#fascinated and aggravated because damn boy leave me alone

[love-too]

I honestly don't understand how allos can be stuck on a crush for so much time, even after rejection and even after they saw that it's never going to work. I'm fascinated by the mental process behind the choice

[enviedear]

the empty feeling → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which malfoy is consoled by a girl who can’t help but fall for him.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 2.1k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you thought the reason your heart never fully recovered was because of the fact you had to see him everyday.

every single day you saw him. he was laughing, bickering, looking out a window, eating, reading, and in conversations. you couldn’t help but watch. you tried not to. you tried to make the love you had for him diminish. or maybe at least dull. it wouldn’t work.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with draco malfoy. however you did. your heart overruled your brain. at least when it came to him.

you think back to the day you knew you loved the slytherin boy. it was a foggy and rainy day that truly began at a slug club meeting.

“dreadful weather we’re having right, miss y/l/n?” slughorn asks you.

the rest of the slug club stares at you as you respond, “i quite like the rain. i get the best sleep when it rains.”

he nods and replies,”ah, just like your father. i remember he loved to listen the rain when he was your age. does he still listen? to the the rain, my dear?”

you didn’t want to talk about your father. not that you didn’t love the man, but you knew there wasn’t much you could indulge. he kept his work close to him and never really told you much. you knew slughorn would eventually lead the conversation to your fathers work.

“sometimes professor. he’s usually busy these days though.” you say, looking down at your ice cream.

busy because of people like zabini and crabbe’s parents. as you looked back up at slughorn you didn’t miss the sly look blaise gave you. you quickly turned your attention back to the professor.

“ah! i wouldn’t expect him not to be. amazing work your father does, making such simple objects into wands. you know my dear, i heard he turned a rusty old spoon into a very powerful wand!” slughorn boasts for you.

you smile as a response and allow the teacher to spark conversation with the other club members.

what slughorn forgets to add is that the wands your father has begun to produce are being used by many deatheater families. since the wands cannot be tracked, and are easy to pass off as illegitimate objects. they buy them for their children and it’s not as if your father or the ministry can do much about it.

plus, your father shouldn’t have to loose his job just because others take advantage of him. and even if he did make the damn things trackable that would be putting a target on his back.

as you mull over your thoughts slughorn stands and bids you all a goodnight. you politely tell the man night, and walk out of the room. you were going to head to the hufflepuff common room, but as you passed moaning myrtle’s bathroom you stopped in your tracks.

you heard crying. and the cries weren’t myrtle’s usual wails, but a boy’s. on further inspection you found that they also weren’t just any boys cries but, malfoy’s.

you slowly creeped into the abandoned bathroom, making sure to not alert malfoy that you were there.

he sat by the sinks and looked utterly distressed. his eyes a deep red. he looked completely broken. you’d never seen the boy like this. and it broke your own heart.

against your better judgement you cleared your throat to make yourself known.

he looked up at you, defeated.

you didn’t say anything as you bent down and gave the boy a hug. he didn’t say anything as he hugged you back. he just let his tears escape onto your shirt.

eventually he let you go. you didn’t have the slightest clue what to say. nothing seemed right.

“don’t tell a soul about this.” malfoy grimaced, getting to his feet.

you looked at him shocked, “i wasn’t. i-“ he cut you off with a scowl.

“draco you have to trust me. please i won’t say anything just.. take care of yourself.” you said.

he didn’t reply. he just walked out. leaving you confused.

after that day you couldn’t see draco malfoy as a nuisance. no, after that day you couldn’t help but to romanticize the boy. you didn’t think he bullied because he was hateful. no not at all. you thought he did it because he was lonely, sad, or upset. you found his worst qualities easy forgivable. you knew he was broken. but you also knew it wasn’t an excuse, you just couldn’t help it.

so you continued to watch him daily. eyeing him as much as you could. you began to love the way his face would turn into a sneer at the slighted inconvenience. you loved the way he held his cup. you loved the way he looked over his books. and for some reason you began hoping. hoping that maybe one day he would eye you too.

alas, the boy went and broke your heart by dating pansy. you knew it wasn’t done to be malicious. you knew he didn’t know about your feelings. you knew he was probably very happy with pansy and she with him.

though, you’d still find the boy in the bathroom on a regular basis and have to console him. each time you’d think he’d come around. each time he did not.

you kept hoping though. it proved you detrimental as you went from being a happy and loving person to someone who harbored far too much loathing. you couldn’t help it, you felt so cheated. how could you love and care for this boy and he not even say a word to you?

your friends noticed your behavior.

“y/n you’re taking out whatever is upsetting you on us. and you won’t even tell us what’s wrong.”

then your teachers.

“miss y/l/n your grades are slipping. and you’re not acting like yourself at all. is everything ok?”

then your sibling(s).

“i didn’t do anything to you, stop treating me like this y/n.”

and finally your parent(s).

“honey, are you sure everything is alright at school? you don’t have to go back if something is seriously wrong.”

you were better than before. you were finally home. you didn’t have to see the boy anymore. you didn’t have to be reminded of him every waking moment.

but still, you weren’t you.

you never told any of the people worried about you why exactly you weren’t ok. you hated the thought of being this upset over a boy you genuinely barely knew.

and even though you told yourself repeatedly that you in fact did not know malfoy, your heart proclaimed otherwise.

when you returned to school, this time in your sixth year, you decided that you needed to avoid the problem.

so you did. you ate breakfast and dinner without looking up from your food. you paid far too much attention in class. you never went to hogsmeade. you isolated yourself.

and it worked, more than less. you only caught a glimpse of malfoy a handful of times. each time less painful.

by november you began to forget about your weird fascination with malfoy. but when you received news that he and pansy had broken up your heart fluttered just like it would have a few months ago.

but still, finally you felt more like yourself. you began talking to your friends more. you went on a couple of dates. started helping out first years. everything was falling into place.

you tried to ignore the off feeling of emptiness that still lingered in you.

it’s january when you bump into him, on your way to the astronomy tower to meet your friends.

