#feel free to ignore this but I thought some people might recognise them maybe

[luveline]

If you’re looking for anything zombie!au for Steve, I’ve got a request! I sent it a while ago so if you don’t like the idea, please feel free to ignore!

I love that Steve has his own platonic soulmate—Robin—and has that person that will always be his friend no matter the circumstances. Their relationship means everything to me. I’d love to see reader maybe reunite with her “Robin”, as in her best friend and see her find that comfort in her person. Steve gets to see a new side of her and falls in love with her even more <3

zombie au —you reunite with your Robin. fem, 1.5k

“I’m grody.” 

“You’re not grody.” 

“I have greasy hair.” 

You shrug. Steve’s hair is a tad greasy, but it’s nothing you wouldn’t run your hands through. “Steve, I don’t think anybody alive today is judging you for having greasy hair.” 

You wanna call him baby, despite how foreign it can feel on your lips. He’s being adorable today, but the moment to dote on him passes quickly. Robin’s halfway across the campsite, her scratchy, mellifluous voice a ringer for her. You’d recognise it anywhere. 

“New recruits!” she’s saying, her head turning past her friend Sarah to spot you and Steve as you approach. “Hey, guys! Look, I lived.” 

Steve jogs until the gap between them is closed. “Hey, what did you do to your face?” he asks worriedly, his hand rising. 

She ducks away from his touch. “I got totally sliced.” 

“By who?” 

“This girl, Mina, she thought I was a geek, how gross is that?” Robin smiles at you. “I’m not that ugly.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you say. 

“I know!” 

Steve grins. “I wouldn’t be too sure.” 

“I know you don’t think I’m ugly, Steven.” 

You’re hit by two waves of memory, one after the other. The name Mina is hard to ignore: back then, before the end of the world, you had one good friend, and her name was Mina Delecki. You’d get into little spats like Steve and Robin do occasionally, but your friendship wasn’t as sarcastic. Which isn’t to say they aren’t loving, they are. Steve gives her arm a squeeze and promises to help her clean out the wound, and it reminds you of Mina and her scabbed knees. 

“She was nice, besides the attempted murder. They looked like they haven’t eaten in weeks though, the whole group, I’m surprised they didn’t try and rob us.”

“Well, not everyone is evil,” Steve says, wiping Robin’s cheek with his sleeve. “You’re okay?” 

“I’m fine. Does it look bad?” 

“Might need a butterfly stitch,” he says, grimacing. “It’s definitely gonna scar. Where is this Mina? I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.” 

“Steve, it was an accident.” 

“Well, maybe she should be aware that accidents aren’t usually subdermal.” 

“That’s a big word for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Guys, come one. Did you eat?” you ask Robin. “Let’s go find dinner at the mess.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” Steve asks quietly. 

Robin lets him dote, for once. He slings his arm over her shoulder and steers her to the mess —a porta-building with a designated team of cooks reminiscent of your setup back at the College. There’s a small line by the door, but it’s not as busy inside as you’re expecting. You can spot the newbies from their skinniness, and their dirty clothes, but it looks like some of them have had a wash by the river, dripping hair wetting the backs of their necks. One girl laughs into her bowl of stew. Another cries. 

You know how it feels to be starving and afraid and then suddenly dropped into a community. It’s so scary, but it’s such a relief. 

“You wanna sit down?” Steve asks, rubbing Robin’s back before he lets her go. “What about you?” he asks you, turning away from her to offer you the same nice smile. “I can get yours.” 

“I’m alright.” 

Robin slugs off to a table at the back. “She looks really tired,” Steve says.

They take Robin because she’s slight; she can fit into places a lot of people can’t. But Robin wasn’t built for fighting, she still isn’t, and she’s obviously tired. 

“Well, maybe you should start putting your foot down,” you murmur, “you’re her family, so… if you say she shouldn’t go, maybe she won’t. And I don’t mean asking her not to. Maybe you should fight.” 

“I don’t wanna fight with her.” 

“Somebody took a slice out of her face,” you say. 

You know Robin likes you, even loves you, but it doesn’t feel like your place to get into that stuff. If somebody is gonna convince her to stay, it’ll have to be him. 

“I’ll talk to her about it.” He brings a hand to your waist. “I will, don’t worry. I don’t like it either.” 

“Your hand is cold?” you say. 

Steve tucks it quick as a flash behind your back, brushing your shirt up to touch naked skin. “Is it?” 

“You jerk.” You laugh louder than you mean to and step away from his touch. “This is why you need dinner, you’re freezing to death.”

