#anyway i deleted threads and i am not looking back

[safifonhasstrel]

.

[vqrtualheartss]

42!Miles x Black!Fem!Y/N ― “They sleepin' on you” part two

ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ|

Y'all didn't expect this huh (My bad for the 5- week wait pookiess― promise I love y'all) Anyways, part one Obviously there will be a part three in two weeks or less

The teased rain from the night before had eased up, a few sheer droplets appearing here and there, and the cold breeze making her aware of her exposed hair. Immediately after getting her body into comfort, (y/n) furrowed her brows in remembrance of her dream. It was of her and Miles going out and giggling, just like the day before ―just what she did not need―. Bringing her phone over her face, the reflection made her suck her teeth and staple a mental note to book a hair appointment today. As if her missing bonnet wasn't already the most out-of-place thing she needed, something on her phone sent her into a deeper confusion.

11:37 AM ― Oh damn? No, not that, that

Hi Miss Mysterious sleeping already?

It was easy to figure whom the person was, having known who was to call her by that name.

Yes I was 'sleeping already'. It was almost 2 in the morning nigga

I planted my phone face down with absolutely no expectancy of a reply. I mean, why would I expect one? After a quiet 3 minutes my phone pinged with a notification.

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed? miles trust and believe that i don't need you making me miserable right now ouch that hurt ... all that progress yesterday for nun?

I squinted my eyes, subconsciously tapping on the side of my phone still opened on Miles' thread. He did go through all that trial and tribulation. Ah, fuck it

myf, I just don't feel alright aight all good so.. so? dry ass texts ― message deleted i saw that okay and? pick up huh?

My phone started to ring, and with no immediate excuse to mind, I answered.

Miles had a PlayStation controller in his hands, headset tucked underneath his braids but the microphone attachment over his mouth still.

"Hello to you too (y/n)'s wall" "Real funny. Hi Miles"

"Just woke up?" Through the tiny window I could see him pressing back into the reclining gaming chair. It had purple streaks all over it

"hmm, how'd you know?"

Looking into my recent chats, I found the user I was looking for. "You sound like a man" My thumb lingered over the profile picture. Did I hear that jiggaboo right?

"Funny how I sound like one more than you do" I smirked at his new found expression, trying to sight any open bookings my stylist offered between the time-frame of today and Saturday.

"What's that shit to mean" He questioned with a defeated tone, his ever so nonchalant look mixed with petulance.

"Play silly games, win silly prizes" He rolled his eyes before fixing his posture and pressing harder into the controller. Sassy much?

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Moving away from the phone unnoticed, (y/n) slumped herself to get ready for the 1pm appointment she barely managed to snatch.

Thank God for cancelling clients, she sighed with relief coming outside the bathroom wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt and casual sweats with her pre-washed hair in a loosely tied, top knot bun.

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Retrieving her charging phone, she furrowed her brows, shaking her head and smiling at the flood of texts.

"you there?" "(y/n)" "(y/n)?" "everything good?" "atleast shake the phone if you're okay"

I sent him a text saying that I was fine, it didn't go through. "Weird" Grabbing a sizeable shoulder bag, I put my purse and card in it, texting my mother my location while closing the front door.

Being distracted placing my keys and phone inside the bag, a big pair of hands held onto my forearms. I screamed, squirming and forcing my way outside the grip before a hand covered my mouth. "Shut u― CHILL. SHH" I looked up at the person before tilting my head with an aloof expression, hitting a smiling Miles on his shoulder "Not funny" "Making me think that you were in danger isn't either―"

"Okay― Wait― How do you know where I live"

"Asked your friend"

Now what if I got kidnapped Would you complain?

He did a once-over at me, raising a brow

"Are you really wearing a mask just to do your hair ?" He shook his head, pointing to the bag I held.

"What―" I raised a hand over my mouth, clutching onto the bag of braids and speed-walking to the salon. "Late?" Because of you― "yea". Before I finished, he grasped onto my hand, dragging me through different lanes and shortcuts, call me crazy but some real kidnapping shit going on

"Calm, I don't plan on taking you away" "I said that out loud?" He chuckled softly at my dumbfounded expression.

Standing infront the lightly tinted, push-and-pull doors, I turned to him.

"How do you know so many― I don't even care― Just― Thank you for getting me here" "No problem" "Can you hold this for me?"

Giving him the bag of hair, I expected him to let go of my hand but nope. Instead he took his time slowly rubbing my thumb in patterns with his as I reached for my phone. We arrived earlier than expected.

"So, see you later?" "Who said I was leaving" He can't be serious "Suit yourself, I can't help if anyone hits on you. A lot of your fan-girls are probably in there" "Would you even be able to? Aren't you like 5"5?" "Not you flexing being a giraffe" "Not you not being able to"

Finally entering the store, we stood awaiting the hairdresser that told us to do so. I pinched Miles' hand with my index and thumb, forcing him to untangle them. He flicked my arm in retaliatilon but before I could do anything, I was embraced by the 20 year old stylist, Keziah. She's one of my close friends, basically an older sister to me, probably how I slipped into my appointment so quick.

We engaged in small talk as she led me over to her station. With my hair down and out, Miles snapped a picture, I posed with a peace sign before pointing at him. "I know, I know. I won't post it" Having no other way of showing gratitude, I made a heart sign, to which he photographed again.

Look who's getting comfortable with someone she swore she'd never talk to

"Y'all together?" "nah, he's my friend" "sure, but believe me, I've heard that from one too many people one too many times. It's all the same ending " "which is?" "the inevitable, falling in lovee"

She made a heart gesture with her fingers to which I playfully rolled my eyes to. In the vanity mirror I peeked Miles' head buried deep in his phone. Looking up, he smiled and waved. Aww

Deciding on knee-length knotless, as expected, the wait took a longg time.

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Throughout the 8 hours (y/n) couldn't help but soften up at the things Miles did for her.

★ · When her neck hurt, he went out to buy a stuffed toy, earning laughs at the name he picked out for it ―Milo, despite not deciding the gender beforehand. Coincidence or not, it was in her favorite color, easily gaining its spot in her heart as a #1 gift. Maybe it was that or the fact that she got it from Miles, either way she adored it.

★ · For the umpteenth time she had reminded Miles of his freedom to leave, and each time he gave the same answer

"You can leave y'know" "Who said I wanted to"

★ · Halfway through, he fell asleep and seizing the opportunity, she took a picture unbeknownst that the flash was on and waking him. Snatching the plush from her hands as revenge, he laughed when she asked for it back with grabby hands.

"Okay, no. Milo is my child and therefore off-limits, give him back" "As Milo's biological father I believe I also get a say in who's care he's in" "And as Milo's biological mother and current guardian I want him back" "Nahh you'll be fine, sit still"

The teasing had Keziah chucking softly over (y/n)'s head, resulting in her putting on a forced anger expression that, however, quickly dissipated.

"Look, mami's angry Milo" "I hate you" "You love me"

★ · Nearing to the end with two braids left, she asked Miles his opinion on what to add. Miles he would've found it cheesy be it any other girl, but he felt happy, ―lovesick even― by her asking for his opinion on something so minor. 'The small things' he'd call it.

"Curls or no curls?" He thought long and hard before answering, he swore you'd look great with either. "Curls"

Closing her eyes as Keziah wrapped the end of her braids with curlers, she heard a buzz from her bag draped across his lap.

"Could you hand me that please?"

The new notification was a message from Miles. Looking at her phone, (y/n) couldn't help but smile.

"you ok?" "I've been ok for the last 13 times you asked" "I'm just worried about you" "What the fuck is tjag Fyt ??"

Spotting Keziah walking with a kettle in her hands she could only assume that was what he was referring to. Pointing at it, she tilted her head as if to ask:

"You mean that?"

He shook his head in response, watching closely as Keziah dipped her hair into the hot liquid. Slightly wincing in pain, he put Milo in her hold, it didn't go unnoticed by (y/n) how their fingers interlocked over the others before pulling away. Ouhh

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Ending off the night with the ladies talking briefly, it finally dawned on (y/n) how late it was getting, ―deciding to pay and leave.

On the other side of the door they stood separated; no type of touch between the two. Miles had his hands in his pockets, (y/n) holding tightly onto Milo. Usually, she was so accustomed to the sting of fresh-braids but no sah, this time it didn't work out like that.

Walking, he looked over his shoulder to see me still put, holding onto the back of my head for dear life and rubbing it. Just how long was that water boiling for? "You good?" "No" my answer― even thought against my will― came off somewhat harsh, tiredness and pain driving me agitated. Now standing infront me, he silenced my ever occurring grunts with a hug? Placing his hand over mine, he started to knead away the pressure, the tension within fading. After some time he hoisted my chin with curled fingers. "Better?" I mumbled an incoherent "Mhm" falling back into his hold and wrapping my arms around him loosely.

I don't know why I did that, well, I'm trying to push away a few ideas but even they're too out-of-reach. Looking up at him, he smiled. I returned it, my half-opened eyes closing fully before I let out a yawn. Hurriedly, I slapped a hand over my mouth as he laughed "How 'bout we head back to your place, sounds good?"

I felt drunk with fatigue miserably stumbling over my own two feet. It didn't help that Miles was laughing like a rass hyena helping me up.

