ?   ❜      mina  prompts  in  midst  of  tossing  on  a  jacket  as  gaudy  in  design  as  the  rest  of  her ,   somehow  completely  comprehending  what  vague  semblance  of  shut  up ,   shut  up ,   shut  up  denki  conveys  through  hand  gestures  in  between  hurriedly  scrubbing  his  teeth .

without  time  to  style  his  hair  this  morning ,   he’s  left  to  ruffle  through  the  unkempt  locks  in  his  reflection  through  the  elevator  doors ,   displeased  in  how  they  refuse  to  obey  any  law  of  gravity  but  deciding  that  he  might  as  well  just  go  ahead  and  look  as  shitty  as  he  feels .    hurts  less  to  acknowledge  it  himself  before  mina  eagerly  relays  just  how  divorced  he  looks  mere  moments  later .

         ❛   you’re  gonna  have  to  talk  to  him  eventually ,   ❜      she  reminds  him  just  before  they  part ,   chaste  kiss  pressed  to  either  cheek  and  equally  reciprocated .      ❛   before  it’s  too  late .    i  know  you’re  both  pretty  keen  on  letting  things  fester ,   but  how  ‘bout  you  just  nut  up  before  your  idiot  boy  pride  makes  things  completely  irreversible ?   ❜   

at  her  humble  suggestion ,   denki  mulls  on  the  air  of  an  amused  hum ,   shouldering  open  one  of  the  glass  doors  for  her  to  walk  through  first .      ❛   my  idiot  boy  pride ,   huh .    s'a  little  misandristic ,   don’tcha  think ?   ❜

she  replies  with  a  wag  of  her  middle  finger  in  the  air  behind  her ,   a  stark  gesture  that  bakugou  would  appreciate  and  that  denki  hates  thinking  that  bakugou  would  appreciate .    he  silently  curses  mina  once  for  the  reminder ,   then  again  for  her  uncanny  talent  of  always  being  right .

on  that  note ,   he  mentally  checks  ‘ idiot  boy  pride ’  as  a  contender  for  the  working  title  of  an  eventual  autobiography .  

           lunch  passes  by  a  lot  more  slowly  in  the  days  he’d  been  forcibly  weened  off  of  bakugou’s  cooking .    left  to  survive  off  what  loose  change  could  nab  from  the  vending  machines  outside  and  random  snacks  found  throughout  the  cabinets  of  the  teachers’  lounge ,   denki  finds  that  whey  milk  and  loose  granola  by  the  fistful  are  not  all  that  amazing  a  combo .   

mina  is  wise  beyond  her  years .    this  is  a  meal  of  a  divor - fuckin’ - cee .

actually ,   the  sudden  absence  of  a  balanced  diet  may  even  be  reaching  the  point  of  a  pressing  health  issue .    when  he  brushes  granola  grains  off  his  shirt  ----  now  worn  correctly ,   after  having  uncomfortably  fumbled  with  it  in  his  car  earlier  ----  he  notices  how  tight  his  chest  has  begun  to  feel  over  the  course  of  the  morning .    an  ache  like  a  scream  that  won’t  come  out .    he’s  bound ,   yes ,   and  dry  granola  has  probably  not  made  the  trip  down  his  esophagus  very  easy    ;    but  had  the  pain  always  been  so  prominent ?

❛   didja  check  twitter  yet ?   refresh  your  timeline  ----  look ,   see ,   it’s  trending !  ❜ 

denki’s  attention  piques ,   turning  towards  the  flood  of  students  rushing  by  the  lounge  door .    on  their  way  back  to  their  classrooms  to  ride  out  the  last  few  periods  of  the  day ,   he’s  not  surprised  to  see  so  many  of  their  eyes  glued  to  their  phones  as  they  walk ,   given  that  lunch  and  homeroom  make  up  the  only  two  slots  of  time  wherein  students  are  allowed  access  to  such  devices .

their  conversations  spill  in  a  slew  of  muddled  topics   :   is  the  villain  big ?    how’d  you  do  on  that  art  history  exam ?    shouldn’t  he  have  backup?    my  sister’s  taking  me  to  that  new  poke  bowl  restaurant  tonight .    is  he  breathing ?    cats  can  doggy  paddle ,   can’t  they ?    blasty’s  a  top - five !   indestructible !    i  hope  i  have  a  team  one  day .    but  so  was  jeanist ,   and  look  what  happened  to  him .