Steve tries to get you again. He grabs you at the side, the chill of his hands palpable as he pulls you into him. Not to hold, but to be close while you wait, to take up as little room as possible. You both prefer proximity to each other. You let him warm his hands on your hips. 

You’re looking up into his face with a smile when someone says your name. 

A melodic voice. 

She says your name again and you feel it click. Mina’s on your mind, that’s all —yet you turn, and a familiar face is peeking out from behind wet, fine hair. An apocalypse, and somehow Mina Delecki hasn’t aged a day. 

“Mina?” you ask, holding Steve’s wrist tight on instinct. 

She rushes forward to meet you. Steve’s defences go up, his expression hardening as he pushes you behind him, but you slink around his rigid arm with a happy shout, “Mina!” 

Steve lets you go. You weave around a full table of onlookers with pushed out chairs and meet her in the middle, where she throws herself at you, a whirlwind of smell and touch. “Holy shit,” she says, sounding immediately wrought with tears, and joy, too. “I can’t believe you’re here!” 

You’re shocked out of speaking. 

Mina leans back. She holds your cheek, beaming so brightly, you’d forgotten how pretty she was. She is. 

“You’re alive!” she says, squishing your cheeks. “You’re here! Y/N, I looked for you!” 

“You did?” 

“I went to your house, you weren’t there, and we had to leave. I’m sorry, I thought… I missed you.” 

You’re further surprised. You did? you almost ask. “I missed you too.” 

She flings her arms around you for another hug. “I worried about you. Were you all alone?” 

“No, uh, no, no,” —you shake your head against her— “I had Steve. I have Steve. What about you?” 

“Well, my brother made us go to the Lake, but there was nothing that way, so we came back here. Thank god we did, ‘cos you’re here, this whole place, there’s so many people.” 

“There used to be more.” 

Mine squeezes you. “I missed you so much.” 

Your eyes finally burn. “I missed you too,” you say, hiding as your voice cracks. 

You and Mina just hug. 

Your shoulders give an embarrassing shake under her hands. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, rubbing your back, her tone light, loving, and one you already know. “Don’t cry. I’m happy to see you, too.” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“That’s what I just said.”

You pull away from her to scrub your face. You’re laughing as you turn to Steve, excited, elated to introduce him. “Mina, this is Steve,” you say, taking his elbow into your hand, comforted by his arm slinking behind you. He pats your back. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“King Steve?” 

Steve winces. “Just Steve.” 

“He’s nice now,” you say, grinning, “total reformation.” 

“Hi, Steve. My girl kept you alive, I’m guessing?” Mina gives him a smile, too. She’s only teasing, and Steve picks up on it easily. 

“She did… Hey, you’re not the Mina that cut a chunk out of Robin’s cheek, right?” 

“Hard to say. Which one’s Robin?” 

—

“Sorry, does it hurt?” Steve murmurs. 

Robin hugs her knees to her chest. “It’s fine, just be fast, please.” 

Steve knows it hurts. He’s dousing her wound with an antiseptic, he thinks it’s iodine, doesn’t really know. It’s not brown, but it smells strong. He washes the outside of the wound with a sterile gauze soaked in bottled water, and he pats it dry. The butterfly bandage he applies sticks at an awkward angle, but he pulls it closed tightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. 

“It’s fine. At least she got a friend out of it.” 

You sit a couple of metres away with some of the reserves of your candy haul and a few things you won’t miss. Socks, a sweater, a pack of chamomile soaps. Mina doesn’t want any of it, she just can’t seem to stop touching you. You’ve been holding hands for hours. 

“She seems really nice,” Steve says. 

“Gonna get jealous like you did with Eddie?” 

“She didn’t know Eddie before, she just likes him, which is weird.” 

“Not that weird.” 

“Maybe I am jealous,” he says. It’s strange to watch you hold hands with a new person, but it’s not like you and Robin haven’t done the same. The trust between you has solidified, and you use each other like pillows when you want to. “I don’t think I am? It’s nice to see her like that.” 

“Maybe you weren’t jealous at all, you just don’t like Eddie.” 

Steve laughs. 

There’s something about you, sitting there smiling, watching you talk a mile a minute as you explain something to her with no fear of judgement. You’re completely relaxed. 

“It’s actually really nice… to see her like that.” 

“You’re smiling like a creeper,” Robin says. 

“Whatever.” 

[pancake-stack]

Stuck with you: Chapter 3 WIP

Summary: When Vox gets trapped inside a virtual reality that grants his every desire, Alastor is sent in after him. Forced to play the role of devoted partner, Alastor must figure out how to get them both out of the program while learning how deep Vox's obsession for him goes and how he can use it to his advantage.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Charlie looked different.

