#ask game: what colour mutual am i to you?

[emily-mooon]

Jancy and 9 for the color palette asks please

Of course!

I also give you fanart of your academic rivals au because I love it a lot. It’s based on the first scene in chapter one where Nancy gives Jonathan a tour of the school. I hope you like it and thank you for your ask!

(To anybody who wants to send in a palette and a character or two, my reblog is under the cut. Also the palette used in this piece is there too.)

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

red wine | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you and finnick spend the evening together at a party in president snow’s mansion. hidden feelings reveal that things are much more complicated than they seem.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of alcoholism, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, minor angst

notes: i'm really proud of how this one turned out. someone better enjoy it.

word count: 1.3k

The entire room was buzzing, a party at Snow’s Mansion in full swing. People were chatting, laughing, and dancing, and yet all Finnick could focus on was you. Your rosy smile. Your sparkling eyes. Your laugh that rang like a perfectly pitched bell. He had never heard anything more harmonic.

Drunk on sweet red wine, your head fell back with every word that left his mouth. His natural wits and humour only seemed to heighten your amusement.

“…such a liar!”

“No, I’m serious,” Finnick urged, grinning. “Go look if you don’t believe me.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn’t stop. After winning the 70th Hunger Games, you thought happiness was something impossible to regain. Many visits to the Capitol resulted in you meeting the famous Finnick Odair, who, over the course of many months, had gained your friendship and showed you that light could still be found in the darkness that was being a Victor.

“Fine, Finnick. I believe you—President Snow has cats dressed in little white suits running around his mansion.”

“Thank you!”

You weren’t sure how you ended up talking about Snow’s cats. You weren’t sure when the wine had seeped into your brain, making the subject so irrationally hilarious. All you knew was that it didn’t matter what Finnick was talking about. What mattered was that he was talking about it with you.

Throughout the night, all types of women had thrown themselves at him. Beautiful women. Old women. Women who were surgically enhanced to resemble animals. But he rejected them all to stay by your side. Another girl came swooping in, asking him for a dance. She was incredibly attractive, her eyes dark and sultry, her hair pin-straight and hanging at her waist.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline. You thought for certain he would whisk her away.

But once again, he proved you wrong.

His hand fell on your hip, pulling you into his side. “Sorry, honey. I’ve already got a dancing partner tonight.”

That sobered you up a little.

The woman pouted, her whisker implants drooping as she left in the opposite direction.

You glanced nervously at the large hand still cupping your hip before looking back up at Finnick. “I am not dancing in front of these people.”

“Why not? You’re a great dancer.” He smirked. “Remember that time I walked in on you dancing in one of the bathrooms? That thing you were doing with your hips?” He blew out a breath of air.

Warmth flooded your cheeks. That had been the first time you met Finnick. You were a borderline alcoholic back then, having just become a Victor and all. Still, dancing in a bathroom was tough. Having the Capitol’s heartthrob catch you was even tougher.

“You know, your face is almost as red as that gorgeous dress you’re wearing,” he teased.

Everyone at the party was weighed down with extravagant and obnoxious attire which, to Finnick, resembled aliens trying to impersonate human fashion. But not you though. You wore a simple floor-length silk dress that was the colour of blood. There was nothing remarkable about the gown, yet Finnick found it to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen—a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else’s ridiculous artificial outfits. Or maybe it was just the person wearing it that made him feel this way.

You hiccupped. “I’m just trying to achieve the monarchy look.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “You mean the monochromatic look?” Your expression morphed into one of puzzlement as if you were trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. Finnick chuckled, swiping his thumb across your warm cheek. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re very drunk.”

“Only a little.”

He watched as your eyes closed, swaying on your feet. There was a small smile on your face, seemingly absorbing the lively atmosphere around you. The thumping music; the sound of laughter, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing in your brain. If the entire room weren’t swarming with his customers and the President’s guards, he probably would have kissed you. And if you were in your right mind, he probably would have confessed his feelings too.

Too many variables worked against him. So, instead, he cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you should call it a night. Before you end up in the bathrooms again.”

You laughed, eyes opening again. He laughed with you, but your drunken mind failed to notice the deep affection his gaze suddenly held. A lot of things had slipped past you that night. If only you had seen them; things between the two of you would be so much more different. Less complicated. More true.

Finnick helped you gather your things, shooing away every man who asked to take you home on your way out. Somewhere along the way, his hand had interlocked with yours. This you noticed. The wine only seemed to enhance the butterflies fluttering around your stomach. It sent sparks up your arm, beginning in your fingertips which rested between his knuckles.

Eventually, he had successfully assisted—half-carried—you down the palace steps and into the backseat of your ride home.

“Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.

His dimples grew deep with a genuine smile, dishevelled hair blowing in the soft night wind. He rested a hand on the door. You wished he would step into the car with you.

Once more, he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

A subtle confession. And then the door shut.

Finnick watched the taillights fade into the dark as you disappeared down the long driveway. Gone. Until the next party, that is. Or maybe even before then, if he finally gathered up the courage to convince you to flee Panem with him. Only then would he be free to pursue his feelings for you.

Johanna, who had been threatened into coming to the party by the President, found Finnick at the bottom of the palace steps, solemnly staring into the darkness. She stepped beside him. He didn’t seem startled; he barely even noticed her presence.

“You okay?” she asked flatly. When Finnick said nothing, she tried again. “You two looked friendly tonight.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. Was it that obvious? Who else noticed?

“Johanna,” he finally acknowledged her existence. “If I asked you to put an axe in my head, would you?”

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy to do so, but why, may I ask?”

His hard-set lips quirked at the question. Why? Shades of red flooded his mind like an open floodgate. Crimson of a silk dress. Cherry of painted lips. Pink of blushing cheeks. All of which flowed through his red-blooded veins and straight into his heart.

Laughter in the tune of a perfected melody echoed in his ears, the image of a beaming smile accompanying it. Then there was the voice, “Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair.” He hung onto every word that voice spoke. All the philosophical thoughts it had spoken aloud; the nonsensical wine-drunken babbling, and the gentle whispers that longed for a simpler life which he had the honour of being trusted with. Your voice. Your words.

Everything that made you who you were—that was the answer to Johanna’s question. The reasoning behind Finnick’s next words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Surprise briefly flickered across Johanna’s features, then returned to their usual monotony state. “Well… that’s not good.”

“No,” he spoke, his eyes lingering on the ominous white roses that lined either side of the driveway. “It’s not.”

part two

[fushisagi]

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?��

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[hobie-enthusiast]

UNLIKELY CLASH !

— rulebreaker!hobie brown x perfectionist!gn!reader

— enemies to lovers, swearing (more than last and fuck too), mutual pining, making out, small bit of harassment, rebellious teens, confused feelings, getting together

— hobie brown was everything you weren’t, so maybe that’s what attracted the two of you together so well (pt. 2)

— here part two gang! honestly i have an idea for part three in mind but if that’s something u honestly want pls lmk asap

— part 1 | part 2 (here) | part 3

The next couple of weeks were.. odd between you and Hobie.

Even after a heartfelt confession about the pressure you felt, you still had a reputation to uphold. You kept treating him the way you normally did; ignoring him and pretending he didn’t exist.

At first, this didn't really bother Hobie. He was used to chasing after you, messing with you and poking fun at the student council president. But he was getting bored. The small bits of making you late to class or taking up your time were amusing, but he wanted more of a reaction from you.

When he started interacting less and less, you grew confused. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked the attention and small interactions.

Though it was small, being late and skipping class (very rarely at this point), made you excited. It made you feel.. alive in a way.

But all that was dissipating. And you were upset about it.

You sat in your room after a long school day, mindlessly scrolling through your computer. Your parents had asked that you try and find a prom outfit, but that became boring really quick. You could never wear something truly exciting; just some fancy outfit plain coloured with fancy hair.

A knock on your window startled you from your thoughts. Glancing out, you see Hobie looking in, motioning for you to open the window. You walk over confused, deciding to open the window.

"Brown? It's.." You glance back at your alarm clock. "..10 pm. What are you doing here?"

"Awe, come on sweetheart. After such a confession, shouldn't we be on a first name basis?" He says, inviting himself into your room.

You scoff. "One, no, as you don't use my first name. And two, you can't be here! My parents are right down the hall!"

Hobie shrugged as he looked around your room, analyzing the decor. He noticed the clean desk you had, along with a neat bookshelf of many scientific books and knick-knacks. It suited you, every detail down to the way your game console sat neatly on your TV stand, not a speck of dust in sight.