"Can't hold a joke?" I tilted my head, lazily crossing my arms "Come here" He dragged me nearer to him with one arm around my neck, hugging me as we walked. I thought our feet would get caught up from us walking so close, the idea made me giggle.

He guided me the way home and when I tell you that déjà vu hit like a bus, believe me. We sounded like those recordings that had people talking as if they're in their own little world with the calming songs in the background. (Hope it makes sense lol) If anything, a video from some vintage camera would make us look like starring actors playing school-kids from a sappy love-sick drama .

Nah, that's too far. It's just a friendly encounter, nothing to go feral about...yeah

-------- Heyy, it's Wednesday

Dropping my head into my palms, I scanned my bed. Usually, as you can tell, I don't wake up this early, but the pain from the braids was too much for my subconscious to bear even after being alleviated. It wasn't anything concerning or harsh on my scalp but― ugh― how do I explain― it's like when there's a mosquito right, it's not doing you anything but it's there and being bat-shit annoying.

I slapped my forehead repeatedly, waking up myself to get ready to conquer day 2/6 of holiday. Trust me, extra sleep would be greatly appreciated, but I think it's time to give my bed a rest. Throwing on cargo shorts and a loose-fitting top, I did my hair in a low bun with a headband after doing any chores I think I'd get penalized for ―nothing atrocious though. Just the regular like cleaning my room and doing my section of the roster―

----

Taking a water for myself, I slid a bottle of juice down to my sibling per her request. Dae, my 14 y/o sister, is almost a mini-me; she reads a lot, plays most games I do, and really really quirky ―in a good way though, fs . But unlike me, she's what you'd call a 'social butterfly' and a pretty one too, genes run strong in the family i guess.

Sitting on the counter-top I flicked through whatever the media had to offer, Dae staring at me with a knowing look and crossed arms. Glances like that would've normally been exchanged from the two of us but this time I had no clue what's going on

"Your boyfriend seems nice" "My who now?" "Y'know, your Prince Naveen with the braids that held you oh so close to his manly chest"

In the middle of her sentence she held overlapping hands over her arms and twirling. She talked in a ludicrous princess voice; to which I cringed heavily at, earning laughs from her.

"He's not my boyfriend" "Soo you're like that with all your male friends?" Which male friends? "NO―"

She started to eye me up and down with a cheeky smile. I looked at her blankly, eyebrows drawing nearer as her smile got wider. She opened her phone, scrolling through something before she brought it up to my hand, urging for me to hold it. It was a thread of messages

"Even ma' likes him" This the intervention or sumn' ? "Wait― Hold on― What?" "I was on a call with her, and not gonna lie. You looked drunk as hell"

Flashbackk ¦

"You can leave me here, my house is right around the corner" Lifting herself off of Miles' body, (y/n) pointed groggily towards a shop. Hissing his teeth, he brought her back to her original position with a soft pull on her arm. "If it's right there we can just walk. What if something happens to you?" Shrugging, she clinged onto his arm for support. Stunned by the sudden affection, it was hard to bite back the smile that cuffed his lips. He felt something dull surge within his body when she didn't smile back, well, when her eyes didn't squeeze together like they usually would.

¦ In the past few hours (y/n) found the walls she built for her own protection falter; the bits left crumbling every time she interacted with him. Miles Morales did something to (y/n), be it the way he looked at her, the things he did, the stupid stuff they talked about; whatever it was, it was serenating. But she knew giving in would could cost her a lot ― much more than her 'ghost' reputation, it was her sanity at stake.

For Miles, all that mattered was the girl tucked underneath his arm, it's hand intertwined with hers― a stance they were sure to grow fond of. Unsure why he was acting the way he was, he found himself wanting to do and be so much more than an 'accomplice' by her. He wanted to watch every late 90's romance-movie while taking down the braids he wished he could've funded for her. For her, he would splurge his life savings on anything she could ever want and need. Miles knew that the Ms. Independent in her would never let him, something he admired about her. He grew to admire a lot about her. She's going to work me hard

Right now, our favorite two were in front the (l/n)'s residence as she frantically searched for her keys. Opening the door, she stood nervously as Miles remained outside, (y/n) went back down the steps to face Miles before―

Flash ¦

Hiding her phone in an instant, Dae smiled innocently, chuckling softly as she made way to her room.

"My dearest princess Tiana, whenever you're done dreaming about your prince Naveen and you find yourself needing me. Well, which I hope not, I'll be playing Valorant's new season" "There's a new season?" With her head peeking out the door frame, she narrowed her eyes "I don't know, fuck around and find out"

Before I could say something she shut her door. Yup, mini-me. I took up my phone in reaction to the notification sound, it was a message from Lailah.

"Mind explaining why thee Miles Morales wants your house address?"

okay culprit.

"took his book on accident" "so what you're telling me is" "You saw miles in the flesh and blood within less than three feet?" "Eww lailah" "It sounds weird like that" "girl, you cannot tell me that you don't find him cute" "who?" "miles?"

If you want him girl take him, I certainly won't

"..obviously" "nope...you do?" "who doesn't" "I'm worried about you" "wtv"

I scoffed.

What's so special about him? He looks like every other guy, like literally. The only difference is probably his jawline, smile, eyes..how all his features just make him look so. so. so.. majestic? I hissed and laid down on the countertop, groaning when my hands couldn't push my head any deeper into the material as I accepted defeat. The image of just him doing anything could bring a smile and not a scowl to my face. Ew

I hate this― whatever that he's making me feel, I don't like it.

I'll be staring part three for my other story and also this one

[piracytheorist]

I want to ask my followers for something.

I'm actually bringing this back because the person involved has showed themselves to be incredibly rude and immature.

Reminder, for anyone who didn't catch the post (that actually didn't exist for long, lol), that I don't want you to interact with this person. Don't comment, don't harass, don't do anything other than what I ask of you - and that's of course, if you are willing to follow. No judgment if you don't, and I won't know who followed either way.

Also, don't share this. I don't want this getting out of hand. Don't make me feel guilty, ok? I'm just trying to make things right.

Again, DO NOT HARASS THE PERSON I'LL MENTION. Don't comment anything on the video I'll link. Don't try to find them anywhere else. Just do one simple thing I'll ask, if you want to.

I mean it. I'll be checking the video. If I see negative comments on it I'll personally track down whoever made it and report them for harassment, as well as publicly share their username and their rude comments. I'm very serious that I don't want you to harass anyone. Keep quiet about it. Don't harass and don't comment anything. If you harass, I'll make sure you get harassed back.

So the thing is, someone reposted a video from my youtube account. Like straight-up downloaded the video and uploaded it on their account as if it's their own. I asked them, twice, to delete the video.

It looks like they were deleting my comments, even though I can still see them. For context, here's what I asked them the first two times:

The bottom one is the first one, the top one is the second, I think I posted them with a couple days in between or something. The timestamp says they were two months ago.

After my second comment, they made the video private (I checked), but it looks like some days ago they made it public again. After I found out they made the video public again, I commented with this:

Which I had to find through my comments history since the video is private again, and not deleted.

Then, on their account, there's another video with similar content, but it looks to be... "original". Only problem is, pretty much all scenes in this video also exist in a sideblog I made, @outofcontextonceuponatime. But I have no proof to ask for anything on that, so I'm just letting it be.

However, because this felt like the only way to contact that person, I commented there. And oh boy.

That was the first comment thread. I didn't believe them for a moment when they said they don't have their pc available and that they don't know how to delete a video through the app, but I decided to give it a little push. Anyway, the reposted video still exists, just on private. I make another comment, and well.

I'll let you be the judge here.

And then, this last update of just a few minutes ago:

So, just to show that person that I'm actually fucking serious and that their behaviour is absolutely deplorable, because yeah how fucking dare I "complain" that someone reposted my video that I put hours of work on, I would like to ask you to go to that second video and dislike it.

DO NOT COMMENT. DO NOT HARASS THAT PERSON. Don't even hit like on my comments, it's not worth it. Just hit the dislike button on the video and close the tab.

Again, this video I'll link here is NOT a repost, (I believe they were directly influenced by my sideblog to make it and didn't credit me but that's not serious enough to do anything about it) the reposted video is (for) now private and that kid over there thinks they can "threaten" me with never deleting it. I will only link the second "original" video for you to dislike, in the hopes of giving them an idea that I am serious and that I have people to back me up.

Again, DON'T HARASS THEM. For all I know a single "haha stupid" comment could send them over the edge, and while they've been incredibly rude, this would be an unfair punishment. I want them to see massive dislikes on their "original" video after people have realized what an obnoxious person they've been, and to be rocked a little and realize that oh shit, I can't act like that on the internet. Just make it a little reminder, you know? I believe getting a lot of dislikes on a video can get that message across without causing any actual damage.

(If you want, I can also let y'all know when the reposted video is deleted, so you can un-dislike the "original" video)

Anyway, here is the link for the video. again, don't harass, don't comment, just hit dislike and leave.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sTYbOTkHb4

[gwen-pierce]

“Gwendolyn.”