“sorry.” you say, continuing on your path.

“wait, come here, y/l/n.” he says, causing you to double back.

you turn to face him not even slightly happy that you’re allowing this exchange.

“i- well, i wanted to thank you for never telling anyone about last year. i’m sorry i was so brash to you,” he pauses. “that’s all.” he says.

you look at him stunned. it took him a year to apologize. although you knew he had no idea the amount of internal struggle he has caused you, you feel your blood boil.

“i’m glad you spent an entire year gaining the courage to apologize for your behavior. however, i don’t accept your apology. you’re such a coward, malfoy. i mean, you’re afraid that people would find out i consoled you. as if it’s even a big deal. just leave me alone.” you seethe.

whole-heartedly you couldn’t help your outburst. the boy just aggravated you. how could he apologize now?

“i’m sorry i didn’t apologize sooner, but if i were you i’d take the apology i was given.” he glares at you.

“or what malfoy? what could you possibly do?” you ask.

“i never said i’d do anything! i just suggested you take the apology. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner, okay? you just looked so put off all the bloody time. i didn’t want to bother you.” he groans.

now your ears were hot and eyes stone cold.

“put off?” you spluttered, “it’s your fucking fault i looked so put off. you worried me to no end. i never knew if you were ok! and although i know it’s not my business it still hurt. i was so upset for you. and then you wouldn’t say a word to me. and then you dated parkinson. and-“ you stop yourself.

“you just apologized too late, alright.”

he looks at you bewildered, “i’m sorry i feel like i’m missing something.”

you roll your eyes, “i loved you draco. i don’t know why but i did. i wanted to make sure you were ok. everytime you needed me i was there. i never even asked for anything in return, not even human decency. but i shouldn’t have had to ask for that. you should have been nice to me. i was beyond nice to you.”

he furrows his brows,“i am truly sorry, y/n. i didn’t know. i was being selfish and i can admit i used you for your kindness. but if you’d give me the chance i’d be good to you. good for you. i- i never meant to hurt you.”

your cold gaze didn’t leave, “i don’t believe you.”

he sighs, “come here.”

he holds his hand out to you and you take it cautiously.

he leads you into the place where it all started, myrtle’s bathroom. he begins pulling a book out from his bag, and then he hands it to you.

“just look it over.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

you open the book and are immediately greeted by drawings. illustrations littering the pages, and they’re all of you.

you turn to one page, it’s a drawing of you outside studying. underneath the picture sat draco’s neat writing.

she came to calm me down today. fourth time this week. she still hasn’t told anyone. that means a lot to me. i again didn’t tell her why i was upset. it seems stupid to tell her about my problems. she’s too pure for them. i’d never want to upset her. i think i love her. i don’t know how. i barely even talk to her. but her hugs are nice. and she’s always so kind. i just wish i knew how to tell her what’s going on. i wish i wasn’t so scared of her rejection. it’s all too much. at least i have this. all of these pictures of her. now i cant forget her even if i tried. but of course, i’d never want to forget her.

you look up from the page. you cant help the few tears that escape your eyes.

“you loved me? the whole time? and you didn’t tell me?” you ask.

he bites his lip, “you didn’t tell me either. plus i knew i was a prat. i didn’t think you’d even want to be loved by someone like me.”

you huff out a pained breath, “draco i have loved you since the day you allowed me to comfort you. i wanted nothing more than to help you and to make sure you were ok.”

he doesn’t say anything, instead he envelops you in a tight hug. the embrace eases your worry and soothes the empty part of you. the two of you continue to hold eachother for minutes on end, and by the time you pull away you know draco meant every single word.

“please never stop caring.” he tells you.

“never.” you agree.

and you mean it. you can’t stop the way your heart beats for the blonde boy, and you didn’t want to. you love him. almost as if you needed to.

[nyxyooni]

Wishes Sometimes Come True

Izuku was kept in a cage made of wood and brick in order to be kept safe, the only time his mind wondered beyond those black gates was when he lost himself in books or songs.

He only has on best friend and Kaachan in mode enough for him.

Izuku's only wish is to sing for the whole world, and Katsuki is going to make sure it happens.

---------

“Kaachan- do you ever think I’ll be able to sing for the whole world?” The young four-year-old shouldn't be asking such heavy questions, be he was only older by a year anyway. 

Katsuki looked at his friend, the green haired boy was staring at the white lily in his hand with a look of longing, he looked like an angel in the field of Lily’s of the valley. So soft and pliant, it made Katsuki mad with how tired Izuku looked. The blond snorted, “if you think you’ll become the number one singer! Then you’re wrong! Because that’s gonna be me!” 

Izuku looked up from his flower, a big bright smile on his face, freckles moving with the bright show of teeth. “I know! And I’ll cheer for you!” Dummy, that’s not what you're supposed to say! You’re supposed to tell you’ll beat me to the top. 

But no matter how much Katsuki wished for Izuku to jump up and tell him he’ll beat him, it was nothing but that. A wish. And sometimes they don’t come true.