"Did you show up just to judge my room?"

Hobie shook his head. "Nah, came t' ask ya somethin'." He said, sitting on your desk chair. "Up for an adventure?"

"Excuse me?" You question, taking a seat across from him on your bed. "When?"

"Now."

You know Hobie was.. absolutely crazy in some ways. But this? Going on a random adventure on a Friday night, and asking the person he wants to go with by entering their room via window was.. not the kind of crazy you would categorize him as.

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms. "You serious right now?"

"As serious as I always am." He responds with a shrug. "'s up to you. We'll be gone 'till tomorrow. Either 'u're up for a challenge or not."

A challenge he says? Hobie knew that you could be riled up from being challenged to do something. Perfectionists always had to win in his eyes.

And he was right.

"Give me five minutes."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Next thing you knew, you were on a train from your isolated little town to Brooklyn itself. Hobie blindly led you onto a train, told you to not worry about tickets, then let the train take you both to the destination in mind.

Of course Hobie remembered what you said at the tree. He had been holding onto it for a while now. He knew you wanted to go to a city, do whatever you wanted, just for a little bit. And he was going to be the one to give that to you. Why? Well, that's a question he couldn't answer for himself.

"Brooklyn?" You questioned, looking out of the train window. "Why Brooklyn?"

"You said it under the tree. Ya wanted to go to the city, no?"

You nodded slowly, looking back out the window with a small smile. Of course you were flattered that he remembered your words. At least, you were hoping he did, you practically poured your feelings out.

Once the train stopped, you both stepped out of the station to admire the tall buildings towering over you. Hobie couldn’t help but be amused at the way your eyes shined at the new scenery. He practically came here everyday.

But he couldn’t tell you that. Not without plausible answers to the inevitable questions.

“So..” You turn to look at him, eyes still bright. “What do we do?”

He shrugs, hands in his vest pockets. “Whatever ya want. ‘s ‘ur day, no?”

"But I don't know where to go. I've never been to the city before."

Hobie's eyes widened for a moment, shocked at your words. You were really so sheltered you hadn't been to the city right beside your town? The thought alone was crazy to Hobie. He never understood why adults were so.. controlling.

He sighs, walking ahead. "Follow me then. I'll show ya ‘round."

And so you did just that. You followed Hobie around the city, taking in the sights he's showing you. All around the city, passing and weaving through people, making sure you had a nice time.

There was something you noticed. Before Hobie took you somewhere, he provided you with options on where to go. He didn't force you to go one place with him. He didn't strictly follow an itinerary. He always asked what you wanted to do, giving you full control of the day.

It was.. refreshing. This sense of freedom was exactly what you needed. To feel the fresh air of the city without worrying about impressing anyone. Hobie wasn't judging you, and you certainly weren't judging yourself.

The end of the day came quicker than your liking, and the two of you were on the rooftop of an apartment complex. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings, and Hobie brought the two of you some noodles to eat (he definitely didn't steal them).

You take a bite, setting the cup down with a sigh. "Today was.. actually really nice. I don't think I ever felt that, free before, if that makes sense?"

"Don't worry, you can say it." Hobie said, nudging your arm.

You roll your eyes with a small smile. "Mm.. guess I can. Thanks, Brown."

"Y'know, you can call me 'obie, swee'heart." He responded, shrugging. "'s better than m' last name, I think."

"I can't give you that satisfaction. Not yet."

Hobie raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating smirk crossing his face. "Yet?"

You're ready to correct yourself, but the words die in your throat. You couldn't help but like the sound of "yet". It meant more time with Hobie.. and you enjoyed that. Hobie's company was something you were starting to crave. Almost like a drug.

Hobie glanced over at you. "Gotta admit, didn't expect ya t' come with me. Considerin' 'ur parents don't know ya snuck out."

“Yeah well..” You sigh, looking out onto the building with a soft smile. “Maybe I just needed something different.” You finish, looking over at Hobie.

You’re suddenly very aware of how close the two of you are to each other. Hobie’s eyes flicker; your eyes, your mouth, and back a couple times. It’s almost like.. he was asking you for something. The longer you both stared, the more tempted he became, and you honestly couldn’t blame him.

So why did you pull away?

As soon as he started leaning in, you pulled back, clearing your throat. His eyes widen before narrowing, scoffing gently. Guess he misread the situation.

You really couldn’t tell him he didn’t.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next weeks Hobie Brown didn’t show up to school.

You had a feeling you were the cause. Brushing him off like that was such a dick move on your part. You knew that. You wanted nothing more than to find him and run to him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

But you couldn’t. You had an image to maintain. A reputation. All the trust you worked so hard to accumulate would go down the drain in an instant.

Of course.. Hobie may be worth that.

Hobie to you is worth that risk. All his rule breaking and crazed adventures are just what you need in your life. Something that gives you the freedom you longed for.

But you had to go and screw it up. And now here you were, three weeks after the incident, at your locker with a guy trying to talk you up.

“C’mon, [Name], just one night! It’ll change your life!”

You groan, slamming the locker shut. “Dude, I said no. Can you stop?”

“Why? I gotta know why!” He persisted, grabbing your wrist as you tried walking away.

You yank your arm away, trying to escape. “I don’t owe you that! Let me go.”

“Not until you-”

“Hey.”

You turn at the sudden voice, shocked at who it belonged to. There stood Hobie Brown, eyes filled with anger.

“They said, let go.” He said, grabbing the guy’s arm and yanking it away. “Learn t’ take a hint, aye?”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, Brown? Their boyfriend?”

“As a matter of fac’-”

Then, Hobie turns you to him, bringing your lips to his. No warning, no asking, nothing. Just does what he’s been craving after three weeks of disappearance.

Everyone in the hallway around you two watched with shocked faces. Nobody could have seen this coming, not even you.

A thousand thoughts rushed through your head as Hobie kissed you, but one screamed to push away. So you did, giving him a shocked look before grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the scene. You drag him to a storage closet, shutting the door.

“Brown, what the hell was that?!” You immediately ask, eyes narrowed. “What, do you disappear for three weeks then kiss every person you were hanging out with? What the hell?”

Hobie sighed, leaning against a shelf behind him. “Guy needed t’ be taught a lesson. Made sure he won’t bother ya.”

“I can do that on my own!” You respond, shoving an accusing finger in his chest. “Where have you been?!”

“Thinkin’.” Is all he responds with.

You groan. “For three weeks? Shit Hobie, I..” You words fall short. You want to say it.. squeeze it out. “I.. missed you.”

Hobie’s eyes widened as he takes in your words. You.. missed him? He never would have seen this coming; a confession from the president in a dingy storage closet? Not on his bucket list.

Your eyes watch Hobie, doing that same pattern he did on the rooftop; eyes, mouth, eyes. You wanted to kiss him again.. feel those lips again on yours. No.. you needed it.

You know what? Fuck this perfect image.

You grab onto Hobie's vest, pulling him in to connect your lips. Your rough with your movements at first, closing your eyes tightly and latching onto him with a white-knuckle grip. Hobie's eyes widened for a moment before they showed a more prideful look, kissing you back with just as much emotion.

His hands find placement on your lower back, pulling you into him as the kiss escalates from one to many. Hobie was like a starved man, slotting his leg in between yours to support you, pushing you back against the shelf and knocking over some cleaning supplies.

That could be fixed later.

Your original intention of one passionate kiss to show him how you felt turned into many heated kisses. The bell for class was drowned out by how into the moment you both were.

“Fuck.. Hobie..” You whisper, diving back in for another kiss.

Hobie groaned in turn, pulling you impossibly closer. “Shit sweetheart.. can’t say m’ name like that.”

“Hmm.. why’s that..?”

“‘s gonna drive me crazy..”

Suddenly, the doorknob to the closet rattles, causing you both to pull away. Your eyes go wide as Hobie grabs it from where he stands, bringing one finger to his lips to make you stay quiet.