Her father snapped at her as she pushed her fork around her plate, not really eating the food. There was nothing wrong with the meal but she wasn’t hungry and nothing really tasted good anyway. “Hm?” She mumbled, lifting her head from the pea she had been staring at to catch Gregory Pierce’s irritated gaze. Gwen hadn’t even wanted to come to dinner at her father’s but he had been insisting to do a “family” housewarming ever since he had moved Brooke in. London had given her the chance to delay the inevitable but she had been home for nearly a week now and had run out of excuses to avoid it. “Brooke asked if you went to the National History Museum while you were in London.” He said without hiding the irritation in his voice. “For the third time.” His gaze shot daggers at his daughter across the table and if it were any other day she might have apologized. Plastered on a smile and feigned interest in the conversation with the woman who was closer to a peer than a stepmother in age. Gwen didn’t have it in her, though. Not today, though, and probably not tomorrow or the next day.  “No.” Was all she said in reply, dropping her gaze back down to her plate and seemingly very interested in mixing her vegetables in with her mashed potatoes. “You’ve barely eaten anything.” Brooke noted with a frown, jumping to the conclusion that it had everything to do with her skills in the kitchen and nothing to do with the fact that the version of Gwen that sat at the table was a shallow husk of the woman who had left for London. “Can I fix you something else?” She added eagerly, looking to Greg for some sort of approval or praise. “No.” Gwen said again, this time her voice was a little softer. Looking up from her plate again she let her gaze move between her father’s steel gaze and Brooke’s hopeful one. She offered the latter a gentle smile as she mustered up all the strength she could to put on the vibrant mask they both were used to seeing from her. “I’m just not feeling well. Jet lag still and I think maybe I picked something up on the flight home.” Her answer turned her father’s expression from annoyed to concerned as his limited paternal instincts took over in a laughable attempt to help. “Should I get you some soup? Maybe call a doctor?” He looked at Brooke for assistance, as if the twenty something had a maternal bone in her body. Gwen immediately shook her head at both of them. “I just need some rest. Can we raincheck dessert?” Gwen asked with a mournful look on her face as if missing this meal was the worst thing to happen to her. It wasn’t a hard expression to conjure considering the weight in her chest. The real reason she felt like absolute shit. They both agreed and within the next half hour, Gwen was loaded into a car and on her way back to her own apartment. She pulled her phone out of her bag with every intention to mindlessly scroll Tik Tok until she got there so she wouldn’t think about it. About what happened in London. About him. By the time she made it to her apartment she had written out a simple text in their thread. I’m sorry I took off like I did. I miss you and I was wrong. I am yours. Call me. The words stared back up at her from the screen as her thumb hovered over the send button. The car stopped in front of her building and the driver rounded the vehicle to open the door for her. Quickly she wiped away the tears that had escaped her eyes and she deleted not only the text she had typed. Not just the thread either. She had gone to Nik’s contact and deleted it completely from her phone. Taking the driver’s hand, she got out of the car and made her way back up to her apartment before breaking down completely. 

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 6

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings lol: blood and violence <3

A/N: Dividers by @firefly-graphics

series masterlist

chapter 6: the masquerade

Was going through her sister’s phone unethical? Sure. Was this whole thing a huge fucking risk she shouldn’t be taking? Certainly. Was she doing it anyway?

Hell, yes, she was.

After going their separate ways, Osha turned over the half-promise she’d given the stranger two days ago. 

I’ll think about it.

It was a curse. Here, in the unforgiving clarity of Wednesday, she could think about nothing else. Training with someone who saw potential and value in her sounded better than heaven.

But he’d left her with no way to give him her answer. He told her he couldn’t risk stopping by the Temple as often as he had been. I am banned, you know.

That was how she justified this insanity. I have no way of getting through to him like normal, and Mae was the only person who regularly met with him. She’s the best bet for finding him. And besides, she’s been lying to me for two years; I deserve to be a little ethically questionable.

Even still, the air was thick with tension—but that could’ve just been steam from the shower.

None of the contacts she scrolled through looked like they fit the stranger. Would she even save his number in her phone? She checked the text threads next, her eyes entirely focused on the unsaved numbers. Perhaps resignation had her gliding past the threads with Sol, and the multiple group chats Mae was a part of—places where Osha didn’t belong.

She must have deleted his shit the second she cut ties with him.

Osha bit down hard on her lower lip to bury her frustration. Where else, where else…

NYAAAAA!

“Fucksake, Pip, don’t be a fucking narc,” she whispered, removing the kitten from the room and resuming her shady behavior.

Mae dropped a bottle in the shower, nearly sending Osha jumping out of the window in fright. It was a miracle she stayed quiet. She refocused, ignoring the slight tremble of her fingers. 

Oh shit, why didn’t she check there first?

She found the list of blocked numbers in Mae’s call records and, instead of screenshotting it and sending it to herself, took a picture of the screen with her phone. It was old school, but it left no trace.

One of these better be him.

Mae shut off the shower, and Osha quickly put her phone back where it had been and walked out of the room without looking back. She was jumpy through dinner, but since she and Mae still weren’t talking, she didn’t have to explain herself.

Afterward, she retreated to her room and performed a round of isometric poses to steady her nerves. It helped soothe the persistent ache in her leg immensely. The pleasant burn in her calf licked flames across where her ligaments usually felt brittle and iced over. Doing the exercises before bed was a double-edged sword: on one hand, she’d be warm and loose all night; on the other… it made her think of him.

The dreams left her feeling hotter than the exercises did.

What was it Mae said? You’re playing with fire? It certainly felt like it—but in this weather, she didn’t mind a bit of heat.

To temper her obsession a little, she gave herself only ten minutes to research each phone number from the photo. She quickly ruled out telemarketers, spam numbers, and various persons who wanted to contact Mae about her car’s extended warranty.

The last number on her list felt… different. It brought up zero results online, not even on a reverse number lookup. She’d been about to type it into her phone to send a probing text, but her ten minutes were up. She couldn’t get in over her head, lest the stranger consume too much of her life before she knew his name.

And what if this wasn’t even his number? She didn’t want to go to sleep disappointed if the gamble didn’t pan out. She saved the number in her phone as ? and tried not to think about it.

Everything seemed to have lost its shine on her next shift at the cafe. The coffee smelled stale, and she could not ignore her sticky hands like she used to. Every painful hour spent on her feet felt like an eternity. She needed something new.

She’d needed a lot of something new for a while now.

The silence between her and Mae continued at home. The next time family dinner rolled around, she excused herself. She only saw Sol and Mae at the Temple.

Even the classes Sol led felt off. Try as she might to put in maximum effort, she’d grown out of Sol’s tentative instruction. Her jabs landed harder on the heavy bags, some sounding like thunderclaps that split the empty air. Her legs itched to kick and thrash beneath her despite the backlash it would yield in the gym.

She even tried a few kicks on the bag in the apartment gym, which saw more of her the following week than in the last six months. What it didn’t see was the stranger.

The stranger had her fucked up. Big time.

She couldn’t rely on luck or coincidence when she wanted to see him anymore. Next time she got lucky, she promised herself, she would get his damn number at the very least.

“This is a shit idea,” Osha muttered to herself as she walked down the street. “You’re fucking nuts, Osha.”

She’d been so focused on watching out for black ice on the sidewalk that she didn’t see that the Unknown Planet neons were all off until she’d opened the front door halfway, finding nothing but pitch-black silence within.

Every light was off, save for one at the far wall from the door. Osha stepped back a little, letting the door fall shut. The operation hours stared back at her: moonrise to sunrise.

Under the perpetually overcast sky of winter, she couldn’t tell, but she was pretty sure it was a new moon. You can’t have a moonrise with no moon, she reasoned.

But then, why was the door still open?

Osha retrieved her can of bear spray from her backpack and flicked off the safety with her thumb. She entered the empty bar quietly, on cat-light feet. When the door closed behind her, the cacophony of the city changed to a stark, screeching silence. She didn’t dare move a muscle.

Her eyes acclimated to the darkness, her ears to the silence. Very faintly, she made out the sounds of raised voices, cheers, and jeers. She stayed alert as she crept around tables crowned with upturned chairs. She stopped to listen again when she reached the singular lit sconce at the end of the cavernous bar.

The noise had grown louder, but Osha could still hear the familiar ding-ding! of a match bell. Was there a boxing gym upstairs? Nobody at the Temple cheered that loud at the events hosted there.

A set of stairs she hadn’t seen a week ago led up to a steel door on a small landing. A tattooed and bored bouncer wasn’t looking down the staircase at her; instead, he was peering through the small window in the door, looking in on whatever was happening inside.

Osha pulled back into the darkness. What was she doing? She was in an unfamiliar area of the city, chasing down hope of seeing a guy whose name she didn’t know, and she had no way of knowing where her damned curiosity would take her. She thumbed off the safety on her bear spray but kept the tube tucked in her sleeve just in case.

The bouncer frowned as she walked up the stairs. Up close, she could see two matching cauliflower ears, a split lip, and neck tattoos—and explicit confirmation that he was built like a brick shithouse. Osha met his eyes anyway, saying nothing.

“You’re coming in pretty late, miss. Half the fights are already done.” His voice was as gravelly and deep as she imagined, but the politeness took her a little off guard.

She tried channeling Mae as she told a small lie. “I was told the wrong time.”

The bouncer looked her over with a more critical eye, grunting. “Well. Hope whoever told you gets their shit rocked tonight.”