If Izuku won’t jump up and tell him he’ll beat Katsuki, then he’ll wish for the same thing Izuku wishes for. To able to sing for the whole world. Katsuki will make sure it comes true- for his friend.

-

“When will you ever leave this place?” Katsuki was in sixth grade and made friends with a boy named Kirishima, he’s loud and obnoxious but Katsuki can bear with it. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?” 

Izuku is in the fifth grade- or at least that’s what Katsuki wants to believe. He doesn’t want to admit that his best friend is stuck in his house and bound to never leave outside the perimeter of the big black gates surrounding his home. His damn mother is so set on keeping him safe that she won’t even let her own son leave the house, not even to go to fucking school. 

The green-eyed boy looked down at the book in his hands, Sign of The Beaver, a great read. A small sigh escaped the boy’s mouth, “I don’t get sick of it. Because there’s always a new world to get lost in-” he held up the book, a soft smile on his delicate face, “-I can’t get sick of a new adventure.” Izuku didn’t even acknowledge Katsuki’s first question. If he were with someone else the blonde would’ve nagged until he got an answer, but he knew better. Knew Izuku better. 

Deciding to indulge the emerald-eyed boy some, Katuki spoke up again, “I made a friend, Deku.” Izuku looked up from his book to stare at the blond with stars in his eyes. “His name is Kirishima and he’s annoying as hell! But bad company is better than no company, I guess.” 

“I’m happy that you made a friend Kaachan! The only other person I talk to is the cook's daughter Uraraka, she’s really nice and super happy most of the time,” Katsuki didn’t know that they had gotten a new- and daughter? Wait- that name sounded familiar. 

Katsuki thought back to his class, but all he could remember was a round face. Oh, that’s right! That girl who always talked with the girl with the frog backpack, the only thing that stuck to Katsuki was the round face and pink cheeks. It wasn't surprising how Katsuki barley even knew the names of his classmates, as he only kept in his mind what he thought were useful or important. 

 “At least I won’t have to worry about you being alone all the time.” Katsuki meant it, sometimes he worries that Izuku will go insane without someone to talk to. Whenever he wasn’t enraptured with a book he was usually talking about anything and everything.

“Kaachan! You know I don't really mind being alone,” It was a lie and Izuku knew it, the green haired boy loved it when he was in the company of someone else. A conversation was like a sun for a flower to Izuku, and physical touch like water for its roots. And even though the only thing that Katsuki could give Izuku were small slaps and soft punches. He knew that was enough for the smaller one,

How frustrating.

-

Kirishima was nagging him again. And he was this close to punching all his fucking teeth out. “Could you fucking stop it! Some of us are actually trying to fucking eat.” They were eating outside since Katsuki wasn’t very fond of the loud cramped space that was their school cafeteria. 

“I won’t stop ‘til you sing somethin’! Come on Bakugou, you know you’re good, so stop being such a little bitch about it!” Oh, how close was Katsuki to just killing Kirishima! But he held back, for his friend's sake. For Izuku. 

Without saying anything Katsukie cleared his throat, here goes nothing. “They lit the fires under our feet, chased us into the hills, oh.” Katsuki started the song of slow and mellow, much like how Izuku did. “They let the wolves off of the leash, shoulda finished the kill...,” there was something about Katsuki singing the lyrics that felt wrong, and even though his slightly deeper voice made it sound smoother. It wasn’t anything compared to Izuku’s.

The younger’s voice was higher in pitch but made it work with how light and peaceful he sounded. Katsuki’s mother had always complimented them whenever they sang together. She said they sounded balanced and serene. And Katsuki ate it up because Izuku smiled so damn brightly and beautifully whenever he heard that. And Katsuki’s mother knew that. That didn’t mean she was lying.

“We've got ashes on our shoes,” Katsuki couldn’t hear himself sing, all he was able to hear was Izuku's clear voice ring through his ears, “And an outcast attitude, we're all immune cos you know the truth is viral,” he found the lyrics ironic. Izuku couldn’t be more of an outcast. And yet Katsuki felt so uneasy when he was away from Izuku even though he was by far more integrated into society.

 Kirishima was looking at him with wide eyes and there was a look of wonder in his eyes, “I don’t think there’s someone better than you!” And even though Katsuki should be flattered, proud. He wasn’t though, the blonde felt anger and aggravated with that no one but the people who step foot in that treacherous house knew about Izuku. 

Katsuki has had enough! “Look at me fuck wad! And play close fucking attention or I’ll slam your skull unto the ground,” Kirishima didn’t even flinch at the threat, but he did, however, focus on Katsuki. “Now, I want you to listen, and to listen good!” The blonde’s friend furrowed his eyebrows, what the hell was Bakugou doing? But before Kirishima could ask, Katsuki was playing a video from the phone he pulled out of his backpack. 

The was some rustling from the person taking the video, most likely Bakuguo. Then a boy came into view of the camera, he was small and had green hair along with bright but tired green eyes. He had a hoodie on, it was a little too big on him but he looked comfortable. He looked nervous while he fidgeted with the sleeves of the hoodie and looked between the camera and the person filming. “Kaachan! I don’t think I can do this! It’s so embarrassing!” The boy’s freckled cheeks flushed before he hid behind his hands. “Stop recording! Kaachan! Please, Kaachan!” Kaachan? When had Kirishima heard anyone call Bakuguo, Kaachan? 

“Come on Deku, I’m going to start the music and you better sing!” The freckled boy- or Deku- panicked a little before he calmed down. Suddenly a very pop-punky tune played, it didn’t sound bad, but for Katsuki it was too nice. “Just shut up and watch dickhead,” Katsuki muttered when he caught sight of Kirishima’s raised eyebrow look. 