The person on the other side tries to open the door, but ultimately fails. They groan and mumble something before walking away. Hobie looks over at your expression, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispers, planting a kiss to your jaw. “Or are ya gonna keep pretendin’ you’re too good for it?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you take his hand. "Nah, not this time. Come on."

some ppl who wanted to be tagged (🫶): @serenn08 | @rksses | @youronlyauthor | @dotheyevenknowmars | @xoxobabe

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 5

Prompt: Acorn, Chesnut, Pinecone ( @flufftober )

Pairing: Halsin (BG3) x Gn!Druid!Reader

Warnings: None! (Not beta'd and a little rushed so I apologise)

Tags: Love confession (that I didn't write haha), but we assume it happens (I just had another idea for it and I didn't want to write another 2k on it), mutual pining

Summary: All children in Emerald Grove take part in an annual game to find 3 things within the forest. Having never played this before, and being a new member of the grove, you are ecstatic to play (despite being an adult) and challenge the arch druid himself to beat you in the game.

Word count: 1.7k

I hope you enjoy! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated 💜

A/N: Another late one... I'm trying my luck here haha.

Prev | Next | Masterlist

“But... you are an adult.” Halsin's deep voice rumbles with amusement as he looks down at you, desperately trying not to grin and failing miserably. You were looking up at his broad frame, eyes glimmering with mischievous challenge.  You never ceased to amaze the giant elf. It was no wonder he was sweet on you.

“But it’s a passing rite for all of the children of the grove,” you counter, hands on hips.

“Yes but it’s a game for children.” Halsin leans closer, gritting out the words so that the children nearby can’t hear. “it’s not a true rite-“

“Am I not a child of Silvanus?” you say loudly, giving Halsin a smug grin as some heads turn in your direction. He sighs, defeated, cracking a wide grin as he shakes his head.

“Yes, I sup-“

“Then it’s settled.” You say firmly, prodding at Halsin’s enormous chest. “I will complete the rite, as everyone else has. I’m not above taking part – am I?”

Halsin raises his hands in surrender, still smiling at you pleasantly.  By Silvanus, he was utterly smitten. You could ask for anything from him and he would give it, more than willingly. “No, you are not.”

“And neither are you.”

Halsin raises an eyebrow at you curiously. “No, I’m not.”

Your mischievious smirk  grows into a beaming, toothy grin. “Then you should take the rite with me.”

Halsin barks a laugh, which attracts more attention  from the residents of the grove.

“I’ve already completed the rite. And once again, it is a game.” He chuckles, onlookers smiling knowingly as they continue about their preparations for the upcoming event.

“You completed it over two centuries ago,” You point out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of your scheme. “And if it’s just a game... where’s the harm in playing it?”

“I’m sensing a challenge.” Halsin smirks and shakes his head, braids swaying softly in rhythm. “I’m the archdruid. I have things to do. I-“

“Please?” you cut him off again, giving  your best doe eyed look to the gentle giant before you, watching his shoulders sag in defeat.

“How can I deny you? You make an excellent point.” He says, cheeks pinkening with a little embarassment at the prospect of playing a children’s game in front of his grove. Worse yet, he was actually slightly worried about how he’d fare. You, however, are just happy he’s agreed.

“Wonderful!” You clap ypur hands together excitedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Halsin.”

Halsin watches as you make your way towards Kagha, animatedly discussing decorations and procedures for tomorrow, wondering how on earth he became so lucky to have you in the grove.

The following morning was a blur.

Decorations had been set up the night before and the children were ecstatic. Restless to begin the scavenger hunt that was a “rite” of passage to the grove. Colourful streamers hung from trees danced in the autumn breeze and smoke billowed from the fire pits that were already cooking food for the evening’s feast.

You had been trying to pry information for Kagha all night , whilst you helped her tie the streamers, about what the test would be like but she’d refused to answer.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” she chuckled. “Like the rest of the children.”

You’d omitted to tell her that Halsin would be joining the festivities. A small piece of revenge for refusing to tell you what to expect.

When the sun was at it’s highest peak shining down across the woodland near Emerald Grove, the members of the grove gathered to watch the children being the “rite”. As it turns out, the “rite” was a treasure hunt. Specifically, a treasure hunt for random foragable items in the forest that tested a young druid’s ability of recognition. There were no rules as the game – rite – was simple. Find your items and return to the grove. The children were split into pairs and handed a piece of paper with their items listed, before being sent on their way into dense forest beyond the grove.

Naturally, you were paired with Halsin. As the only two adults taking part, Halsin had spun it as watching over the children to save himself the embarassment of telling everyone he’d be taking part. Not that you hadn’t told a handful of people already why he was taking part – or that some of the elders already knew why.

You looked at your list with furrowed brows of concentration. Chestnut, pinecone, Acorn. You’d already found a pinecone and knew where the chesnut and oak trees in the forest were, so the other two were going to be an easy find. You hated to admit it but Halsin had been right.

It irked you more that he was being so pleasantly smug about it too.

“You could have told me the kids go in pairs.” You huff, trapsing through the undergrowth in the direction of a chesnut tree. The scent of damp woodland was all around you, a comforting sense of home you couldn’t escape.

“It must have slipped my mind.” Halsin said cheerily, offering you a large hand to help steady you as you clambered over a fallen log. You take it but pretend to be begrudged by it, making Halsin chuckle.

“It’s not a real challenge either, is it?” You grumble, narrowing your eyes at him. So much for your grand plan of impressing him.

“No. But I did try to warn you.”

You kick a pebble trying to hide your frustration at your plan going so unbelievably sideways. You don’t realise you haven’t let go of Halsin’s hand.

“Oh!” you gasp, tugging your hand away quickly. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

You wipe your sweaty palms on your clothes and your cheeks flush. Halsin says nothing, he only smiles adoringly, as you both make your way to a small clearing.

The sun beams filter through the trees, illuminating the clearing, bathing a chesnut tree in golden light. It looks magnificent. You stretch your arms wide before picking up a fallen chesnut, turning it in your hand to admire it. There were no marks , no worm holes. Utterly perfect. You hand it out to Halsin, who holds it between his gigantic thumb and forefinger.

“A perfect chesnut,” he comments, tucking away into a leather pouch on his belt with a smirk. “Congratulations. You only have one more left to find.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You mean we.”

“Of course. We.” He gives you another smile like butter wouldn’t melt. You’d swear up and down he was the embodiment of sunshine itself. Your eyes rake over his form with a resigned smile before you realise something.

You prod at the emblem on his chest. “Found the acorn.”

Halsin looks surprised and looks down to where you’re prodding him. The acorn emblem of Emerald Grove is engraved in his leather coverings. Halsin rumbles with laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth and you struggle to stifle a giggle.

“Ah, I suppose you have. Although, I believe the rite calls for an actual acorn.” He can’t even speak to you without cracking a smile. You swat and his large chest playfully.

“The rite didn’t say anything about that.” You point out, and then press your palm over his emblem. Halsin stiffens and watches you carefully. You didn’t seem to notice you’ve placed your hand directly over his heart, and he’s trying desperately to stop it beating so hard; he’s too worried thinking you’ll feel it.

You smirk up at him with the mischevious glimmer in your eyes he’s grown to love, hand still pressed over his heart.

“So I believe I win. Or, we win.” You chuckle sweetly, smirk morphing into a beaming grin. Halsin looks at you awestruck as the sunlight bounces off your skin, illuminating all of your beautiful features as you smile just as radiantly as the sun. His sun-kissed skin tinges pink, along with the tips of his ears, for once unsure of what to say.

“Halsin?”

He blinks down at you. You’re looking at him expectantly, but your hand hasn’t moved. He clears his throat.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, fighting the the redness that threatens to rush to his face.

“I said; do you want to head back? Try and enjoy some of the food before the kids eat it all?” you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer.

Halsin swallows thickly. “I – yes. We could.”

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

You’re both looking at eachother, daring the other to pull away or to address the tension that had been building between you for quite some time. Your fingers trace the indents of the emblem idly and you open your mouth to speak but Halsin beats you to it.

“Why did you insist I come with you?”

You take a breath, not quite sure what to say. You offer a sheepish smile and a small shrug.

“Thought it would be good for you to get away. Have some fun.” You meet his soft brown eyes with your own. “Maybe I just wanted you to myself for a little while.”

Halsin’s shoulders sag with relief, one of his large hands envelop the hand over his heart. “You don’t have to bring me out here to have my attention,” He chuckles, squeezing your hand lightly. “You never have to ask for my attention.” His eyes have a playful glimmer as he looks at you. “And you don’t have to make an elaborate ploy to get me to spend time with you.”

Your breath catches and heat rushes to your cheeks. You chuckle timidly, caught red handed.

“Well... as we’re here then.” You look about the beautiful clearing, still bathed in golden light. “Shall we sit a while?”