He opened the door for her, and she was instantly hit with a wall of noise. Hot air, humid from effort and shouting, hit her next, followed by the scent of sweat—and a little bit of blood. She tugged her hood over her head as she walked in, embracing a bit of stifling heat in exchange for a concealed appearance. It was doubtful anybody here would recognize her, though.

Though the area was centrally lit to highlight the festivities, she could tell this wasn’t a boxing gym—a fighting gym, but not for any discipline she knew. What she thought were people standing on the wall turned out to be body-opponent bags lined up with military precision. All the equipment was set with evident respect and intentionality, not a thing out of place as far as she could tell.

And in the center of the room stood a cage.

She’d done some research into what he’d been talking about. She knew most MMA fights took place in a fenced-in open-air ring, but those rings never had a lid. The cage walls were pretty high, about twice the height of the average man. It seemed less like a fighting ring for humans and more like an inhumane, fucked-up snow globe full of violence.

Surrounding it was a crowd of around seventy-five people, bunched so close it almost seemed they were part of the platform. Three sets of bleachers held the rest of the observers, and a half-dozen more leaned on the rail of a balcony overlooking all at one end of the cavernous space.

Inside the cage, two men fought with wicked-looking spears—halberds, if she remembered correctly. The crack! of the shafts connecting jarred her from her drifting fugue, and Osha approached the crowd so she wouldn’t be seen as an outsider and garner unwanted attention.

Was this where the stranger trained and fought? It had to be—one of the fighters slashed the other across the chest in a small spray of blood. Instead of crying out or screaming, the injured competitor groaned in frustration over the sound of mixed cheering and grumbling. It was the single most confusing reaction to violence she’d ever seen.

She got closer despite her self-preservation screaming otherwise. The heady scent of spilled blood hung in the air like incense, and this brutal, lawless place suddenly felt more sacredly profane than anywhere else she’d ever been. This was no church or temple, but it was powerfully holy nonetheless. 

Osha found a place for herself in the stands.

As the previous fighters left the cage and melted away into the locker rooms, two more took their place. The announcer, a tall, pale man with spindly old-man arms, called their names like a pro wrestling emcee. Some matches had both fighters wielding weapons; others only had one weapon thrown in the middle to be fought over for advantage. Very few matches were unarmed, and when they were, it was indescribably brutal to see. The rules of engagement became clear in one of those bare-knuckle fights:

First blood wins the bout but doesn’t stop it—only the timer, submission, or unconsciousness did. Only one submission happened during the night, and when it had, the crowd was in an uproar, near-humiliating the poor soul who didn’t want his shoulder dislocated.

It seemed that for legal purposes, some holds were barred here.

She traded off between watching the fight and watching the audience, and she couldn’t tell who was more bloodthirsty.

After about an hour of fights, some unspoken signal rippled through the crowd. All at once, a hush fell over the entire space, reverent as a moment of benediction.

“For our final match,” the announcer called, “we have moved away from spears and swords to return to Pure! NHB! Fighting!” The crowd joined in his excitement, rattling the old aluminum seats beneath her. A quick glance at the balcony showed it empty. 

“—I’ve got eighty on White-Top tonight.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Smiley can’t win every time.”

Osha listened in on the conversation beside her, keeping her eyes on the announcer grandstanding at the center of the ring. He vamped while two expedient workers squeegeed off the blood from the floor mat.

“If you’re still betting on that, you’re welcome to lose your money. The thing place worth placing bets on is in the inner-ring particulars.”

“Like what?”

“—bring you eight of the finest fighters this gym has to offer! In one corner, the rookie in yellow—”

“—Who goes down first, who does Smiley take down first—”

“The Dizzykid!”

“—and how long it’ll take to put ‘em down.”

Mild applause started as a shirtless man bounced into the ring. He did a hopping lap before settling against one of the corners. Rookie confidence, Osha’s fighting mind said. The yellow balaclava he wore looked fucking nasty, half stained with old blood. The two gamblers beside her spoke in unison.

“He’s going down first.”

She probably shouldn’t have laughed. She’d done her best not to draw attention to herself for the last hour of fights, but at the unanimous and bored condemnation of the Dizzykid, she couldn’t help herself. Luckily, the gamblers didn’t seem to hear it; even if they did, they didn’t care.

The announcer spoke through the rest of the introductions, men and women fighting in one bout together. Most of the contenders were fresh to this competition, but many bore scars that must have come from previous fights like the ones she saw before.

They all had ridiculous names, too: Dizzykid, White-Top, and a handful of others she didn’t care remembering.

The final two were introduced as repeat champions from the month before. The penultimate fighter, who wore a purple hood, was called Daybreak. She looked well-sunken into her role in the ring, all quiet confidence and restrained power.

“Daybreak was one of our two-left-standing last month and will get to defend her name and title just like her final counterpart: your nine-month reigning champion here to make it ten, the undefeated, the terrifying, SMILEY!”

The eighth fighter walked into the cage, and it instantly felt like she’d gone into freefall. Distantly, as if underwater, she could hear the crowd going wild for him. The seven fighters in the ring were already honed to precision, each beautiful and strong, but this one was heart-stopping. She clung to one solid second of denial before accepting the truth of who those huge, beefy biceps belonged to—

That was her stranger in the mask.

He wore a black balaclava. Stitched in silver to make a horrifying toothy smile, Smiley’s moniker was straightforward.

God, she hoped Smiley wasn’t his real name.

“Welcome, gentlemen—welcome, ladies.” The announcer addressed them directly, shifting from entertainer to referee. Osha did not need to strain to hear him speak because the room had gone quiet as a crypt in respect and anticipation.

The rules were simple: 30 minutes on the clock, eliminations by knockout, submission, or heavy injury.

“When you hear this whistle—” he blew a whistle four times.  “You will grab the cage with both hands and stand still until we drag out the fallen. When you hear this bell—” Ding! “The fight resumes. If you make it to the final two, congrats. If you don’t, it’s not my problem. Now: Fighters!” He blew his whistle four times.

Sixteen hands found the fence.

The announcer left the ring.

The crowd’s excitement built.

And when the bell went off—

Chaos.

Four of the fresh fighters descended on the stranger, hunting the biggest game in the cage. Osha watched in awe as he leaped straight into the air and grabbed the top of the cage. Two of the fighters whiffed their punches beneath him, and he came down right on top of them.

There were probably other things happening in the cage, but she could only watch him.

Brash and eager, the Dizzykid went down first, knocked out by the kick to the face the stranger gave him. White-Top went down next. One of the gamblers beside her groaned. Osha grinned.

The stranger was a blur in the cage, all his punches and kicks coming too fast for her to track at times. When he paused, facing away from her, her breath stuck in her throat at the sight of the thick, purple-white scar tissue slicing across his back. It made more sense now: why he was so dedicated to injury recovery and proper form.

Wouldn’t you, if you had your back broken in four places?

Her chance at melancholic reverie passed as her stranger continued to put down his remaining opponents. The other two had gone after Daybreak—if she went down, they might make it to the cage next month.

The bubbling energy of the crowd was infectious, and Osha gave in to the temptation to get a little reckless, joining the cheers. “Let’s go, Smiley! Put ‘em the fuck down!”

The stranger froze mid-swing.

Fortunately for him, the ref blew his whistle four times right then, and the fight paused.

Unfortunately for her, the stranger stalked to the closest fence near Osha. He held onto it but pressed closer, forehead against the chain links. He’s looking for me. The other fighters faced inward, but not him, readying themselves for the fight ahead.

His eyes blazed with heat as he scanned the crowd. He was like a rabid animal, an overheated gun, a bloody, jagged edge digging deep wherever he wanted to cut. When he found her, she felt it in her bones. She raised a hand and gave a cheeky wave, smiling.

He tilted his head to the side before sticking his fingers through the fence, waving as much as possible.

The body haulers left the ring.

The cage door closed behind them.

The stranger was still not looking away—

Ding!

The stranger took less than fifteen seconds to put down the remaining rookies, leaving him and Daybreak standing. The crowd rippled with unease. Even Daybreak seemed baffled, staggering a few steps back from the sudden total violence.

The stranger returned to where he’d been standing fifteen seconds before, pressing his face fully against the fence like Osha was nothing but inches away from him.

The crowd around her was stunned. “How’d he do that so fast?”

“Smiley is just playing with his food whenever the fights go longer than five minutes, isn’t he?”

“I think his first fight lasted eight.”

“How long was this? I can’t see the—”

“Three minutes?! What the—”

“Five takedowns tonight? Daybreak looks like she just shit her trunks.”

“Nah, Smiley respects her too much to—”

“I don’t think Smiley even looked her way tonight.”

Osha could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t look at them. She was still staring at the stranger. As the last bodies were dragged out of the cage, he drifted backward to the center for the results. After they were announced, he said something to the emcee, who nodded but didn’t seem surprised.

Daybreak and Smiley disappeared when they left the cage, and the crowd dispersed to mingle or otherwise leave. To avoid the curious stares, Osha found a dark corner to stand in. She’d become damn near nose-blind to the scent of blood, but the sight of it being squeegeed off the mats was still slightly morbid.

Someone approached her hiding spot.

“Are you Osha?”