Not completely, of course, she was still very much recognisable. But as he observed her closely, he picked up on the inconsistencies. The heavy bags under her eyes, her messy plait- not to mention her clothes, more rumpled than Vagatha would have ever have allowed her to wear outside the hotel.

It seems that Vox viewed the dear princess as an unprofessional and frazzled joke.

"Sir?"

Pulled out of his thoughts, he realised that he had been staring for slightly too long without responding to her and he was quick to rectify.

"Why, terribly sorry there, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment! How very rude of me. Would you care to repeat yourself, dear?"

Brightening at his non-dismissal, to which she was no doubt used to, she transferred the posters into the crook of her right elbow and offered her free hand for a handshake.

"Oh, it's no problem at all, I'm always getting lost in my own head." She chuckled and Alastor took her hand, still thoroughly charmed at her cheerful naivety.

"Um, let me try this again: I'm Charlie Morningstar and I run a rehabilitation hotel in the northern part of the city. We help sinners better themselves so they can ascend to heaven, which will stop our overpopulation problem!"

Waiting patiently for her to finish reciting the opening that Vaggie had probably helped her rehearse to reduce her rambling nature, Alastor gently but firmly removed his hand from her own.

Now, how to respond here? Vox had clearly removed his presence from the Hotel, so responding familiarly to her would only raise Vox's suspicions. On the other hand, if she was here then she had to have been in the public eye, if only to add to her humiliation, so he would know who she was. Taking a chance, he chuckled and leaned forward slightly into her personal space.

"Why no need to introduce yourself, everyone here knows who you are!"

He had barely finished his sentence before the television shop next to him, which he hadn't taken much notice of, coincidently changed their channels to showcase Charlie's disastrously hilarious interview with Katie Killjoy on every screen.

Well maybe not so coincidently, Alastor thought, taking note of a CCTV camera trained on him.

Charlie gave a nervous chuckle as her past self tackled Killjoy harshly to the floor and looked down at her posters in shame. Still, he had to give her credit when she raised her head after a few seconds and resolutely ignored the screens.

"So, um, would you like to try our redemption program yourself?"

Still hilarious to hear, even after all this time!

Unfortunately, he couldn't even get in a disguised jab at her proposition before Vaggie appeared and yanked her girlfriend behind her to shield her from Alastor's gaze.

Pointing her spear at his chest in a way that was very reminiscent of their first meeting, she spoke to Charlie without taking her eye off him.

"Charlie, what are you thinking? You can't just approach the Radio Demon of all people!" She hissed, eye betraying her frantic feelings that he was here at all.

Now that was a sentiment he liked to hear.

"Do you want Vox to hunt us down for fucking with his partner?"

Never mind.

His ears flickered down in response to his agitation at the implication he was only intimidating because he was associated with Vox. How dare she. To suggest that his reign of terror could be outclassed and overshadowed by new-fangled technology?

He was half-tempted to find a busy street and start his radio show early to release some of this building anger. He might have done so if he had been back in reality and not in Vox's blasted fantasy world.

Seeing Vaggie eye him wearily and tightening her grip on her spear, Alastor recognised he was getting angry. Such a reaction would only alert Vox that their little liasion was not what it seemed, which would make all of this shit had been a waste of time. Taking time to slow his breathing to calm himself down, he forced himself to raise his ears and soften his posture to regain his earlier relaxed appearance. And if his smile bared his teeth more than usual, that was no one's business but his own.

Dematerialising into the shadows and rematerialising behind the two women, he slung his arms around their shoulders, revelling in their panicked flinches and yelps.

"Now, now dearies, let's not cause a scene in such a quaint area." he exclaimed, nodding at the neon nightmare with as little distate as possible, "Come, let us continue our civil conversation from earlier. I'd love to hear what you've heard about me. Perhaps over a nice dessert?"

He wouldn't let the two leave, not when it was so suspicious that they of all people had approached him in the first place. There was a chance he could get information from them, no matter how irritated he was with their mannerisms.

Vaggie gave a low growl but Charlie's eyes sparkled at his hospitality. "Oh yes, that's a great idea! C'mon Vaggie, you love sweets."

Faced with the eager grins of both her girlfriend and the Radio demon, Vaggie reluctantly relaxed her grip on the spear and gave a reluctant nod. She cast a concerned look in the direction of V Tower before following them into the bakery with a deep sigh.

The inside was still far too modern for Alastor's tastes, but it wasn't as outrageous as the outside had been, so he made do. However, he did have to wonder if a bakery even needed this many cameras. At least the wait time was none nonexistent- the staff practically fell over themselves to sit the group down.