          ❛   bla ----   ❜      denki  starts ,   sparing  a  few  minutes  heading  back  himself  to  fish  his  phone  from  his  cardigan .    he’s  usually  never  without  it ,   idly  recalling  a  time  in  their  youth  where  bakugou  would  have  to  manually  pluck  it  from  his  grasp  so  that  he’d  settle  into  bed  for  the  night .    over  the  past  few  days ,   though ,   he's  been  more  than  content  to  break  character  and  distance  himself  from  the  buzz  of  social  media  under  some  years - too - late  guise  of  self - care  and  breaking  addiction .

waking  his  phone  now ,   the  top  notification  banner  reads  a  single  message  from  his  current  roommate .    

are  you  ok?

below  it ,   an  informal  update  from  twitter ,   alerting  him  of  exactly  what  his  curiosity  demands  to  be  sated  with  right  now .

 trending  in  heroics    :    #BLASTYEXPLODO .

he  doesn’t  need  a  little  shoulder  mina  angel  to  tell  him  that  reading  about  his  ex  is  technically  just  the  time - sensitive  equivalent  of  purposefully  sifting  through  bakugou’s  online  presence   ;    mostly  because  the  app  is  barely  flicked  open  when  the  tightness  across  his  chest  constricts  to  a  sudden ,   sharp  PANG .    

it  doesn’t  take  some  deep  search  to  unearth  the  context  of  his  students’  obsessive  chattering  nearby ,   considering  that  his  entire  timeline  is  being  consistently  updated  with  live  footage  from  the  scene .    a  bird’s - eye  view  of  the  site  below  captures  where  several  heroes  can  be  spotted  as  moving  dots  along  the  destruction  of  the  outskirts    ;    all  save  for  one ,   reported  to  have  been  caught  in  the  fray  after  a  building  collapsed .

fingers  press  deep  into  the  pain  of  his  chest .    his  shoulder  hits  the  wall  to  support  his  weight ,   face  paling  as  he  forces  himself  to  read  the  oncoming  slew  of  tweets  one  by  one .    a  lot  are  unhelpful  ----  mere  wishes  for  blasty  to  hang  in  there ,   some  questioning  where  he  is ,   false  memoriam  by  people  denki  knows  bakugou’s  never  met ,   lots  of  clickbait  for  merch  and  inappropriate  thirst  posts  layered  in  between .    

nothing  gives  him  a  solid  answer .    because  nobody  has  a  solid  answer .

lacking  the  word  association  necessary  to  properly  reply  to  mina’s  text  without  stirring  either  concern  or  cause  for  a  possible  lecture ,   he  shoots  something  quick  to  kirishima  instead .

hey  man ,   thanks  for  everything  lately .    i’ll  feed  the  cats  tonight .    can  you  do  me  a  solid  and  leave  a  key ?

           the  car  ride  home  is  as  long  as  ever  in  traffic  surrounding  the  incident .    every  instance  of  a  top  hero  barely  escaping  the  brink  of  death  is  all  but  a  grim  reminder  that  life  is  short ,   speaking  volumes  to  average  citizens  rushing  home  to  spoil  their  families  before  everything  settles  back  into  a  regular ,   non - life - threatening  routine  for  them  tomorrow .

shortly  after  lunch  (  and  trying  to  shake  off  what  he  was  certain  were  signs  of  a  small  heart  attack  ) ,   denki  decided  that  there  was  no  use  cutting  his  day  short  to  make  an  appearance  at  the  scene .    rapid  updates  from  twitter  and  associates  alike  informed  him  that  blasty  had  eventually  made  it  out  on  two  legs ,   triumphant  as  ever ,   before  being  escorted  to  an  unspecified  hospital  in  order  to  avoid  the  public  eye  in  his  recovery .