It was the announcer. This close, he loomed—even taller than the stranger. Only then did she remember the bear spray in her sleeve.

“Who’s asking?”

“You can call me Mr. Wise. Smiley asked for you.” She could see the glint in his eyes. He was dangerous but in a different way than her stranger. “Will you come with me?”

Alarm bells rang like hell in her head, but she chose to dance along to the tune. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Wise led her to a small door near where she’d come in; stairs led to the level above and the bar below. It smelled more like cigarettes than blood in here. “Just up there. The black door at the end.” Then he left her alone.

At the end of the long, twisting flight of stairs, Osha found... dressing rooms? The landing she stood on was connected to a hall of doors, as well as an open archway to access the balcony from before. The doors she passed matched the balaclavas of the cage fighters: yellow, white, blue… and black at the end of the hall.

The first six doors were open and empty, but the black and purple doors for Smiley and Daybreak were closed. The second she stood before the black door, it swung inward, and there he was.

He’d taken off the mask. His hair was damp from the shower he must have taken, and some of it was twisted back out of his face with little fasteners, just like the night she met him. The body heat radiating off of him was felt even standing out there in the hall. It’d been six days since she last saw him, and the bright smile he gave her had her insides scrambling around like a game of musical chairs. Six days, and he still looked just as good as he did in her memory.

“Osha.”

His eyes burned with a fire she knew well—the last time she felt it, she’d been given a great shiny trophy and belt. Her stranger’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she spotted the darkening bruise forming on his jaw. The cut on his cheek from several days ago had healed, and the bruise around it had faded from a red-purple to a pale yellow-green. One bruise out, one bruise in. That was the price of fighting.

“Tell me your name isn’t really Smiley,” Osha blurted out.

His smile widened. “I’m only Smiley sometimes. Come in; I was doing cooldown.”

He opened the door wider for her to come in. His dressing room was sparse but not gross like the others she’d seen in the hall. After all, this room had been solely his for the last ten months. She spotted a few things she recognized on the small table: the black hoodie, backpack, and glasses. Hanging off two small clips was the mask he’d worn to fight, dripping wet.

She approached it curiously. “It’s a little freaky, isn’t it?” she said over her shoulder.

“I didn’t choose it.”

She turned to look at him. He was in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, barefoot. Red blotches bloomed across his body, lucky shots while he made felling blows. He was holding his hands over his head, stretching his biceps, triceps, and other muscle groups that looked too good for her to think straight. He stood very still for her while she looked at him, and a little zing of pride and power zipped down her spine.

“But… I have to win it again every time I wear it.”

She didn’t know what to say when she met his eyes again, her gaze snapping up from where it had drifted to the waistband of his sweats. He was smirking a little. Caught.

He moved them away from the potentially awkward silence by sitting on a yoga mat and resuming his cool-down stretches. She took a seat on the only chair in the room.

“How’d you hear about the fights?” he asked, falling into a deep stretch. His flexibility shouldn’t have set her heart to stutter, but she’d never seen a man go so deep in her life. The scars on his back stood out in sharp relief from this angle, and this close, she could see that they were a mix of traumas: surgery and injury twisted over themselves in a snarling knot with no end.

It’s what her ankle looked like.

“I, uh, didn’t,” she said after a few seconds of silence. He turned his head to peek an eye at her. Go on. “I didn’t even know there was a gym. I just wanted to go to the bar, but the lights were off.”

“And you just went in?”

“The door was open. And…” She pulled the bear spray out of her sleeve and showed it to him before putting it in her bag. “I wasn’t without protection.”

“Smart girl.”

She nearly choked on air but quickly recovered. When her bag was zipped, she crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “You don’t live in the city this long and feel safe without a can of bear spray,” she said.

“You could carry an actual weapon.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Why?”

“I’d probably hurt myself before I hurt anybody else.”

He released the pose and adjusted his grip to stretch his feet and ankles. She recognized the different stretch combinations he was doing—she did them every night before bed. Her mind threatened to teeter into that can of worms, but he pulled her out of it.

“Don’t count yourself out, Osha. What’d I tell you? You’re a lion.” When he gave a breathy laugh and showed her his languid smile, she recognized more than the exercises—she saw more of herself in him than anticipated. His goofy grin wasn’t just part of a conjured persona. This was how he truly smiled when he hit that fighter’s high. It was how she smiled.

“I didn’t mean to distract you earlier.”

He laughed at the half-apology, pulling his feet in for a groin stretch. He tugged his shorts up his thighs for better flexibility, and he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. His expression said, now, who’s distracted?

“You didn’t distract me,” he said, giving her a break and looking down. You surprised me, sure. I thought I got my bell rung and was hearing what I wanted.” He leaned into the stretch, groaning softly at the deeper burn. “I was glad to see you,” he said tightly. She wondered how much of it was from muscle strain and how much was from emotion.

Her heart galloped behind her ribs. Hearing him speak like that, make sounds like that—god, she was in trouble. She took a shuddering breath and held it to try and get her shit together, but it only half-worked.

“I was glad to see you, too.” She could only see a sliver of his face, but she saw him smile. “I liked, uh, seeing you fight. I’d been wondering about it for a while.”

“Oh, I’ve been on your mind?” he smirked at her, but his expression wasn’t remotely malicious.

“Can you blame me?”

The stranger seemed pleased with her answer, a shared refrain from several conversations together. He released the stretch and rolled seamlessly onto his back, holding one knee to his chest. He lolled his head to the side to look at her, self-satisfied. “Why did you come to the bar tonight, Osha?”

He was going to make her say it. Bastard.

“Well, Yord hasn’t broken the espresso machine, and you said you weren’t coming around anyway. You haven’t been at the apartment gym, and I couldn’t find anything about you on the internet to track you down. You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know.”

“I know.”

“So the last place I knew you might be… was here. Well, downstairs.”

He nodded, idly tracing his thumb over his kneecap. It was distracting. “You’ve been looking for me, then?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Damnit, hadn’t she said enough for him? He blinked at her, lazy as a cat but twice as sharp.

Fuck it.

“I wanted to see you.”

He made a pleased noise, switching to hold his other leg. He settled into the stretch, breathing slowly like he was savoring those five words he’d dragged past her lips. “Have you thought about my offer?”

She supposed she’d gotten what she wanted. If she was pursuing him this hard, she had her answer. Why did she go looking for him? She wanted to see him. Why did she want to see him? Because she wanted to train—or perhaps another reason she wasn’t being honest with herself about.

He released his leg and sat up fluidly, kneeling before her. He rested both hands on his thighs and tilted his head to the side, considering her openly. Messy-haired, skin still bright and flushed from the fight, kneeling on the floor, he looked penitent, beseeching.

“What do you want, Osha?”

“In order?”

“If you wish.” His lips twitched, suppressing a smile.

She held up three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “In order: I want your number, I want a drink, and I want you to train me.”

CHAPTER 7

[lover-of-mine]

This is probably my conspiracy brain talking, but your point about someone wanting to shut down the cast/crew harassment and general Tommy mess…

I just can’t help but wonder if that’s part of the reason why this interview dropped in the first place. Seems like odd timing since we aren’t that close to the season premiere yet…

I am right there with the conspiracy, but here's the thing, baby, the pr stuff that's been happening this hiatus is very interesting. First the cameos stopped out of nowhere and then we had Oliver removing an interview from his profile allegedly because of the comments. These two can just be because of the actors, so it doesn't say a lot, we can't know for sure any of those were because someone on the show told them to. But when we think about that along with the way Oliver and Lou did that interview, didn't talk about the relationship at all, and Oliver looked like he was only there because his contract said so, and the way Lou reduced his interactions, there are questions. But sure, let's ignore that, there's the whole war going on. The hacking drama, random crew people and journalists getting harassed, even Joaquin is blocking people, Ryan is getting attacked, allegedly the 911 official account is blocking people, whole comment threads are disappearing, Oliver stuff getting flooded, people keep saying Tim said this, this, or that. Then Lou stops interacting with them as a whole and we get the deleted scene after the whole "there's an I love you scene coming" thing kinda like the way we got the title for 704 after that whole buddie begins thing went viral. That scene doesn't do Tommy any favors, but there is still a lot of talk about how great it is and how bt are soulmates and shit. There's even more Tim said this talk with someone saying we only got that scene because they asked Tim for it. Then we got the bees and the date and no cast changes even though they were still hoping for it. More people mad Tommy is not a main. So they drop that video of Ryan even though he's not telling us anything new, considering the way Ryan has been saying that scene was his favorite since before the season was airing. Comments are all freaking out about buddie and how season 8 should be buddies. With your occasional and very loud no one wants buddie, keep Tommy, still bringing Tim's name into the situation, while talking shit about Ryan and now occasionally Oliver. Now Tim talks explicitly about people using his name to attack other fans. If we get anything new buddie related in the near future, Ryan has an interview this week but no clue when it's dropping and filming is starting, so new content anyway, I will be 100% sure they are monitoring responses trying to figure out the way to go here. Because the deleted scene is trying to get control of the narrative back, if they can't get control of the narrative back, if the harassment continues, keeping this going will only make it worse, yk? The longer you give them hope, the messier this is gonna get. I know at this point contracts are probably already worked out considering filming is already starting, but I legit think someone in the pr team is trying to figure out if it's even worth bringing him back or if it's easier to just to tell the writers to just write him off and figure out some other way to deal with whatever his purpose with Buck is. If it reaches a point where the creator of something is doing interviews saying something like that, there's no way the show's pr team isn't monitoring shit. From a business perspective, something has to be going on, not even because of buddie, but because they keep saying Tim did something, they keep attacking Ryan, there's shit against Oliver, there were even comments against Aisha after the deleted scene. A ship war is good for business, if it wasn't there would be as many love triangles as there is out there. But they lost control of the narrative and a ship war becomes a problem when the ammunition is not from the source material and it's actually creating problems for the production. We fans can kill each other all we want, it's a problem when cast and crew start taking hits this frequently. Does this make sense? They have to be monitoring something.