Before Kirishima could say anything, the boy in the video started to sing. “I was raised by a mom, who told me I should never listen to another voice,” the voice was soft and alluring, “But my own, now I've grown up, now I know,” there was truth in the boy’s voice. Like if his mother had told him that exact same thing. “That when I'm tryna be myself it isn't so simple, anymore..,” something about the way the boy sang with so much passion and even though his voice should’ve strained. It didn’t. It just kept it’s light feeling in the air, sometimes lowering in pitch, but not drastically, but just enough. “I'm a little O.D.D,” Deku’s voice raised in pitch, it was pointed and fit so well, “Most people really don't get me,” there was real emotion with how his voice cracked ever so softly. “I'm the boy in the back of the class, blank stare, don't care, don't ask,” for the first time the clear voice muffled a little, like if he were muttering, “I'm a little O.D.D,” this time the words were sharper. “And I see the way they look at me,” the boy had his head to the side, he was finally getting into the song. “I can hear it when they talk that trash,” Deku’s voice turned sharper and stronger, but airy and light, Kirishima was fascinated. “Saying "Any minute he gon' crack",” The enraptured boy down almost taste the disdain from the clear voice.

Wow.

-

It's not hard to notice when Izuku is feeling down, his smiles are wobbly and he stares out into space a lot something happened with his mom Katsuki concluded. They don't fight often, but when they do it must've been over Izuku going outside, and it makes Katsuki mad thinking about Inko stopping her own son to live to the fullest, there wasn't any real reason to lock the boy up. She always says the same thing, "I just don't want my baby to hurt!" she must not realize how sad Izuku is.

And even though she keeps her son trapped, no one can will themselves to hate her, not Katsuki's mother, not the people who work there, not Katsuki himself and not even Izuku.

"Did you ask her if you could leave again?" Katsuki's voice was the softest it has ever been, like whenever he talk's to Izuku about leaving. "What did she say?" He knew.

"That it's dangerous out there, that I'm going to hurt myself if I ever leave." Izuku's lips were quivering, the words stung every time his mother said them to him, and they made Katsuki light up with rage every time he heard them from Izuku. "It's like she thinks- know's that I'm weak." There were tears running down the boys freckled cheeks, big and fat. Like crystals. They just fell and fell without any sign of stopping.

It wasn't often when Katsuki showed physical affection to anyone, but whenever Izuku cried like that. With his shoulders hunched and shaking with sobs, his hands clenched on the shirt he was wearing and bent over the air like that his first instinct is to go over to the smaller boy and hug him. Bring the curly haired boy gently into his chest and hold him close while he sobbed and sobbed, he didn't care that his shirt was getting wet, he didn't care when he heard the door softly click shut and he didn't care when he felt a tear of his own slip down his cheek.

All of that didn't matter because Izuku was hurting, he was hurting so fucking much and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't sneak him out, he's tried, he couldn't make his mother change her mind, they've all tried.

So the only thing he can do now is hold him close and tight, assuring him that he's not alone.

----------

Next>>

ao3    

Songs used in the fic in order (Au/Ra- Outsiders, Hey Violet- O.D.D)

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Chapter 17: Father’s Day

Story: It’s Not My Fault

Pairing: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak

Located on Archive of our own

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

Title - "Father's Day" by Frank Turner

Warning: Use of homophobic slurs

“We need to talk.” His father said sternly.

“Wentworth," Richie sighed deeply. "I really don’t care what you want to talk about with me right now.”

“Look at me, young man.”

He crossed his arms, thinking he would ignore the request and go to bed. After their conversation, he certainly wished he had.

Richie turned around as annoyingly slow as he could. His father was holding up a small piece of paper. Richie squinted his eyes, even with his strong prescription, seeing was not his forte. He walked toward him slowly then froze. His throat dried up and his stomach felt like it was going to extricate the burger he ate that afternoon. The best meal of his life because he was holding Eddie’s hand the whole time was about to betray him.

Because in his father’s hand was not just a piece of paper.

It was a photo.

A photo of him and Eddie kissing as if no one else in the world was there.

Art by @slashpalooza

Richie was usually a pacer when horrible situations happened. He already fidgets constantly and moving helps him calm down. At this moment, he needed to do the opposite and sit because his knees were about to give out from shock. He thought he was careful hiding the photo under his mattress, knowing his parents never went into his room.

Wait a minute, why did he go into my fucking room?

“That photo has nothing to do with you.” Richie said in a shaky voice. His heart was pounding roughly against his chest.

“Sit down, Richard.”

“This is a total invasion of my fucking privacy.” Richie’s voice did not even sound like him. It was angry but most of all, terrified.

“This is my house you selfish shit. Sit down.” He repeated.

Richie’s legs moved automatically toward the empty armchair in the living room. Sitting far away from his father felt better even if he was obeying him. “What are you planning to do with the picture?” Richie said through gritted teeth.

“Nothing, if you shut up for once and do what I tell you.” Their eyes met with matching expressions of hatred. Wentworth put the photo in his pocket. “Here’s what is going to happen. You will break up with this boy.”

“I love him.” Richie replied immediately.

“You what?” His father sneered.

“I. LOVE. HIM.” Richie accented every syllable as if he could slam the words into his father’s brain through speech.

“You don’t know what love is Richard.”

“I’m not you. So yeah, I fucking do.”