denki  takes  his  chances  in  calling  his  mom  between  catching  every  red  light ,   hope  breaking  in  a  small ,   audible  whimper  when  she  doesn’t  answer  his  one - or - nine  calls .    bakugou  wasn’t  the  only  victim  in  today’s  events    ;    he  rationalizes  that  nariko  is  probably  up  to  her  neck  in  new  admissions  regardless ,   but  the  thought  doesn’t  exactly  bring  him  any  peace  of  mind .

breathe .    an  impossible  demand  to  meet ,   but  one  necessary  to  keep  his  electricity  from  snapping  at  the  wheel .

he  doesn’t  exactly  know  why  he’d  even  bothered  showing  up ,   sluggish  steps  treading  the  long  lengths  of  tiled  hallway  leading  to  bakugou’s  residence .    not  really  any  use  hanging  around  an  empty  apartment  all  night    ;   even  despite  the  pressing  matter  of  the  question  mark  tacked  behind  his  current  living  situation .    he’s  not  really  looking  to  task  himself  with  packing  just  yet .

             ❛   it’s  just  something ,   ❜      denki  tiredly  tells  himself  aloud  at  the  foot  of  their  doorstep ,   head  tipped  to  the  ceiling  in  a  brief  moment  of  reprieve .    the  sentiment  resonates  as  somewhat  redundant .    it’s  always  something .    he’s  got  a  million  somethings  in  his  life  that  he’s  never  cared  to  name ,    piling  one  over  the  other  in  the  corner  of  his  mind  without  thought  to  the  mental  repercussions  dealt  to  everyone  involved .    

maybe  there’s  only  one  something  afterall .    maybe  the  common  denominator  was  just  him .

tip  of  his  shoe  peels  back  the  corner  of  the  mat  he’d  insisted  on  laying  there  some  short  while  ago ,    the  key  tucked  beneath  it  shining  in  the  hallway  lighting  once  its  cover  is  disturbed .    bless  his  heart ,   but  kirishima’s  not  very  creative  in  his  hiding  places .

this  copy  is  as  shiny  and  unbroken - in  as  the  one  bakugou  had  given  denki  when  he  first  moved  here ,   spare  a  few  spots  of  dirt  he  brushes  off  before  lodging  it  into  the  keyhole .    

without  a  set  of  miscellaneous  dangling  objects  attached  to  it ,   the  action  of  turning  a  bare  key  into  the  lock  takes  him  back  a  full  year  ago  ----  wherein  he’d  rigidly  haunted  this  exact  spot  on  a  matless  tile ,   uneager  to  begin  a  new  phase  in  his  life  eventually  titled  reversed  strength .

unlike  back  then ,   however ,   the  key  is  met  this  time  around  without  resistance  in  its  lock ,   nothing  to  combat  it  as  it  turns .    the  door  before  him  is  open .     presently .

his  stomach  drops .    

hesitant  to  ease  himself  inside  when  so  actively  adorned  in  hair - raising  suspicion ,   denki  is  met  with  the  usual  stagnancy  of  an  empty  apartment  ----  no  wafts  of  food  cooking  on  the  stove ,   no  sound  of  the  television  on  for  background  noise ,   no  cats  tripping  over  each  other  to  greet  him  with  a  howling  demand  for  kibble  and  petty - pets  (  which  smarts  a  little ,   considering  his  absence  ) .    

there  is  dim  warmth  from  sunlight  pouring  through  the  windows  and  little  else .    not  even  a  speck  of  dust  found  to  sift  through  it .    he  wonders  if  kirishima  had  simply  forgotten  to  lock  the  door  behind  him .

and  yet ,   even  with  this  thought  in  mind  ----  this  silent  prayer  ----  denki  still  holds  a  name  on  his  tongue  as  he  steps  fully  into  the  apartment ,   pocketing  the  key  where  its  triplet  sits  unperturbed  a  few  feet  away .    it’s  a  momentary  struggle  to  find  his  voice ,   and  he  doesn’t  recognize  the  sound  that  comes  out .      

          ❛   k ------- ...   katsuki ?   ❜

@blstys​ .