[glaseado-gym-official]

My name's Grusha. I'm an ex-snowboarder. Used to be a pro. Now I'm a Gym Leader.

The service up here isn't that great... But it'd be kinda uncool if I was the only Paldean League member not on this site. Ryme also says having a blog is good for PR... Or something.

Anyways. I'll put some extra stuff down below.

My Pokémon if you're interested:

Frosmoth ♀ - ((Mariposa))

Beartic ♂ - ((Boreas))

Cetitan ♂ - ((Titan))

Weavile ♂ - ((Dulce))

Alolan Ninetales ♂ - ((Aurora))

Altaria ♀ - ((Cirrus))

((Nicknames are listed in parenthesis because they aren't public information at the moment. Grusha doesn't want to be outed as "uncool", you see. I'm adding them in ooc for personal reference, convenience, and tagging purposes.))

((OOC NOTE: Please read before interacting!!

Important note before we get to our regularly scheduled program:

This version of Grusha is disabled. This means that the accident that ended his career as a professional snowboarder, has also permanently disabled him. Because of this, he needs a cane to get around.

I will do my best to accurately and respectfully portray his disability. I will ALSO not be tolerating any sort of ooc ableism. I will be extremely picky about any asks that include ic ableism and will tag things properly.

Okay now back to it-

Hey hey! Welcome to my Pokémon rp blog. On this blog I will be pretending as if the world of Pokémon is 100% real. This being said, I will be including pkmn rp tags in each post that fits that description as a warning.

Friendly reminder that if you try to engage a plot with me or any kind of offscreen rp experience without at least discussing it with me first, then I will likely not respond. Even if you do approach me with something in mind, there is no guarantee I will engage. Also I tend not to interact or engage in any big events. They tend to become overwhelming for me and you’ll most likely never find me becoming a part of them. Please don’t send in asks regarding big events.

If you are looking to interact with my muse, and your muse is tied to some potentially triggering topics, I would prefer if you discussed potential interactions with me first. This is for my own comfort, so please keep this in mind.

Admin is an adult! If this makes you uncomfortable then move along.

This is an RP blog. This means I will be trying my best to roleplay as Gym Leader Grush with the information we have provided on him. I will be including several headcanons of mine regarding this character, though none of them are too drastic.

Please be aware that when I am talking as Grusha, he will often come off as blunt, sarcastic, and rude. If you are uncomfortable with this, it may be in your best interest to move along. If something ever comes off as rude/mean, it does not reflect how I actually feel and is just how I believe Grusha would react.

This blog is SFW, save for vaguely suggestive topics. Anything that is deemed as explicitly NSFW will be deleted on sight.

Another warning. This blog may often be involved in long RP threads. I won’t be using any programs to cut my long posts short. If this bothers you, I would recommend skipping this blog or blocking the tag “long post” or “rp thread”.

This version of Grusha I’m roleplaying is set after the events of Pokémon Scarlet and Violet as well all the DLC.

Also! I follow and like from @ripoff-robbie-rotten.

DNI: Proshippers, TERFS, and NSFW blogs))

[juni-aldaine123]

SILENCE/ mhm ; kiyomiyo

✎ i'm a manga-reader only. haven't watched the anime, won't get the chance to ig and i don't have sources to read the light novels so manga it is.

I've only finished the 1st vol and here i am already writing abt them-

this is a repost of my work from ao3 btw (i've deleted it on ao3 cus i wasn't particularly satisfied with it there)

anyways back to the topic- this is just smth random i'd written. they're already married in this. and- just this ig-?

so i hope u enjoy it!

ps: i made the ship name (lol lol) u guys like it? XD

・❥・no spoilers, nothing, just pure fluff . no plot . super short lmao . just them being a couple, doing couple things . hashtag married life

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

The silence is comforting and the peace that shrouds them envelopes them like a warm hug. Deft hands trail the needle expertly through the silky fabric; Miyo works meticulously. She is a diligent worker and Kiyoka likes that quality of hers.

Well, that is without saying, he loves every aspect of Miyo, everything she has to provide, everything she has to show to him. 

He loves Miyo.

And that is the undeniable truth.

He gives her his company in the quiet hours of night as she works through her embroidery. He pretends to read the book in his hands but his eyes and mind keep drifting to Miyo whose attention is borne by the golden threads she weaves with care.

Miyo is beautiful, even more beautiful when she does the things she truly loves.

She smiles when she does the things she loves. The smile reaches her obsidian eyes.

He tells as much to her, but she shakes her head.

"I don't believe it so, Danna-sama," she says with a lilt in her voice, as if she didn't just disagree with his views, but if he didn't know any better he would've thought that is Miyo's attempt at a jest.

Nonetheless, Kiyoka welcomes such a change in Miyo's usual timid demeanour. She has started doing this often- speaking of her opinions and Kiyoka feels relieved to discover she has begun to open up to him.

The faith she places in him, he intends to hold it forever.

"Is that so?" he returns with a smile of his own, one that widens when he sees a happy glint in Miyo's eyes.

"Yurie-san doesn't think I smile often. And whenever I do, it's not too significant," she answers slowly, as she hangs her head low to not meet his inquisitive gaze and instead goes back to her task. He thinks he would get no further explanation beyond this so he just nods, though Miyo doesn't see it, and goes back to his reading.

"If you find it so, then maybe, I only smile like this when I'm with you," was said in a low whisper and if Kiyoka didn't have heightened senses as a gifted officer he might've missed it. He looks back up but Miyo shows no sign of having said so and if he didn't catch the reddened tip of her ears he would've thought of it as his mind playing tricks on him.

"You make me happy." Her gaze is on him, like how he likes it, full of adoration. "I like how I feel with you."

"And I like when it's just us," he tells her as easily.

"As you say, Danna-sama." This time she agrees with him.

They both go back to the silence that rings around them, but it is not heavy. It may unsettle many; those not acquainted with their routine. But for Miyo and Kiyoka it was perfect. 

The silence is their safe haven. 

The silence is their happy home, when it's just them.

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

As a (Now former) Tara Strong fan who looked up to her when I was younger, I am very very disappointed and disgusted by everything she’s said and done

To be fair, Tara Strong has been trash since the 2010's.

When MLP became a cultural juggernaut that revitalized her career, she became way more active on Twitter and the majority of her old deleted tweets were pretty fucking bad.

I’m not going to post any of them on here for the sake of my sanity, but you can easily find some screenshots via a simple Google search.

Anyway, my personal favorite "Tara Strong becomes Twitter's main character" moment has to be back in late 2021 when she got involved in an NFT ponzi scheme and got dunked on by everyone in the replies and QRT's.

The NFT thread is still up on her Twitter page by the way, guessing she either forgot to delete it or just moved on when the rest of the internet did.

I'm at that point where I can tolerate Strong's VO work, but I don't respect her as a person.

[leomonae]

What is this drama with dhampling I'm so confused but I like drama

I'm not bothering to look anything up for my summary, so no guarantees on complete accuracy. Explanation below the cut since I highly doubt anyone not directly involved is going to care about any of this.

Right, so basically @dhampling put up a post asking for BG3 fic recs the other... day? Week? Idk, I'm bad at time, it was recently, anyway. They asked for recs, various people reblogged and responded, including someone who recced a few members of this discord server I'm in - smaller creators, writers who haven't had much of an audience/exposure for their fics, and were pretty happy about the recognition. At some point, dhampling deleted their original post on the subject, leaving a message on their blog about how they didn't want to name names/get pulled into drama or some such - making a pretty vague statement that raised more questions than it answered, basically.

Some members of that discord server I mentioned were a little miffed about this, since to their minds it was removing one of the ways they might get more people finding/reading their fics. I, personally, was rolling my eyes at the incredibly vague nature of the non-explanation and questioning why they didn't just delete the thing and leave it alone after, if they didn't want it being made into some big deal somehow. Since the discord server is private/invite-only, some of us expressed said frustrations in a vent thread therein. Other people, including the person who'd reblogged and given some recs of the server's members, attempted to speak in dhampling's defense a little - they're young (which I guess they disliked being said about them once they found this out?), we don't know what prior experiences they've had in fandoms and some people can get vicious sometimes, the OP's original post may be gone but the reblogs are still out there so it's not a huge deal anyway, etc etc.

Then at some point soon afterwards, someone in the server shared screenshots of the aforementioned venting with dhampling, who apparently strongly disliked it/what was said? I know the server owner tried reaching out to talk to them without getting a response, and I gather that they blocked a few people, but as far as I was aware, this nonsense was pretty much over. Guess not, though!