“Enough!” Wentworth jabbed his finger toward Richie as his voice became deadly quiet. “You listen to me boy. I will not have any of this disgusting business under my roof. You are ungrateful and have no idea the embarrassment you bring upon this family. We didn’t raise you this way.” It was all words Richie had heard before. Listening to his father’s disappointment was similar to a CD stuck on repeat, persistently aggravating you until the player is turned off.

“You didn’t really bother raising me actually.” Richie said lazily.

“Do you think this is funny? Are you trying to ruin this family?”

“You do that all on your own.”

“How dare…”

“No! It’s my turn to talk.” Richie stood up and turned off any filter he had ever taught himself. This was the speech he always desired to speak but never did. He hesitated thinking about how Eddie would feel if he could see him now, but then pushed that down. “You say I never shut up. Well, here’s a Richie tirade for you, FATHER...”

“...You leave us for 3 weeks over winter break without any explanation, just completely disappear. You know who held us together? It wasn’t me. It was Eddie. He came by every day to make sure Mom and I were eating, bathing, cleaning the damn house, simple life stuff. Because I could barely handle Mom being drunk everyday. Now, she’s trying to get better for me she says. And what are you doing to help this family? Planning to leave her, which she doesn’t even KNOW, and telling me that I can’t be with the one person who brings me any kind of happiness in life. Why are you the world's BIGGEST JACKASS?!” Richie knew his face was on fire. He had never yelled so much and for so long before. 

I can barely breathe. Why can’t I breathe right? Is this what a panic attack feels like? I need Eddie to tell me.

Wentworth stared at Richie with harsh contempt. He seemed speechless, completely unable to defend himself. He brought back his only ammunition, threats. “End whatever this is or there will be consequences.”

A nasty laugh ripped through Richie. The kind of bitter laugh that didn’t reach your eyes and had no trace of mirth. “You think you can threaten me? I’m not scared of you. You are weak and pathetic. There is nothing you can do to me that will get me to break up with Eddie. He’s more important to me than anyone, or anything, or even my own life. Do your fucking worst.”

“If you don’t end it. I will make sure this…” He held up the photograph again. The harmless, beautiful picture of him and Eddie. “...gets into the hands of his mother.”

Richie sat down heavily staring at the man in horror. It felt like a boulder had dropped into Richie’s stomach. He was such a fool. His father was the most manipulative person in his life. He should have realized he would not bother threatening Richie. He hasn’t been able to control his son’s actions for a long time. He would have to threaten Eddie instead. It was like witnessing a cartoon villain threatening his love. Except the villain was real and him and Eddie may not survive this kind of pain.

“No…” Richie heard his voice whisper. “You wouldn’t.”

“I bet Sonia has no idea her son is a fucking faggot.” Wentworth snarled. Richie clenched his hand automatically. His brain craved the possibility of his fist meeting his father’s jaw. But he did not punch him. That was not the kind of person he wanted to be. I’m a lover, not a fighter.

“As you and mom have pointed out before, I’m a fucking faggot. How does that make you feel to have raised a boy that loves dick? Perhaps that’s why you named me Richard.” His father stood suddenly and Richie followed suit. They were the same height but Wentworth weighed at least 70 pounds more. They had never hit each other before, but Richie wondered if it was time one of them did.

“What’s going on?” Came the sharp voice of his mother. Richie looked at her feeling an irrational rage toward her too. If she had left him, I would not be in this mess. Why do we both have to be trapped with this monster?  

“Go back to your room, Maggie.” Wentworth’s voice was low and commanding. Richie glared back at him. It made him sick how controlling he was with both of them.

“No, I don’t know what’s going on but you two need to cool off.” His mother walked over and stood in front of Richie to move him away. Richie looked at her in confusion, when he realized she was trying to put herself in between them. No, she’s trying to protect me from him. The revelation almost made him cry.

“Mom,” Richie said quietly. She put her hand on his shoulder pushing him from the room.

“You end it with that little shit boy or you know what will happen.” Wentworth called viciously behind him.

“Fuck you!” Richie growled.

“Rich, go to your room, sweetheart. Lock the door and blast music.” She said hurriedly.

He stopped walking, “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

“I can handle your father.”

“Mom, he told me...that I can’t see Eds that I have to br - ” Richie choked on the words. He swallowed back the sob. “I love him, mom. Please.”

Her golden brown eyes that matched his gazed up at him with concern and fascination. She hesitantly brought her hand up to brush away his tears. He had no idea when he started crying but was too distraught to care.

“Eddie’s lucky to have you.” She whispered kindly.

Richie shook his head as his lip trembled, “I’m lucky to have him.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for not being your father.” He was hit with so much affection for her. He wrapped his long arms around her slender frame in a hug he hoped would give her strength.

“I love you, mom.” He couldn’t remember the last time he and told her that.

“I love you so much more.” She replied. He definitely couldn’t recall her saying those words to him. They broke apart and he headed to his room.

He didn’t lock the door or play music. He wanted to listen to everything they had to say. The argument started with Richie, then went to Richie and Eddie, then swiftly got to them. Richie lit a cigarette. It took him five times to light it because his hands were shaking. That first draw from the stick eased his nerves a little. He hadn't smoked a cigarette in almost a month and knew Eddie would hate it but desperation trumped his guilt. He zeroed in on the fighting again. 

“We don’t deserve that kid and this is how you treat him.”

“You act like a fucking saint. You’ve treated him much worse than I ever had!”

“That’s because I am sick, but I'm getting better. You’re just an asshole!” Her screaming was so loud, Richie wondered if the neighbors would call the police.