By the time you return to the grove, you’re both strolling hand in hand with beaming smiles and adoring, bashful glances.

Both you and Halsin blush. “I found something better.” You quip. “And I’m sure the Oak Father would be proud.”

“Did you get all over your items?” Kagha calls out to you with a knowing smile.

[homocidalpotat]

100 followers milestone!

First off, I want to thank everyone who has got me to this number! I really appreciate every one of you and I'm glad I have created a blog that not only I enjoy, but all of you can too :3

As a celebration of my 100+ beloved followers, I'm making an ask game! I will separate it into two sections- followers and mutuals. If you follow me, you can send me an ask with some of the options in the follower section. If you're a mutual of mine, you can send me an ask from both sections. You can send me as many asks as you want.

I've themed it on European forests, with followers getting object and plant themes and mutuals getting animals.

Followers

Tree bark: I will give you a compliment

Fly agaric: Just get to know me a little bit! You can ask what my favourite colour is or something, tame questions like that

Pinecone: Assign me to a disney character

Maple leaf: I will pick a sweet treat to virtually give you that I think you'd like

Chicken of the woods: I will tell you whatever I'm thinking of at the time I respond to your ask

Tree sap: Recommend a fandom for me to get stuck into

Oak leaf: I will assign a totally random, off-the-top-of-my-head historical figure to you

Moss: I will tell you something reassuring

Pine needle: Give me some constructive criticism on anything

Mutuals

Red-crested woodpecker: We can chat/shout/hc/etc about a shared interest

Great tit: I will tell you an embarrassing story

Fox: Ask me a random question about me (if I don't feel comfortable asking, you can always ask me a different question)

Rabbit: I will send you a picture of Toby or one of my rabbits (Snuggles and Peter)

Squirrel: I will give you a random fact

Song thrush: I will assign a song to you that I think you will like/will fit your vibe. This might end up as me recommending a random song from my playlist...

Roe deer: I will make you a moodboard

Barn owl: I will show you a picture of something cool in my hoarde of stuff

Badger: Play a word game with me (20 questions, word association, etc)

Hedgehog: Give me a headcanon about me

Frog: I will give you a headcanon about you

BONUS FOR MUTUALS I INTERACT WITH A LOT

Nymph: I will plan out a day spent with you! (Or longer, you can specify) (e.g. we go to the mall and then we go to KFC or something)

(Credit to @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics for the dividers)

Tagging my mutuals: @almosthumanjessi @animal-lover-forever @anglptera @anything-for-my-moony-1971 @bleep-bloop-boo @calypso10191 @chaoticgremlin-1 @cheekyboybeth (btw, thanks for helping me with setting this up, mum!) @dandelionflowery @dracosleftarsecheek @green-001 @here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can @i-eat-so-much-grass @klondyke-the-bear @legaltrashgoblin @lemmeeatacrylicpaint @littlegayduck @maryland-officially @monarchofthequeerpotatoes @mushroom-music @nanochittle @names-confuse-me (love u ducky x) @nyx-taylors-version @onceinalifetimexperiencebuttwice @osmoticneuron @potato276 @ravenwordss @saintperseus @savj2003 @schistostegapennata @sentientballofpeas @silentprincessofhyrule @someone-kill-the-ej @that-dam-heartstopper-fan @touslin @thecrazyalchemist @theetherealraphael @unstableunicornsofasgard @uhmmmmaixllezhere @yourlocalbadgerscales @2xhbergggg @26mayflowers

LINK TO MAIN INTRO POST HERE!!!!

[bruisedboys]

MAL’S 6K HOLIDAY PARTY !

this celebration is now closed. all finished blurbs can be found here

YOU ARE INVITED! to celebrate hitting 6k followers, and seeing as the holiday season is upon us, I’ll be hosting a super cool and awesome holiday celebration! there will be blurbs, moodboards, games and more. please come and join the fun (there will be lots of hot men there I promise) !! the celebration will run from dec 19th to jan 1st. below you can find the party agenda ♡

( please read the rules at the bottom of this post before sending in a request )

☆ THE GUESTLIST

( pick and choose your characters from the list below! )

───── james potter, remus lupin, sirius black

───── finnick odair, peeta mellark

───── miguel o’hara, tasm!peter parker, peter quill

───── bruce wayne (the batman)

───── bradley bradshaw, jake seresin

───── steve harrington, eddie munson

☆ THE MENU

( combine an item from the menu with a character on the list above! )

───── gingerbread house . . . send in a character from the guestlist + a dialogue prompt from this list or this list and I’ll write you a blurb!

───── candy cane . . . send in a character from the guestlist + an action prompt from this list or this list and I’ll write you a blurb!

───── hot chocolate . . . send in a character from the guestlist + an au + a prompt from one of the lists linked above, and I’ll write you a blurb! (eg. rockstar!remus, firefighter!james)

───── marshmallow . . . send in a character from the guestlist + an aesthetic, concept, trope, or colour and I’ll make a moodboard!

☆ MORE FESTIVITIES

───── ribbon. games! kiss marry kill, cym, would you rather, etc. (you can send in as many of these asks as you like!)

───── gift wrap. mutuals only! send this ask and I’ll make a moodboard to match your vibe/your blog ♡

☆ A FEW HOUSE RULES

please send no more than two requests per item on the menu. I don’t want to much of a buildup in my inbox otherwise I’ll get overwhelmed!

be considerate of my time and my efforts! although I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to fill out every request, I promise I’ll try my best! even if I don’t answer yours, please know I appreciate every request I get

no smut requests please! this is a sfw only blog, any nsfw asks will be deleted

✉️ a message from the host …

hello my angels! 6k!!!!!!! I am going to cry. thank you so so much for all the love and support, 6k feels huge! I’m really grateful I get to have my own little corner on tumblr to talk about what I like (aka silly fictional men I’m hyperfixating on) !! I’m grateful to every single one of you, and thank you especially for sticking with me even when I’m stuck in my (seemingly never ending) creative ruts, it means the world. also!! happy holidays!!! and merry christmas to everyone who celebrates. this is my little gift from me to you. have fun! x

♡ mutual tags!

@darling-im-wonderstruck @moonstruckme @ddejavvu @ghostlyfleur @venuslore @inkdrinkerworld @taintedcigs @bcyhoods @prongsio @starryeyedstories @zstrn @headkiss @thyme-in-a-bubble @earthcowgirl @sp1rit-realm @fxllfaiiry @wolvisms @spiderfunkz @rocklnds @oncasette @fitzells @louvrr @bradshawed @iovesia @amourrs @cosmal @vampieteeth @ouchvns @girlcanines

back to nav

[edennill]

If Tolkien characters had Tumblr blogs part 2:

part 1

Finduilas:

url: waitingtothewind

pfp: drawing of a fictional crush in pastel colours (babygirl fulfills her royal duty to exercise patronage over artists by comissioning reams of fanart lol)

bio: ✧˖･* princess finduilas of nargothrond :) ✧˖･* 47 ✧˖･* poetry appreciator ✧˖･* romantic at heart ✧˖･* girl of many fandoms ✧˖･* favourite animal: doggos ✧˖･* favourite food: strawberry juice ✧˖･* and if I had a voice that could make mountains melt I would walk over stars just to see how it felt ✧˖･*

title: ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

has a very pink custom theme with a fancy font. runs a fandom/aesthetic blog and stays clear of discourse. writes really good meta that is quite popular and poems that get notes in the single digits. doesn't really know how to deal with anon hate. participates in every tag game she comes across.

Maeglin:

url: keeps changing it between @molelol and @twilitdark because he likes small animals, but wants to sound edgy.

pfp: keeps changing it between a baby mole and the kind of very dark photo where you can't really see what it's supposed to be.

bio: M / not a minor

title: the dark under the trees

guards his personal info incredibly closely (a good practice, but how much of it is due to his father having been so controlling that he learned secrecy early on is up for discussion). rarely posts, mostly reblogs photos and shitposts. vaguely vents about his idril/tuor/gondolin/treason problems. when he gets into discussions with people he can be uncomfortably fierce, has sent anon hate on occasion.

Celebrimbor:

url: craftingsilver

pfp: red eight pointed star (default variation, not technically fëanorian) on yellow background

bio: older/younger than you think | look I've seen the Trees that's enough | Noldorin jewelsmith | male

title: time and soul, wrought and tempered

mostly posts and reblogs crafting tiktoks and tips, sometimes adds a dash of science, philosophy or something personal. has made a resolution to filter out any posts pertaining to his family on his dashboard and keeps to it almost till the end. shows a strong sense of humour and has gathered quite a following.