Oh yeah, and around the time we were discussing the matter in the server, I went and commented on dhampling's "I deleted my post" non-explanation to say that it didn't really tell us anything at all and questioning if it was something personal or an issue with one of the stories or what, since a) I am a naturally curious/nosy person sometimes, b) a couple of my buddies were fretting that they might have done something to offend this person somehow, and c) why not?

And no, dhampling, if you were including me in the whole "I want an apology" thing you just posted, I will not, in fact, be offering one. I decided the other day upon review that I have no actual issues with anything I said at the time, and given that it was a handful of friends expressing some mild frustrations to one another in a private server, where they had every reason to expect their words would remain private rather than ever getting back to you, I don't really think anyone there owes you an apology anyway.

Sometimes people get annoyed with others. Sometimes they say so to their friends privately, rather than going and being rude to the person who annoyed them or whatever. This is normal, healthy, interpersonal behaviour. Nobody was plotting to come harass you or what the fuck ever; there would be no harm done here at all, including to your feelings, if someone from our server hadn't decided to disrespect our own members' right to have their private comments not shared with someone outside without their consent.

So let's drop this non-issue, already, huh?

[tayloralisonswift]

hahaha I’m an OG follower (like before you deleted your old blog) so I think I’ve seen the g and sexuality saga actually! but it is about g. idk if this is something you want to share or if makes you upset to talk about but if not… what happened? I remember how close you guys were and I think I missed something because one day you were saying how he just wouldn’t talk to you anymore. That screenshot you posted of telling him your dad went to the ER and he didn’t respond……. I don’t think I would ever do that to an ex friend regardless of how things ended. Was he that upset with you about something?

it's a great fucking question, honestly. in short, i don't know why he stopped talking to me.

this isn't the first time this has happened. we've been close for years, talking every day, and then, last july, he stopped talking to me. i didn't hear from him again until november. and, since you're an OG (ily), you'll of course remember that last summer/autumn i was getting over losing henry. and he just disappeared. when he came back in november, i was hesitant to even answer the phone call, but he explained that he's been dealing with mental health stuff and even lost his job because of his anxiety. so i kinda told him off but ultimately forgave him. he said things wouldn't get that bad again. i was hesitant to believe him but in the end i did.

i don't know if things are bad again for him or not, but i last heard from him on march 26. i know he's alive because his sister posts on instagram most days, and of course i've been looking at his spotify because i'm dumb <3 the one thing is. well. a few days before - i think march 24 but i don't know for sure, i deleted the conversation thread - i told him i realized i'm a lesbian. so at first when he disappeared, i honestly wondered if he was just coming to terms with the fact that he, like i always had, had assumed we would in some way end up together, and that was fine, i'd let him take time to deal with that. but i don't think he'd stay away this long if he cared about me that much.

so yeah, he just. won't speak to me. didn't answer my calls or call me back, hasn't messaged or texted. if i did something wrong, i have no clue what it could be. and yeah, in late june/early july my father was raced to the ER in an ambulance and i reached out to him and heard nothing. he knows my dad too, they get along well. old g - whoever he used to be - would be really concerned for multiple reasons. but old g is gone. i am barely resisting the urge to quote lwymmd. barely.

i think it's been so hard for me to get over this because it's hard to accept he's gone. i keep thinking, oh he'll call whenever he's ready. but now, like if i love myself, and i'm trying to, i won't just let him come back and do this again. so maybe why it's been easier the last few days is i just keep telling myself it's 100% over. i'm no longer resisting reality, you know?

anyway i hope this answered your question <3 thank you for asking!

[clearlyclairesblog]

Okay I have something that's probably not going to make it to AO3 so I'll post it here because it's short but sweet and I really like it?

I'VE GOT THE MOVES, A LESTAPPEN STORY.

The both of them wake at the exact same time, each to their own phone ringing.

Max reaches for it sooner than Charles, so he's the first one to hear his agent screaming in his ears.

"I-we what? Who d- Lando? Christ."

At the other side of the bed the same conversation is being held in a mix of English and Italian.

"No we didn't want to co- Cazzo (shit). Non ci credo (I can't believe it). What do we do now?"

They hang up and sigh. The simmetry of their gestures would make them laugh in any other circumstance but they're just too upset to bother.

They look at each other, trying to read the other's mind.

"I'm sorry."

Max is the first one to speak. He knows this is going to affect Charles way more than himself.

"I shouldn't have invited you to that stupid party."

Charles doesn't say a word. The expression on his face is hard to read. He looks as if he wants to speak, but each time his lips part they soon find each other again and no sound comes out.

Max's phone rings once again, breaking the silence.

" It's - uhm, it's Lando. He probably wants to apologize. What do I do?"

"Put him on speaker. I want to hear what he has to say."

His tone is cold and Max doesn't like it one bit. He does as asked.

"Lando. Just so you know, you're on speaker mate, Charles is here listening as well."

"Guys fuck. I'm sorry. Like, really sorry. I didn't mean to post that picture. Shit I wish I never took that at all. Charles I'm - fuck, I don't know what to say. I'll delete it stat."

"Don't. Leave it there."

Max looks at Charles with a frown of confusion on his face.

"Everyone saw that already so what's the point."

"Charles I really am sorry. I wish I d-"

"Yes Lando, you said that already. You wish you hadn't posted that. Still, you did."

"Lando, mate, we appreciate your apologies. Don't do anything. We'll call you back."

With that, Max hangs up and crosses the bed to reach for his boyfriend.

"Hey. Talk to me. Let's analyze the situation together, yes?"

"What's to analyze, Max? Lando outed us. Not that I didn't want to but, shit, I wanted to at least tell my family first?"

"I know schatje, I know. But we can either face it or let it destroy us and I don't honestly want it to affect us more than it should."

"Ferrari is going to hate me."

"Well, I'm sure Marko is somewhere having a heart attack right now. I'm dating a man and that man is Charles Leclerc? Oh he's probably dead by now."

That puts a little smile on Charles' lips.

"How are you so calm about this?"

"I'm not. But I am worried about you more than I am angry about this whole thing."

"I want to see the picture. Did you see it?"

Max shakes his head as he grabs his phone and opens instagram.

"It's on Lando.jpg right?"

"I hope. It's normally just Carlos that ends up on his main."

Charles is hugging Max from behind, his head resting on Max's left shoulder to look at the phone.

The first pic on the post is one of Charles alone, dancing to the music. There's a caption, too. <<He got moves ya know.>>

Typical Lando, really.

Max is scrolling the other pictures but what really captures Charles' attention is the comment section.

-Daniel.jpg: Omg. I'd never top this thread, that's for sure.

-Estebanocon: I didn't know but I'm happy.

-georgerussell63: Should have posted me and @ alex_albon but alright.

"Well, at least we look cute?"

Charles kisses him on the head.

"Of course we do, it's us."

"What th- did you known people actually gave us a ship name?"

"A ship name? Like.. Like, Ferragnez?"

"No idea who they are but I guess, yeah."

"Man, if you're going to publicly be my boyfriend you have to learn more about Italy"

Max chuckles at that. It never ceases to amaze him how Charles fused himself with Italy, Italians and all things related.

"I stopped eating pineapple on Pizza, I think that's a start. Anyway, there's plenty of comments about us where they call us Lestappen."

Charles reflects on it for a second.

"Lestappen?"

"Yep."

"I don't like it."

"I do."

"Of course you do, it's your surname basically."

"Someone's jealous."

"I'm not je-shit Max, look at this."

f1: we knew it from the Austrian podium 👀

"Is that admin for real?"

"To be fair we did almost forget we were not alone on that podium."

"Schat, you won. I couldn't care less about what others would think. Like I don't right now. I love you and you love me, so fuck everyone else."

"We still need to fix this, tho. Deleting it won't do it, we just need to face it properly."

"You want to schedule an interview or something?"

"They will probably make us do one anyway. But like, we should address it."

"Give me the phone."

Max pulls the phone from Charles' hands and starts to type.

"There you go"

maxverstappen1: you should see the other moves he got.

"Max!"

"What? It's true. You got the best moves in bed, babe"

charles_leclerc: I know I got the moves. Thanks for letting everyone know. @ maxverstappen1

pierregasly: @ yukitsunoda0511 you owe me 20 bucks.

[disturbnot]

— ALL IS VIOLENT, ALL IS BRIGHT

TIMESKIP ASH KETCHUM ; a quasi - oc. mutuals only. 21+. est. july 2013 — re-est. sept 2023 — fka ferociter. low activity / slow replies. lore / worldbuild heavy. crossover friendly / verses available ; no prior pkmn knowledge required ( this is my canon now ) reflecting all the stark contrasts between the coexisting horror and splendour of the pokémon world — broken realities, cosmic horror, a jagged deconstruction of protagonist syndrome, the absurdity of rebellion against immortality, and the indomitable power of connection.

— written and drawn ad infinitum by shan. ( 31 / any pronouns / GMT )

CARRD. COMMON KNOWLEDGE. VERSES. SPOTIFY. MUN.