“You fucking bitch. I provide for this family and give you everything and…”

Richie could barely stomach their argument. He paced around his room, his energy on overdrive. His mother screamed at his father to get out of the house and never come back. He told her he was planning on it anyway but that it was her responsibility to end Richie and that boy’s defiling of the family name. It was exhausting to listen to, like a never-ending record scratch.

The front door slammed violently and his mother was screaming at him to drop dead.

Richie heard her go into the kitchen and wondered if he should go out there. A part of him wanted to feign being asleep if she tried knocking, but that was their old relationship.

He rolled out of his bed and headed to the kitchen. He stood in the entrance frame watching his mother attempting to make hot chocolate.

“If the stove is too hot, it’ll burn.” Richie walked over and turned it down. Which I only know because of Eddie. Then he grabbed marshmallows from a cabinet and cinnamon sticks. He went into the fridge and took out the whipped cream, shaking the container before uncaping it.

She grinned at him weakly. “Where do all these sweets come from?”

“Oh Mom,” Richie said gently. “It’s time you knew that I only eat sweets.” He sprayed a ton of whipped cream straight into his mouth. 

She turned toward the stove and stirred the chocolate. “That must be why you are with Eddie.”

Richie choked on the whipped cream.

He swallowed quickly, looking at her in disbelief, “Mom, that was dirty.”

She laughed a genuine laugh. “Sorry! I meant because he is the sweetest of all. Damn it. That still sounds bad.”

“No, I’m using it on him. He’ll be mortified.” Richie’s laugh filled the kitchen and she chuckled too.

“That poor boy.” She shook her head. The hot chocolate was bubbling, so she took it off the stove to let it cool down. “Sonia has no idea about him does she?”

“Um...well he tried to tell her and she wouldn’t even let him say the word gay.” Richie watched his mother carefully. She didn’t flinch or frown. She just looked like the world was on her shoulders. “They aren’t speaking and he is technically not supposed to see me anymore. But of course, we don’t care.”

“Rich, I…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to say I’m sorry.” She leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed. He crossed his own subconsciously, half sitting on the kitchen table.

“For what?” He pushed.

“For everything. God...this is supposed to be step 9 of the program and I am supposed to have everything written out that I am sorry for.” She hung her head miserably as she tried to find the right words to say.

“If you want to wait until you get there, that’s ok.” Richie reassured her, even if he did want an apology. Hell, I want an apology for almost 17 years of neglect, please.

She tried again, “No, I want to say now that I’m sorry for how I reacted when you came out. I can barely even remember it because I was so…so...”

“Drunk. I remember. I was there. You also told me if you had a daughter this would not be an issue. You wouldn’t have to deal with a faggot son.” Richie thought about how horrible that night was. He had a perfect memory, practically photographic, so the expressions and words of hate his parents displayed were forever stamped in his brain.

“That’s the cruelest thing I could have said to you and I’m so sorry.” She blinked quickly trying to will her tears away.

Richie sighed not feeling in a comforting mood at that moment. “It happened. You can’t take it back.”

“No, I can’t.” She looked at him steadily. “Do you know why I said that?”

“So you could braid your hypothetical daughter’s hair? I mean mines getting pretty long so you could try -“

She interrupted his ramblings, “Because my biggest fear was seeing my husband in my son’s eyes.”

Richie stayed silent mulling that over. His biggest fear was becoming his father too. He shivered at the thought. Then asked quietly, “Was your fear?”

“I know, now, you could never be like him. You’re everything I want in a child and more. I’m sorry I never realized how good I got it until now.” There were no words for how that made Richie feel. He walked forward and hugged her for the second time that night. They pulled away to make their hot chocolate, adding tons of marshmallows and cinnamon sticks.

They sat down at the table in a bit of an uncomfortable silence. Richie usually avoided awkwardness by talking but he had nothing, in particular, he wanted to talk about.

“We should talk about your father’s threat to expose you and Eddie to his mom.” She said carefully.

Richie looked at her as he blew on his hot chocolate before drinking it. “Sure.”

“I think, and don’t bite my head off…” She waited for him to nod that he would stay relaxed. “As much as I hate to say it, you may need to temporarily end things with Eddie.”

“I’m not fucking doing that.” He practically slammed his mug on the table.

“Richie…” She warned

“No! I’m not afraid of him. Like you said, Wentworth can drop dead for all I care.” He yelled. She flinched at him raising his voice and he felt guilty. There had been too much yelling tonight. “I’m sorry.”

She gave him a sad stare. “Aren’t you afraid for Eddie? Our family is too messed for you to bring someone into it.”

“Mom I…”

“You love him. I know. It is ultimately your decision but you have to figure out whether he should have pain thrust upon him or choose to bring that pain on himself.” Those words hung in the air like a parasite ready to kill its host.

Cliffhanger x2

The next chapter is almost ready to go, nobody panic. Feel free to yell at me in the comments, over messenger, or ask. 

@sam-i-am2468 @dandeliontozier @reddie-brasil @takemetothetide @ohheydatsme @slashpalooza @averym14 @fucking-reddie @leidi-didi @savannaholeff

[sush1kawa]

#10. caramel / k. bakugo

neutral / female

word count: 1230

—

sparks flew as you held up your hand and activated your quirk, they were beautiful explosions.

the mix of red and radiant orange was fascinating, you were blessed with such an amazing quirk. it was something that spelled you out of the rest, it was a very unique quirk. or so you thought.