Idril:

url: celebrin-does-things

pfp: blurred photo of her with her back to the camera

bio: 500s - architect, wife and mother - everyone is welcome

title: "ammë, there's winter in my boots"

started off as a miscellaneous blog, but shifted to being mostly about Eärendil's shenanigans. she vaguely vents about maeglin/gondolin/cousin's treason sometimes, but still comes off as way more laid back than irl. hardly used her tumblr before her son was born and still treats it mostly as a place to document things he has said + a way to talk with like three treasured mutuals. the architect part in bio is mostly a ruse because she has only ever completed one or two projects but can hardly reveal she's a princess, can she? (before the fall of nargothrond if she got on tumblr it was to nag Finduilas to remove her personal info from bio hah)

@eri-pl, this is in part because you asked (a while ago, sorry), though I'm afraid I don't have much to say about all your suggestions. I prefer not to get into Sauron's headspace actually, but the idea of him having access to social media is horrifying lol. And Pharazon has all the worst characteristics of Reddit atheists, non-ironic modern white supremacists and racist trolls rolled into one with the added horror of the new unsavoury state cult. Míriel is not allowed a sim card🙁😬

also I'm just now realising I tagged a compatriot in something I wrote at 3 am so if you have time stamps on you now know my messed up sleep schedule and if you don't I've just told you lol but never mind.

[shiftingwithjaidyn]

🕸️,🍎, &🌊!

answering for my writer/fame dr

|| shifting ask game 🕸️; where will you be when you first wake up in your dr? what clothes will you be in?

very basic, i know, but i'll wake up in my room! i want to wake up somewhere where i am already comfortable in (especially since i mostly do sleep methods.). plus, i really want to wake up to my sweetheart princess of meow meow kitty kingdom mari໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა i'm personally very obsessed in anything vintage and romanticizing my life in general/in every single universe being the drama queen that i amso i'll probably be wearing those pretty vintage slip-on night gowns/dresses

🍎; what are three songs that remind you of your dr and why?

● midnight city - m83 - this song reminds me so so sooo much of l.a. (it was a close tie between lady killers II by g-eazy) and the song itself is sort if adrenaline rush was a song which i'll most likely feel the moment i first shift. ● there she goes - the la's - this song is more on how i see myself in my dr/my vibes in my dr, y'know? i've always been a fan of 2000s rom-coms and i've always wanted to be sort of a main caracter in one, so i'm always so happy and thankful whenever someone says i do have that type of personality/aura and i'd like to have it in this reality as well! ● no 1. party anthem - arctic monkeys - this song can be interpreted in numerous ways and while majority of them are a pretty sad interpretation (and i can do a whole essay on every single one but let's do that some other time), i genuinely adore this song with my whole heart and consider it as a love song about me and my dr s/o. there's a specific verse in its bridge "the look of love, the rush of blood. the "she's with me"s, the gallic shrug. the shutterbugs, the camera plus the black & white and the colour dodge." that brings me to my knees and make me go "hey that's us!". me and my dr s/o sort of have a love at first sight (the look of love, the rush of blood) friends-to-lovers trope, so obviously there's a lot of mutual pining and slow burn there, but i think it's sort of bittersweet to have those moments. not in a "oh, i want to be cheesy and corny and blah" (which you can do obviously but that is not my intention here personally), but in a "we get the chance to understand each other to a deeper level that no one else can, but there's this risk, and it's up to us if we want to take it or not.". especially with the fact that we don't act upon our feelings until much later (thought a lot of our friends already speculate || "the "she's with me"s, the gallic shrug") also connects me to this song more for this song is a representation of longing and yearning for someone who you're unsure if they like you back especially knowing everyone has their eyes on the both of you (because he's a well-known actor and i'm a well-known writer || "the camera plus the black & white and the colour dodge") (there's so much words for the last song omg i'm so sorry y'all my lover girl slipped out of her cage.)

🌊; pretend your dr has one of those filler-beach-day episodes. what’s everyone doing?

omgg this reminded me of a scene in this show i'm a part of in my dr (yellowjackets) where it does have a filler-beach-day episode (well more like scene and they were in a lake but whateverrr) anyway, going back to the question! i'm mostly close with drag queens in my dr since i've worked for rupaul's drag race (the og and all stars) for about 10 years so i can only imagine most of the queens like shea couleé, trixie mattel, katya zamolodchikova, violet chacki, jaida essence hall, plastique tiara, etc. relaxing in the corner enjoying the sun and other queens like nymphia wind, dawn, gottmik, symone, plasma, kandy muse, xunami muse, morphi, naomi smalls, bob the drag queen, monet x change, etc. probably ready to drown each other during a game of beach volleyball. (i'm so sorry if this answer's like super messy and not accurate to the question my head is so empty rn HDJKFHSKFHDSJ)

this was such a fun questionnaire session tysmmm gaiaaa!!!! <3333

[cadaverre]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ welcome ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

about me

you can call me juno or astraea

im a cancer sun, libra moon and sagittarius rising

my pronouns are they/she (and my pronoun page is here)

i'm a proud bisexual (i am very sapphic lol)

im taken (you can hear about my love via the “them tag <33")

i am a minor (i won't immediately block people 18+ but if you're creepy i will <3)

australian!! also a bunch of different places, none really interesting

this blog is for me to dump thoughts, interact with people and just have a good time :)

i play the drums and im currently in two bands! i also love playing guitar and one of my 2024 goals is to get better at playing!!

currently listening -> 🍁☕️🎸 nyc

currently reading -> the odyssey translated by emily wilson

currently watching -> doctor who and rewatching gilmore girls

things i like

i love: literature, the arts, queer culture, astronomy, feminism (no terfs allowed!!!!), fruit flavoured drinks, flared pants, converse, dark red, nail polish, eyeliner, burgundy lipgloss, tank tops, tote bags, brie (always dreaming of cheese), pinterest, spotify, my headphones, the ocean, my grandparents house (im there rn i love it), spring+winter, very specific shades of pink and green, black <3, folklore and 1989 girl, fiddling around on the guitar, fantasising about being a famous musician, finding new music, snow, picking silly little outfits,

books: osemanverse, the hunger games, books by rhiannon wilde, tim te maro's subterranean heartsick blues, all the best liars, books by octavia butler (specifically parable of the sower and parable of the talents), the last true poets of the sea, acotar, the weight of the stars, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, the picture of dorian grey, house of hollow, howls moving castle, harry potter (mainly marauders, FUCK JKR), i kissed shara wheeler, red white and royal blue, song of achilles

movies + tv shows: dont look up, little women (2019), scream (i like most of them but 1996 is my fav by far), ladybird, barbie (2023), some of the mcu (thor and guardians of the galaxy <33), spiderverse (itsv is my love), gilmore girls, stranger things, loki, heartstopper, arcane, scott pilgrim takes off, she ra

musicians/bands: boygenius, taylor swift, lovejoy, glaive, brakence, paramore, ricky jamaraz, melanie martinez, lana del rey, ashnikko, girl in red, billie eilish, doja cat, big thief, adrienne lenker, ethel cain, mitski, remi wolf, cigarettes after sex, ericdoa, tv girl, clairo, the neighbourhood, bon iver, deftones (getting into them just a little), maneskin, courtney barnett, poppy

my favourite colours are black, dark red, burgundy, denim blue, sage green, soft pink, glaucous blue, golden yellow (i love colour theory so all colours are beautiful in their own context but here are my favs to wear/see)

i really want to get into more poetry so if you have any recs lmk!!

i have recently begun practising some very simple witchcraft, so feel free to talk to me about that and i would love to learn more!!

i love learning about astrology and use my birth chart frequently

i write very, very infrequently and think of more stories than i even start to plot lmao.

i draw way more than i write and will occasionally post some!! its not good by any means but its fun ig

talk to me + dni

my asks and dms are open!! feel free to talk to me about anything and everything!! i love talking!!

i love my mutuals so much so if ur my mutual *looks you dead in your eyes* i love you

my discord is the same @ as here, i literally just got it today so idrk how it works but feel free to add me there <33 but please lmk if you do if your username is different

if we’re very close you can ask for my insta!!

i rarely follow people without an intro post/descriptive enough bio (with name, age group, pronouns) so if you want to be mutuals please have one!! if not just shoot me an ask about who you are and what you like so we can be friends <33

dni: rude, racist, homophobic, transphobic, zionist, terfs, sexist, ableist, antisemitic people

tags

#juno.txt -> ramblings, original posts

#asks -> asks ive answered

#ask bait -> hehehe send me asks <3

#tag games -> tag games ive participated in

#beautiful mutuals -> interactions with my beautiful mutuals!