BASICS

▸ hiiii. i'm shan. nice to meet you :) and if you're an old follower coming back? (kurtis conner vc) ✨ what's up, how's it going? it's very good to see you again, i hope you're doing well! ✨ ▸ nobody under the age of 21, please. i'm in my 30s, i have no business with teenagers. here's £5, go see a skibidi. ▸ no weirdos in general. or bigots or whatever. but i feel like that goes without saying these days. and please don't steal my stuff! all art on this blog is by me for the purpose of this general project and this blog only. ▸ otherwise, i like to believe i'm a pretty candid and easy-going person (well, besides the auDHD. i'm just a silly little guy); i'm not too easily bothered by things and i don't have any personal triggers, but i will always let you know if any kind of issue pops up :) ▸ general warnings apply for dark and mature content; there will probably be themes of (or at least allusions to) death, immortality, alcoholism/addiction, unreality, natural disasters, blood and violence, etc. i will tag things to the best of my ability, but if you need something specific tagged, just let me know. ▸ there will be occasional and tame nsfw here, usually on sundays. ash is nearly 40 and he looks and acts it; he's more like an oc simply sharing ash's name atp. anything zesty will be appropriately tagged and tucked under a readmore. ▸ i post ooc often but also tend to delete it afterward, so it's usually only ever temporary clutter on the dash. it's my blog anyway. i get to do the yapping. and i try not to take any of this stuff too seriously. i truly am out here just Saying Things.

INTERACTING

▸ this is a mutuals only blog; meaning i will only write and interact with mutual followers. i do tend to follow first if i find a blog i like, but if you don't want to follow back, i will usually unfollow after a couple of days to keep my dash trim! i also tend to be slow and selective with follow backs, in part because i am wary of overloading myself with too many potential ideas and friends at once; it's hard to split focus between too many people with all this golden retriever energy. ▸ i am SLOW. i work 42hrs a week, have my own place to maintain, unmedicated adhd, anemia, and a dear dad with alzheimer's i help take care of. i love rp, but it's not my be-all and end-all (despite the fact i still keep winding up here!) ▸ i am out of practice. it's been a very long time since i've been able to write prose consistently and i am a little rusty with things. your patience will sow interesting rewards, i hope. ▸ i'm usually juggling many convo threads and lose messages easily—double messaging is okay if you think i've missed something! ▸ i like others' ooc posts a lot; like a friendly nod so folks know i've seen them. if this isn't cool with you, let me know! ▸ i am very flexible when it comes to establishing crossovers and au verses! ash currently has verses for star trek, the boys, supernatural, RGG, fandomless, and other verses you can read more about here. ▸ i love shipping, but it's not the total focus of the blog; the chemistry and vibe has to be right, and ash is not always the easiest muse in the world to ship with, i will warn you in advance. still ... pspspspsps dare you to try your luck! (muses aged 25+ only!)

WISHLIST

watch this space :)c

[aspaceformbf]

nowhere does it say that y/n does not exist in the game, the game is full of hints that they exist as characters

Could you send me screenshots of the hints in the game that yn exists as their own character? Or are you referring to the fact that they have their own backstory and job and shit

---

Look man, i just answer stuff based on the information in their tumblr, which only goes up to like 2021.

I am not the creator of the game and i don't work for them, i just collect lore from whatever sources are public.

I am not in their Discord either, and the Lore they post in their Discord isn't supposed to be revealed publicly as far as I know, so what i write doesn't cover that stuff either.

---

Day 4 content is not public so i don't know what happens there other than what people post on social media sometimes.

I know a lot has changed in the game since the tumblr, but the version of yb that I write for is the old tumblr version.

In many ways, the blog version of yb is very different from the newer game version so i can't always give explanations on what he does in the game. I see them both as different entities in some ways, like Spider-Man multiverse

Sometimes i will make commentary for game updates but the characterization I use for my version of yb is based on the blog, not the game

---

Anyway, heres what they say of YN in the blog and from a stream in November 2021

---

I used to have a lot of beef myself with how yb was written in day 3 because the way they wrote yb from day 3 onwards is very different from how he is presented in the blog.

A lot of people raised complaints about this back then, Links below.

I've mostly dissociated from all that by now though. I just see them as different people at this point

---

Links

Game yb vs tumblr yb - twitter thread

Twitter stuff 1 / More opinions

My own tumblr rant about game yb

There's this compilation of tumblr posts someone else made complaining about day 3. They deleted their blog tho so most of the links are broken but the titles and some screenshots are in the list themselves.

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

This is a PSA (and I wish I didn't have to)

//All right, so here we go. I had this saved in my drafts for a while now, like at least a month, because I didn't want it to be a vaguing post, nor a call-out. The person who prompted this is long gone from my life, but the problem isn't. Which is why I didn't delete this draft, I suppose. And am now posting it.

Ever since my blog has entered the Genshin RPC, my load of active threads has reached levels I have never experienced before. Back before February, I could go days and days before getting a reply at all. My drafts sat at zero most of the week, and so my replies were faster. But now.. now I have many wonderful new friends here. And I want to write with all of them. This necessarily means that the time I can dedicate to each individual partner has sadly gone down as a consequence.

This is where trouble begins. There has been an increasing number (nothing dramatic, don't get me wrong) of people among my new mutuals, or non-mutuals, who have been a bit too pressuring for my comfort to get replies from me. Some straightforwardly so, others through more passive-aggressive and manipulative means.

I do not want to get into that with this post though. All I'll say on the matter is that I know what you're doing. Don't think you're a smooth criminal because I am too. I've done these tricks before and I can recognize them.

Those who I deemed to be bothersome enough to earn an upfront request to stop have already been dealt with. Some I parted ways with (glad it's been civil), others have stayed and I am happy things are better now. But there's always going to be new ones. I think it's a form of blog growing pains, maybe.

To these people, I want to say that I feel you. I was where you were before. I know the excitement of finding a RP partner that inspires you and the frustration when they're not as quick to respond to you. But you need to keep in mind that just as I am excited to get to our things, I am excited to do the same for my other mutuals. I will not be able to prioritize our threads all the time, because there's fifty threads I feel exactly the same love for and I want to prioritize those too, but I only have a few hours a day. I need to pick and choose. I'm sorry.

I'd like to recommend that you do not make one or two blogs responsible for your happiness on Tumblr. I know finding new mutuals is hard, but please don't make my same mistake: I used to sit on my ass for months here, waiting for people to send me things. It was a mistake, really. If you want to write, you must be the one who sends things. Even if others don't respond. Even if others don't ever send things back.

Throw your muse at anything that moves. Something will stick, I promise. And what if your dash is full of things you're unfamiliar with? What if your partners all have muses out of your interested fandom? It doesn't matter. Throw your muse at them anyways. Chances are your threads will be noticed by others on your mutuals' dashes, and then, all of a sudden, people from your fandom are finally finding their way to you.

That is how I got to meet each and every one of you, after all.

So, yes. I'm sorry my replies are slow at the moment. My drafts are currently 2 weeks old at the oldest, but I'm trying to bring it down to at least a weekly reply for everybody. It's not easy. But you know what you can do to make the wait easier? Write with more people. Even if it's not things you were looking for; crossovers may surprise you. Give OCs a chance.

And, well, nothing else. Don't be a dingus. I love you. Leave my soda alone. And thank you for your patience.

Saru-mun\\

[safedistancefrombeingsmart]

Hello again ~ This is the same Anon from last time, I went through stuff you mentioned and all I can say is Martin is a person who talks without a care in the world which could be offending but not intentionally I guess. The length to which most of it were taken out of context, smh(Especially the n-word 🤷). I ended up seeing some clips from his interviews and everyone around him were all smiley and bright, so if he was that problematic then the whole industry must be the same for being buddy buddy with him 🤔 Anyways, I won't look past his inappropriate comments(he could be mindful, I pity his publicist 😐) but not to the point of cancelling him whole. I can list many other A-list celebs doing way more offending stuff and still roaming free. So again I'm sorry for bringing this into your feed making you and your followers uncomfortable.... I seriously didn't think you would respond, I was embarassed after asking and thought of dropping this altogether and focus on some other stuff, so a big Thank you for taking your time for this ☺️

Hey again,

thanks for taking the time to read the stuff I linked and for reporting back to me. 🙂 I love how you describe Martin: a person who talks without a care in the world which could be offending but not intentionally. I think you're spot on there.

And I understand that you can't look past some of the stuff he said. I mean, the rape joke was... yeah, it wasn't good. Still (and think about me what you want), I thought it was funny. It was a very bad joke and I get why people are offended by it. Humour is very subjective. Every joke is offensive to someone.

And don't worry about sending me this ask. If I had been upset about it or thought it would upset some of my followers, I would have deleted it. Simple as that. But it was a genuine question. I would prefer not to answer a similar thing every 3rd day or so. But if a question like this comes up every now and then, I am more then happy to answer. I wish more people were like you: curious and in search of more information before forming an opinion.

Just this morning I read a thread on Twitter (still refusing to call it 'X') which was infuriating:

Person A: Martin Freeman is a shit person. Person B: What? Nooo, I love him. Person A: Yes, he is a racist and a bunch of other shit that I can't remember and his wife is a TERF. Person B: That sucks, ok I hate him now.

(time to whip out this gif again xD )

Thanks again for your ask(s). 🙂