"move away, extras." you heard a growl from outside your classroom. how damn loud can this man get?

you stood and peeked out from the door of your classroom just to check what happened so bad that this guy had to be so loud. "i said, move."

"excuse me," you told a few people as you made your way through the crowd. a guy with ash blonde hair was standing right in front of a dark haired girl. the girl was on the ground, sprawled as if she was pushed down the stairs.

you went and reached out to her, helping her up. "hey, dumbass. who do you think you're siding with?"

"the right people. now, will you excuse us?" you exclaimed without hesitation as you attempted to pull her out of the scene.

"where do you think you're going?" he said, blocking you with his body. he smelled oddly like caramel, just like you did. "i thought you wanted us 'extras' to get out of the way."

you pushed against him attempting to escape, you whispered to the girl to move away as you tried to move him. you pushed harder, even producing explosions to faze him.

he wouldn't let you go and you gave up, leaning your head against his body. you would never do that unless you were exhausted. and that was the case.

he tried pushing you away but hesitated when the scent of caramel overflowed as he lowered his head. clueless as he was, he didn't notice how both of you had the same quirk.

"i give up." you mumble, turning your head away from him. as you walked away, you heard him call your name. "uh.. fuck. i never do this but, your quirk is?"

you look up at him confused, "explosions." you silently answer, not caring much anymore as you really wanted to rest your body. "wha- what was that?" he asked, leaning closer.

"explosions.." you answered and shook your head as you pushed away the exhaustion. "wow."

"what do you mean wow?" he asked looking confused and slightly frustrated. "you didn't even ask what my name was." you said, completely annoyed as you continued walking away.

"ugh. fine. what's your name?" he shouted, calling for your attention. instead, you keep walking, which made him have to run to you.

he made you turn to him as he said, "oi, i was talking to you." frustrated, he locked his hands on your shoulder. you tried pulling away but his hold was too strong. people were turning their heads to look at you.

"i don't think so, but your name, please?" he repeated, trying to stay patient. "why do you care?" you say looking down.

a classmate of yours shouted your name as he called you back to the classroom. "(name), huh?" katsuki smirked, letting you go.

"please leave me alone." you exclaimed as you were walking towards the classroom. "whatever you say." he mumbled, feeling accomplished as he started knowing more about you.

it was interesting to katsuki how you had the same quirk as him, expecting him to be aggravated, he was more, fascinated. people noticed how katsuki treated you differently than others but you didn't give a single fuck.

how's katsuki supposed to be better than others?

the longer you spent time on UA, the more you noticed how strong and capable he was. and so were you, you had the same quirk after all.

competitions after competitions, you both seemed to be the only people who rose up at the ranks. you kept ignoring him but he kept running back to you.

as opposite as you think it is, it's actually way more accurate. "training?" he asked as you passed by his classroom. "no thanks, katsuki."

"come on, i've been asking you since god knows when." he pleaded, "please, just this fucking once?"

"alright. fine. whatever." you said, completely uninterested. he held you by the wrist and pulled you into his classroom. how embarrassing it was as it was filled with people you don't know. or aren't completely close with as you only see them in competitions.

"what are you doing?" you asked, frustrated as you tried getting out of his hold. "stop it, katsuki."

"i'm not gonna train with you if you keep doing this." you shouted, producing explosions as you pushed him away from you.

the students in class 1-a looked surprised as you ended up in the opposite side of the classroom as katsuki's.

a green haired boy ran to you and offered his hand to help you up. "are you okay?" he asked, lifting you up. "why would you do that kaccha-"

"don't you fucking touch her, deku." katsuki grumbled as he pushed himself up, neglecting a spiky red haired boy's help.

"alright, let go of me." you said, brushing the dirt off your uniform. the students were looking at both of you as you crossed your arms in front of him.

"that wasn't called for." you said, as he interrupted, "no, what you did wasn't in any way called for as well." katsuki argued.

"you didn't have to pull me to your classroom, asshole." you replied, moving closer to him. "yes, i had to." he said, keeping in mind that you probably wouldn't accept it if you told her you dragged her in because she didn't give a full-consent answer.

you groaned as you rolled your eyes, "what's the stupid excuse now?" he looked away, possibly thinking of what to answer. "i just.."

"fucking bitch." he mumbled as he got frustrated. "he just wanted not to let you go." the spiky red haired boy from earlier answered as he put his arms around katsuki.

"and you are?" you asked, looking at him instead. "kirishima. eijiro kirishima."

"alright, can you please get your.. friend and move him away from me cause i need to get going." bunch of assholes, this class is. "no can do. but it's very unmanly if i don't let you go so.."

"fine. katsuki, i'm gonna train with you. if you promise to leave me alo-" you got cut off as katsuki shouted back, "that's the fucking point, (name). i don't want to leave you alone."

"why no-" you replied, unfazed by his anger. "because i'm.. what do you call it? obsessed with you?" he answered, leaving shocked faces across the classroom.

"ever since i knew about your quirk, i just knew i wanted.." he stopped, looking for the right words to continue his sentence. "needed to know more about you and i just-"

"i'm sorry." he mumbled, looking down, still partly frustrated. "what was that?" you teased, now just playing with him.

"i said i'm sorry." he repeated, louder this time. "good. much better." you replied to the caramel scented boy you once knew to be very annoying.

"okay, are we settled now?" you asked, moving towards the exit. katsuki answered, now feeling defeated but satisfied, the only girl that could ever make him give in. "yeah. yeah we are."