#spotify -> my music obsession dw im fine fhdklfhdal

#them tag <33 -> posts that remind me of my wonderful bf <3

links + sideblogs

spotify

pinterest

@likeasugarcubeinateacup -> my notes app poetry

@slowrotburiedinthepark -> a random sideblog i post art and occasional web weaving on

@stabbingstarsthroughmyback -> my writing sideblog (ask me about my wip!!)

stunning dividers by @chachachannah :))

here is a totally beautiful and amazing moodboard by @svnflowermoon that always makes me so fhadkfhakd

last updated: jan 19th 2024

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

✍️ and 🎯 for the ask game!

✍️ If you had total creative control over a production of Cats, what would you change and why?

There's a bunch of little things, but in regards to big things, from a purely aesthetic POV, I would bring back the original Broadway style structuring of the show (mixed with the Original Vienna production), and how it interconnected with its narrative more - so this includes things like the Alonzo Shadow Dance connecting with the Demeter/Alonzo subplot etc.. I'd bring back their costuming and makeup tradition as well, as that I feel was a good example of how designs can be more "muted" from a colour palette standpoint and quick and easy to do, but not look like muddy water.

Also, I'd bring back all of the cut lyrics and stanzas - honestly make the show longer, I wish for audiences to sit in confusion and fear for as long as I demand they be there - I am a believer that CATS should be palatable as little as possible, and making it unsettling and weird again is a must. That being said, I likely wouldn't bring back G**ltiger in any significant capacity (the artistry of that number is commendable, but it has so many negative connotations associated with it, that I do not believe it should be brought back in any capacity, even if re-written), but do believe that "In Una Tepida Notte" and/or "The Ballad of Billy McCaw" should be reintroduced into the show. While I love giving Gus "The Pekes and the Pollicles", I'd like it if we could reintroduce the operetta within a musical angle.

Blocking Jemima/SIllabub and Victoria together more so that it's more evident that the two of them are mutually working towards the show's concluding revelation would add more narrative cohesion leading to the final sing and touch. While I feel in theory the two roles actually being one was a better idea from a streamline standpoint, I love Jemima/Sillabub too much to do that. So that's the compromise.

Plus another thing, I'd want all the counterparts to be on stage as well with their original designs and redesigns - so Plato and Admetus, Pouncival and Carbucketty, etc., so this would be a more rather than less cast.

Also from a purely "no one cares except for me" standpoint, I want Skimbleshanks to be blocked to hang out with his friends (see: Jenny, Jelly, Asparagus, and even Bustopher if he's kept on stage). Why is he always hanging out by himself - let him sit with his friends!/j

🎯 What's a common headcanon/theory/interpretation that you don't prescribe to?

Answered this one, but another one I don't personally subscribe to is Alonzo being siblings with Victoria and Mr. Mistoffelees (whom I don't think are siblings either).

Nothing particularly personal about it, but I already struggle with keeping B&W Alonzo at the forefront of my mind as is, and this one seems to exist mainly just because they have the same colour palette. So it stands on shaky foundation for me - plus I don't think all the cats need to be blood related to one another. It's nice to explore multiple different community and familial angles from each of the generations.

[hydeingpurples]

Introduction 🙋🏻

Hi everyone 👋🏻 I'm hydeingpurples, or Cameron.

I re/post a variety of content mainly for fun, but sometimes for awareness purposes. I re/post mostly about House MD, Tourette Syndrome, how I'm feeling, and art! It'd be nice to make some friends/mutuals on here, so please feel free to make contact 👽

Some stuff about me

Age: 23

Pronouns: he/they

Gender: transman, demiguy

Transition status: on testosterone and have had top surgery

Sexuality: asexual, demipanromantic

From: UK

Tattoos: 4

Hair colour: blue 🔵

Transition and diagnoses 🏳️‍⚧️♿

I am MORE than happy for people to ask me about my conditions (Tourette Syndrome, OCD, autism, ADHD, dyslexia) and transition. Whether it's out of curiosity, or for advice, just keep it friendly and I'll answer.

Likes/interests

Fandoms: House MD, Daredevil, Marvel, Doctor Who, Arcane - you'll find I mostly re/post House MD consent.

Special interests: House MD, Daredevil, werewolves.

Campaigning for, and talking and researching about LGBTQ+, disabled, neurodiverse, and mental health issues/rights/history - you'll find I frequently re/post Tourette Syndrome content.

Hobbies: video games, films/TV, writing, art (I'm a traditional artist), nature walks.

Musical taste: I like most genres/all over the place. Some bands/artists I like include: The Wildhearts, Lewis Capaldi, Frank Turner, Billie Eilish, Metallica, Iron Maiden, Dobbeltgjenger.

Other: cats, food, craft beer, pin badges, collecting books and not reading them.

Artwork

If you like what you see, you can find more @hydeingpurples on Instagram. I predominantly do work with fine liners, but enjoy experimenting with paint and other mediums too.

Fanfic

I haven't written as much as I'd like, but if you're interested in Daredevil fanfic, you can find me on ao3 @/cambo338

Feel free to stick around.. or don't. It's up to you 🥳

[twig-tea]

BL/QL Ask game : The Ugly, the Bad and the Worst

Thank you for the game, @clara-maybe-ontheroad! And thanks for tagging me @clara-maybe-ontheroad and @lurkingshan! I started out by saying to myself that I'm going to do my best to ignore my urges and just answer the first thing that comes to me rather than treating this like a quiz. And then I went into a fugue and worked on this for >5 hours. WHOOPS.

Original version here for anyone else who wants to play!

Also quick warning, this is asking about the worsts, so TW for mentions of horrific plot points below.

Worst soundtrack / weirdest song choice in a BL

Ohhhhh man, ok so the first thought that came to mind was Never Let Me Go, which mostly had fantastic background music, and that's maybe why when it didn't hit it stood out so badly (sorry to my man Pond, not all BL actors should be singers! And having his OST play over their kiss in Part 7 4/4 was just mean). For the record I love this show (actually maybe it should go in one of the below categories because so many tumblr folks dislike it) but this was rough.

Most cringe-inducing line (cute)

These don't tend to stick with me...there are so many, and I am allergic to sincerity so everything earnest is various levels of cringe to me. So with that in mind, basically everything Gavreel ever said in Gameboys counts.

Most cringe-inducing line (actually bad)

Anytime someone said "Once I start I won't be able to stop" or some variation.

Most stupid decision made by a character

Jun Ho deciding to die rather than bite Min Hyun in Kissable Lips. Min Hyun was offering. it would have made Jun Ho human. He could have had his friends around to make sure he didn't go too far and kill him. Instead he decides to fade away in his arms like a dick. WHY.

Special mention to NuengDiao going back to his hotel where his murderous uncle is waiting with no plan other than to walk in wearing a suit and a cocky expression in Never Let Me Go.

[@bengiyo and @wen-kexing-apologist are correct about Teh giving up his spot to Oh Aew in I Told Sunset About You as the actual correct answer, btw]

Worst plot line

Every penultimate episode crises resulting in the leads splitting up so that they can reunite in the finale that are not earned and significantly detract from my enjoyment of a series [this list is not comprehensive]: 2Gether, Minato's Laundromat S2, Enchanté, Love Class, Plus & Minus.

The most problematic show you've watched

I've seen literally all of them so this feels like an unfair question lol there are layers of problematic; like, is it even worth considering all of the problems with A Round Trip to Love, or The Shortest Distance is Round, or What the Duck s2? I wrote out summaries for these and then decided no thanks. If anyone wants to know they can DM me.

In terms of series that are problematic but not often considered problematic, I'm calling out Love Area the series. It hits two of my pet peeves: shitty treatment of a poor character by an oblivious rich love interest that directly affects their sources of income, and an ableist subplot. I think it also has an unearned separation in the penultimate episode but honestly I remember thinking they should stay split up so maybe it was earned.

A show people love but you find bad

Vice Versa. Sorry to all who love that show. I wanted to like it; the colouring and cinematography are beautiful and the alternate universe was neat worldbuilding. But the plot makes me so, so angry.

Ditto Cutie Pie the series. I just can't enjoy it.

A show people find bad but you will defend

Honestly there are several, but the one that is most disliked that I will ride hardest for is probably Secret Crush On You (which I argued ended with one of the most healthy relationships in a BL here LMAO). I get why people find this show hard to watch, the cringe is real. But the gender expression! The found family! The "he's a weirdo and that's why I love him" dynamic! The mutual lusting! The body dysphoria! The fact that both start by playing into BL tropes and it's only by throwing those out that they can actually have a meaningful relationship! The way both characters have real growth! And like yes Toh is a fanboy stalker but that is problematized in the show! It gave us the growth from fanboy to faen that Be Mine Superstar didn't. I have a lot of emotions about this show.

ALSO because I cannot stop, I will forever to my dying breath defend Color Rush. I don't care what you say about dead fish kisses I can't hear you over the incredibly powerful metaphor about the queer experience!

A show that is just objectively bad but you enjoyed it

Bahahhaha. Um. So many, my friends. OH I'm going to take this chance to shout out the lesser-known webseries Discipline Z: Vampire (Korean, YouTube, 2020). It's ostensibly a sequel to Discipline, but the only thing they share is a single character so you don't need to watch it to understand what's happening in Discipline Z (they are entirely different shows in every way; Discipline is more youth slice of life with a queer story as part of the ensemble). Listen, I'm talking about this show in this category for a reason; it's about a vampire who falls for a street dancer, whose motley crew of hacker friends help rescue the vampire from an evil corporation that wants to experiment on him to understand his immortality. It is BAD.

But. BUT! I love it. Everyone is so pretty. There is a cute hacker girlie. There is scifi nonsense to explain immortality. There is a good kiss. There are characters willing to sacrifice to do the right thing. I am a simple woman. [Fair warning to my happy ending only pals: this ending is ambiguous at best; there was supposed to be a follow-up epilogue for the couple, but it never got filmed.]

Bonus, En of Love was absolutely trash and it has a very special place in my heart. It's not good (like, at all), but it's great.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were intrigued/fascinated

Let's go with Physical Therapy the series. At some point I just kept watching like a car wreck to see how bad it could get. Also shout-out to Dinosaur Love, which was...similarly bewildering.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were horny

@lurkingshan already stole my first answer for this, but oh man I stay a Why R U apologist for the Fighter/Tutor chemistry. I actually think somewhere in there is a really interesting show, if the pandemic hadn't made it impossible for them to film the ending that they wanted to, but based on the Korean version and the parts that we were told had to be cut, maybe it would have actually made it worse. But just to get on my soapbox for half a sec, Tutor was in debt, working himself to exhaustion, and Fighter (after he got over himself) protected him at his one job, joined him to help him meet his sales targets at another, hired him for a third, paid off his debt collector to take the pressure off, and then took him on vacation to help him relax--twice. I have issues with depictions of poverty in BL but at least my man secured the bag while also pursuing love or whatever. Also he whispers "get inside me" while they're making out, sorry, Tutor will forever be a fave of mine.

Since that's taken, I'm going to use this as an excuse to shout out the hotness of My Day the Series. It was predominantly not great but the heat moments....

A bad show that you kept watching because of that one character

I'm giving this to Noey Watplu from I Will Knock You. I was obsessed with him. I want his confidence so badly. I love how he's essentially a dork in cosplay but gets away with it because of his rizz. Truly iconic. This man decided he was being seduced and said "bet". I really enjoyed this show because of him and him alone.

A bad show that you would still recommend

I'm going to put Ghost Host Ghost House here. It's "bad" in the sense that it had low production values (like, really bad, so bad the time of day changes at random because they lost the light while filming). But the romance was cute, the story around the romance was interesting, the worldbuilding around the merit credits was fascinating, the side mystery was so heartbreaking, the various characters actually had a lot of difficult emotions to portray, and overall I think this show is underrated.

I also already have and will again recommend YYY as a fun and fascinating watch to anyone who asks about it, @waitmyturtles is correct on that call.

The character that ruined a show the most

There are several annoying sides in BL, but I'm giving this to the side hets in My Oxygen. A fujoshi who records people without their consent for online clout is bad. A doctor using his role as a doctor to get closer to his patient is really bad. Pretending to be interested in his friend because the girl he likes is a fujoshi is worse; then using her brother as his friend's stand-in when his friend won't put up with it anymore is the WORST.

Most awful character that you hated

I mean, Lhong in TharnType takes it for not only arranging the gang rape of Tar, but being forgiven for it in the series. Neung in Tonhon Chonlatee comes a close second for attempting to rape Chonlatee and then claiming the moral high ground against his homophobic "friend". Tony in History 5: Love in the Future doesn't get enough hate for trying to murder someone just because he was his love rival. Namning in La Cuisine had her love rival bullied, beaten and who knows what she was going to do with that gun. Also shoutout to @wen-kexing-apologist's answer of Korn, in KinnPorsche, he was so insidiously evil, it was so well done.

Most awful character that you loved

I'm going with "awful" as not necessarily (just) morally bad but that people didn't like: Jaime from Win Jaime's Heart. Objectively he's a fuckboi of the worst calibre. He agrees to go on a webshow in which he dates Heart so that he can seduce the creator of the show Winston. And Jaime is so charming that I don't care about his bi wrongs (partially, to be fair, because the premise is ridiculous so it's hard to take too seriously).

Special mention (because it's not a series) to Wine in Red Wine in the Dark Night. I love a murder twink (speaking of, things are looking really good for me to stay in love with Ai Di from Kiseki if it keeps on this track).

If we're interpreting "awful" as characters that other people don't like, it'll probably go to Toh from Secret Crush on You or Gus in Diary of Tootsies. They're flawed, they're femme, they're fantastic.

A character that wasn't awful but that you just don't like

Can in Love By Chance and the sequels. Tinn is an asshole and knows it; Can is an asshole but is also self-righteous, but in all honesty his biggest flaw for me is that he's not competent and I have little patience for that.

A hero that should have been a villain

Tempted to give this to Ko from Love Poison for essentially trying to love spell date rape his love interest--this is only not that bad because magic isn't real so of course it doesn't do anything.

Possibly Athit (Boun's character) from Even Sun? I put a question mark there because this was so convoluted and hard to follow I'm not even 100% sure I remember it right, but from what I remember, this was not a romantic story at all.

Taking a totally different approach to the question, Joke from Hidden Agenda should have been a secret villain (in the sense that he should have been scheming and sociopathic but hiding it, ineffectually, from Zo) in order to make the series make sense, but apparently I can't have nice things.

And finally, special mention to Phu in The Promise for being the villain for so many of us already.

A morally bad character you're into

Zhu Zi Shu, canon war criminal and child murderer from Word of Honor. He thought he was doing bad things for good reasons (protecting the people he loves), realized he was just doing bad things and the people he loves were all dead anyway, and crafted a convoluted plot to get out of the secret society rules that he created to prevent anyone from leaving. And then he wanders aimless until he meets Wen Ke Xing and becomes as loyal to this equally morally dubious man as he was to his secret society. I love him (and them) so much.

Same type of deal, different scale of crime: Akk from The Eclipse. I have a soft spot for this trope.

A morally bad character you're not into and you wish people would stop being into

Xue Yang from The Untamed. Also a mass murderer, but doing it just for the vibes/to avenge his finger, so he gets zero love from me. People woobify him just because he's sassy it's...rough.

The show that disappointed you the most

From hype to execution? So Much in Love / Ni Yam Ruk. I slogged through such awful subs TWICE (because they claimed they redid them, but they are still terrible) to try to give this show a chance, because the premise sounded right up my alley. I still think there's a show in there that I would have liked, but it is literally unwatchable.

Most disappointed from what the show seemed like it was doing at the start to what it delivered in full is a tie between The Shipper and Step By Step.

The Worst Show of Them All Because of Your Own Reasons

That's My Candy. I've only ever dropped/not finished I think 3 or so shows? And this was the most painful and the one I am least likely to ever finish. The pairing was overplayed, the comedy was heavy handed, and the plot was absolutely cringe inducing. It was literally torture trying to watch this.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading!