[fortheloveofcringe]

“Why Do I Adore Literature So Much & Other English Major Student Problems”

Tell me why I’m reading another Becky Albertalli book at 12:50 a.m. in the second day of March, 2018. Tell me why I’m a 23 year old who by choice remains a virgin and had no official boyfriend whatsoever by means of no desire for labels and has never had an actual person who I liked to like me back and so I’m reading “The Upside of Unrequited”. Turn the lampshade honey because this ‘bout to get educational and shady up in here.

First, I think it’s because of my love for literature, that’s for sure. Imagine a gay kid being left alone at home during weekends by his career busy/ teacher single-mom, at age 9 and is surrounded by chunky books about Greek and American literature. Obviously I had an adoration for reading. Not just because I was influenced by my “teacher” cousins and mom, but because I geniunely wanted to learn how to read and comprehend what I was reading, not to mention my desire to speak English because I could hardly communicate with my half-American cousin who at that time takes a vacation with her mom, my mother’s sister, every summer back here in the Philippines. It’s an all-stars-aligning kind of thing.

I simply enjoy the fact that when the days which makes me say “I need to leave this world right now” hits, I can easily turn to a dusty hardbound from my mother’s small collection, or the books that I bought by walking home, saving my fare, or doing graphic design for the purchase of, or the epubs I’ve acquired from the internet, and I’m free from the thought. I love how I just go off and start reading a book as if I just untied the rope from the pier post and wheeled my anchor back to the boat and I slowly sidle to the seas and oceans of dramatic fights, crime puzzles and Romeo meeting Juliet, or Romeo meeting Jeffrey, or something. I am fascinated by the escape of reading. Plus, the inflation it causes to my vocabulary box, so much useful on essay days at school.

With the type of books I read, which mostly are psychology/romance, I am also kind of fascinated by how my unspoken thoughts come to life with any of those single statements written in these novels and poetry books that I neatly consume.

Today, I have written this entry due to the fact that I somehow went above and beyond my rules. It’s like Triss crossing the walls kind of scene. I talked so much today it’s just insane. Now I feel so obligated to be talky, but not really. I mean like I actually care, if I go bipolar around my classmates. I’m honestly and by facts been sent to school to graduate, nothing more, nothing less. So any bugs and distractions are just mental illusions of bogus drowning.

Thing is by reading my previous entries you might have noticed that I liked this guy from school. He’s literally a breathing death-trap. Which I knew was a slapdash mistake to begin with. My “woman-up”/carpe diem self talked and got into a fistful of words sent thru e-mails and voila! She/He confessed again and again and again until this lovely hopeless writer ends the invisible ties with a backhanded text saying he wasn’t born to be his slave, because subliminaly, the writer was trying to be one for the wrong dick.

Choices and Decisions are so overrated I wish we don’t have to do them.

But I was like a volcano today. The dormant type though. Still a volcano. I was famished to burn people off, like the moment when Dany says Dracarys to her foes and traitors. I was that mad and I had to divert my attention and control it by helping a classmate with her report and helping another one with the calligraphy he needs. So this “boy” is not careful. I can’t blame him. He’s a people-pleaser hands-clean. He just won’t admit it. And boy! my theory about men being careless about their actions is just proven way too many times that it needs to be in some sort of compiled textbook for psychologists I say.

So picture this, We had an activity, I mean I was so into listening to reports and stuff so I could incorporate my brain cells to remember it at least, and damn hell this boy let’s his hormones rage in front of everyone by simultaneously flirting with our Lady of Perpetual Absenteeism and Dellusional Entitlement, whilst allegedly caring about the world and taking “control” of their lives and takes pictures of the visual aids. Perfect pair! I laughed in my head! Fools for fools. Nothing bitter, just stating facts.

What perhaps upset me was that I knew one of our Transgender classmates liked him, and this lady stood up and woman-upped to admit her feelings for him given the oppurtunity of a “decribe the classmate type of activity” talked so heavenly and this dude proceeded to do his “act” with open-faced pretentions of being humbled yet he’s back on the pedal to Miss A.D. Entitlement’s convo’s? How bad does he want her vag/cookie box by the way? Jeez. He’ll learn a lesson soon, I know it.

And I was there too. This happened so many times before to me, that I’m not that surprised; being slapped by these gender conforming pricks by their hetero-ness, who by class recitation claims they’re “fluid” and  “accepting” yet, quick too crumple the pact letters when the horny moment decides so, and I’m here wondering why bananas are fried. It’s all too extra for dispensable storylines.

I made the right choice to dodge the bullet because clearly I’m not into insensitive jerks. I mean who wants to be in a relationship with anyone who (allegedly) claims they’re straight yet owns a “black dildo” and has tried to fuck their cousin? Good Ghandi lead us.

Anyway, into the relevant matters, what I’ve figured out by reading this new book that I’m in is my response to my anger. It’s like a fucking wake-up call. The light bulb told me that whenever I’m pissed, I talk too much. That’s why I was talking about dead people to make-up to BDSM (including an in-depth Fifty Shades talk with OUR PROFESSOR) in a span of 1 hour and 30 minutes by 7:00 p.m. yesterday. I was surprised by myself because I’ve loaded a tense amount of effort to put everyone at arm’s length and now here I am wondering why I talked about me dancing, wearing a skirt on at 2 years-old on top of our dinner table, to my peers. TO MY PEERS. Jeez.

Moral lesson, I need to be around people who won’t piss me off or people need to stop pissing me off, or I need to read more books and get the hell out of this world, if you know what I mean; I’m clearly not the run-in person for FBI type interrogations or else someone’s eyebrows would be displeasingly aggravated. Thanks for reading!

H