Tagging @visualtaehyun @nothingsbetterthancoffee @lurkingteapot @snidgetwrites @formayhem @slayerkitty @respectthepetty @ginnymoonbeam no pressure as always! And if you play and I didn't tag you but you're reading this, tag me anyway! I love reading everyone's answers.

[polaroidcats]

Florist au + flirting under fire for wolfstar please! ;)

ohhhh okay I love this!! so I had to look up what flirting under fire meant haha I'm sorry if I got this wrong, I took some liberties I hope this still counts!! It's very silly (but what else did u expect from me hehe):

It's a muggle AU, they're both working in a flowershop and I'm going to throw in another trope here and say it's coworkers to lovers, lots of mutual pining and timid flirting that gets bolder as the time goes on. Both are now preeeetty sure the other one is flirting back and likes them back but they have not confessed their feelings yet. Until one day there is a mix-up with a flower delivery and a very angry Karen comes into their store and starts screaming bc SHE ORDERED LILAC FLOWERS AND SHE GOT PURPLE ONES HOW CAN YOU BE SO STUPID GOD NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING AROUND HERE Come here Sirius! Watch out, you have some dirt in your hair wait let me remove it for you SERIOUSLY DOES ANYONE EVEN WORK HERE WHERE ARE YOU HIDING *Why is his hand still in my hair and also what is this weird background noise coming from the front room?* HELLOOO I AM YOUR CUSTOMER I DEMAND A FULL REFUND AND COMPENSATION FOR THE FLOWER DELIVERY NOW!!! I WILL FILE A COMPLAINT IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME THE REFUND Did I ever tell you how perfect your eyes are? Uhm I mean.. just because.. there's not a single flower I know that has the same colour as your eyes is what I mean... They're so unique not even nature could replicate that colour... uhm I mean.. I don't know... that was stupid... anyways sorry please forget what I said... we should probably go talk to that customer, she sounds kinda angry ... I WANT TO SPEAK TO A MANAGER NOW!!!!!! WHY IS NO ONE ANSWERING ME NO WONDER NOTHING WORKS HERE IF THE EMPLOYEES JUST DISAPPEAR!!! WHERE IS THE MANAGER?? *Karen screeches and the sound of a potted plant hitting the floor* Your eyes are beautiful too Moony, they're the perfect colour, just like honey, and so warm and lovely, just like you are.

fanfic trope mash-up ask game

[habibialkaysani]

trope selection tag game

saw @laufire doing this and thought it looked fun :)

enemies to lovers or friends to lovers - ofc as a kathony fan I go with enemies to lovers, but I am 1000% a fan of friends to lovers when it's done right. there is just something so *chef's kiss* about both of these tropes tho and the switch that happens, that change in how two people see each other, that I legit can't get enough of <3

coffee shop au or flower shop au - I read the most amaaaazing westallen coffee shop au forever ago: gold, when you find me by @mmtions where barry is a coffee shop owner on the side when he's not the flash, and iris is a journalist who writes bad comics lol. I am partial to flower shop aus tho, @newtonsheffield's kathony florist au is excellent.

hurt/comfort or there was only one bed - I fucking love angst and hurt/comfort just hits all the right spots for me... the vulnerability??? bonus points if there's some whump???

found family or partners in crime - found family for the WIN! mostly because it reflects a lot of what I've experienced irl which is nice.

canon compliant or canon divergent - I love both tbh, but for writing, I tend to write canon compliant or canon fix-its that don't have enough impact on canon to be considered canon divergent (like this kathony one where kate and anthony weren't interrupted by newton)

domesticity or pwp - I write enough of it that it's kind of a given lol. I guess bonus points if it's pwp domesticity tho!

fluff or angst with a happy ending - I love angst with a happy ending bc it's like... you kinda had to work for it, if you get what I mean? whereas pure fluff, it depends.

1st person pov or 3rd person pov - I love 1st person in original fiction but I must admit I have yet to find an example where I don't find it jarring in fic. /@laufire

soulmates or forbidden love - I adore soulmates - whether soulmarks, soulmate aus where the world becomes in colour when you meet your soulmate, etc. esp when writers get really invested in the lore of the soulmate thing like this one and this one by antematter and then characters become emotionally constipated over not thinking they've found their soulmate or being stupid about it. so good.

roommates or fake dating - fake dating can be fun. Especially if it's for undercover shenanigans. /@laufire

slow burn or meet-cute - the slow burn is the BEST because the YEARNING and ANGST that comes with it. I love a good meet cute too, and as you can tell I'm a huge fan of tropes generally, but the slow burn becomes interesting as to what's stopping them from getting together - whether because they're enemies, or friends, or there's something forbidden about their love.

love triangle or polyamorous relationship - I love love LOVE love triangles! they get a bad rep in media but they are messy af and I just have way too much fun with them. I love a good polyam relationship tho.

royalty au or magic au - I have enjoyed a couple of royalty aus immensely - this bodyguard!anthony and princess!kate fic by @newtonsheffield (you can tell I'm a fan lol) and this one with queen kathani by @writtenbygracewilliams is bloody amazing.

high school/college au or neighbours au - I don't have a huge preference for either? but I did read a lovely neighbours au by @newtonsheffield where kate goes to anthony's flat to ask him to zip up her dress that makes me enjoy that one a lot more.

mutual pining or idiots to lovers - I fucking LOVE both of these tropes! esp when it involves two ladies bc that means double the useless lesbians :D but also I have a soft spot for dumbasses in love esp when it's mutual pining and they both think it's unrequited. that stuff is the BEST.

tagging: @ihaveastorminme @laurelwinchester @sophiainspace and anyone else who wants to do this!

[malarkgirlypop]

ZIM ZAM!!! 1, 25 and 27 for the ask game please?? <3 love you so much

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

Well I just love all the creativity from everyone, how are you all so talented may you share with me that would be great thanks. Also we are somehow so similar but then all so different. I don't think I have connected so well with a group of strangers from all over the world. And now we are all so close and it makes me so happy! I get to share some of my fondest interest with people I now am most fond of!

25 - what colors do your mutuals most remind you of?

OMG ok here we go!

@panzershrike-pretz I would go for a red or yellow, just something bright and eye catching. You have such a firey and fun personality! You just light up any room you walk into, or chat you slide into ahaha. I get so excited, maybe sometimes concerned when I see you typing in chat, half the time I have no idea what is going to come out of your mouth but it is entertaining none the less.

@next-autopsy I see you as a deep sea blue! Just something really comforting about you, you could rock me to sleep in your waves, but then also kinda scary at the same time. From the conversation we had about maybe doing some mutilating ahahah. But you are such a momma bear and you have so much love to give, as big as the ocean!

@footprintsinthesxnd I see you as a light green, like a sage green, you just feel so safe and secure. I know when I talk to you all I will get is just love and positivity. You are so kind and sweet, we don't deserve you! Something about you is so wholesome and green is my happy colour, I feel safe in green, reminds me of nature and calmness. You remind me of birds chirping on a warm summer evening.

@sweetxvanixlla why I see you as a light purple, maybe periwinkle, idk why. You are soft and sweet, but vibrant at the same time! You are so funny and you have the best chats! You always have the kindest things to say, and you're so supportive omg! You're tags when you say things like Kate is the best makes me blush so hard. I just love you are purple. It is a strong colour, like you.

@xxluckystrike midnight Blu hehe get it! No you are the best Blu! Also we have had a lot of chats about music and I just connect you with my sad playlist cause I shared it with you ahahah you asked me how often I cried and I said what?! not that much, but I just couldn't stop talking to you that whole day! And then you said you had to leave and then we kept talking omg! You're so fun and we had very interesting conversations! Anyway that was totally off topic, you are blu to me.

@whollyjoly my oh my you my friend are pink! So bold and vibrant I just can't help but stare. You are always so positive, you come into the group and have amazing ice breaker questions for us, you started a whole cult. You are just fantastic, I love you! But then also I think of flowers when I think of you cause fucking More has a flower crown on in your pfp and it cracks me up every time.

27- what's your fav moment during your time in the fandom?

What a hard question. because what hasn't been my fav moment. I think starting off having all the little chats in the comments with people, and then the random conversations I was having with my mutuals in the shitty dm's that is on tumblr. And then @footprintsinthesxnd deciding to do a discord and then a whole fucking server came from it. Now everyday I wake up so excited to read everything and just get stuck in. We have writing sprint races, morning prayer, torture groups, like what don't we have, memes, Pretz in my walls, being woken up with pots and pans!