He told the girls to order anything they wanted, ignoring Vaggie's mumbling about how it was free for him anyway, and placed his own order for the fruit tart he saw in the window and a coffee with cream. Charlie and Vaggie soon followed suit and ordered a chocolate and strawberry cake with matching glasses of juice.

Once their food arrived, he purposefully ignored the two's idol chatter to enjoy his first bite of the delightful dessert. The sweetness of the custard mixed well with the juiciness of the fruit and he let loose a small hum of appreciativeness, his shadow twirling contently around his chair.

His ears twitched as they caught the sound of the cameras whirling as they zoomed in on his figure. He winked at the camera closest to him and took great joy in watching it spark slightly.

Predictable as always, he thought, almost fond.

Reluctantly turning back to the girls, he took another bite of his food before asking, "So, what else have you heard about me?" Seeing their reluctance, he pointed his fork at them playfully, "Come now, I do so love to hear theories from others."

Naturally, Charlie was the one to talk first, "Well, I don't actually know that much about your past. But! I do know that you have power over the Radio and you're part of the AVs."

Well, that's not very helpful, he knows all of that. Though Vox changing the name of the group to the original name he had pitched to him seven years ago, that was certainly new.

"How do you not know their past, hun? It's common knowledge." Vaggie asked incredulously, turning in her seat slightly to properly look at her partner. "You've been around longer than I have."

"Yeah, I know but Dad never let me out of the castle much growing up. Plus other demons are a bit... um, shy around me I guess, so I don't get to hear much gossip." Charlie admitted, playing with the ends of her hair as she often did when discussing subjects that were unpleasant to her. Not willing to admit that her own subjects thought of her as a fool to be avoided and mocked.

It seems Vaggie picked up on that piece of information regardless, as she bit her tongue to repress thoughts of those who had interacted with Charlie to that degree.

Taking a soothing breath, she patted Charlie on her back and gave her a soft smile once she met her eyes, "Don't worry, Hun. I'll always be here to help you out. I've picked up a lot of information since falling down here."

Sensing an opening, Alastor wasted no time butting into the touching scene that was blooming. "That may be true, but, you still have not said what you know about my story. Surely you aren't all prattle?"

Charlie quickly answered before Vaggie could do something impulsive with her irritation; such as take her half-eaten cake and aim it at his head.

"Vaggie knows all sorts of things, i'm sure she'd be happy to tell you!" Vaggie settled back in her seat at the words but still gave him a vicious glare as Charlie continued, "Besides, it'd do me good to hear about Hell's history."

Though still looking far from pleased at the request, Vaggie still caved at her girlfriend's appeal, as Alastor knew she would. He couldn't recall a single time that she didn't go along with her schemes.

Nonetheless, he leaned back in his chair as Vaggie reluctantly began her tale, encouraged by Charlie's own smile.

"It started seven years ago. Before they were together, the tales of the rivalry between the Media demons for control of Hell were legendary. Their brawls would level cities, destroy businesses and massacre anyone in the vicinity."

She paused for breath and dramatic effect before continuing, "That was until one day, when Vox asked Alastor to become his partner. He refused, and the ensuing battle levelled the entire South Ring's residential district."

Well, she sure knew how to paint a picture- then again, he had always found her to be overly dramatic when recounting hell's history. The fight in the south ring was true, though, they hadn't fought to that extent before that.

He did have to wonder why this version of himself didn't simply accept Vox's invitation in this reality. After all, it was clear his cooperation was what Vox truly wanted. It must have badly wounded his pride for Alastor to have been able to so easily reject him.

He didn't have time to ponder this query further as Vaggie continued her tale, "Of course, Alastor was defeated." At that statement, her eyes took on a sadistic glee.

Bitch.

"He was then dragged off by Vox and wasn't seen again until two months later at a press coverage, where their new alliance as partners was announced to Hell."

Oh my, only two months for Vox to get bored of besetting him? With all that man's boasting, he would have expected to have been tortured for half a year at the very least.

Then again, being forced to be part of an ever-growing, ever-changing brand that keeps up with modern times is frankly worse than torture to him.

[whumpshaped]

My new years resolution this year is to actually start writing my own stuff instead of just tossing prompts at you to see what you do with em.

With that in mind, do you think you could give me feedback on this trope? You're free to write something based off it as well, of course, and I'll definitely eat that shit up, but maybe just looking for feedback with get the gears going to produce something.

Thinking about characters A + B. They grow up together, the closest of friends. They do great things together, they create a legacy. But as time goes on, fame and fortune does something odd to character A. They become twisted, something quite unlike how they once were, some horrible thing eating them, mind and body and soul. This virus that eats at them begins to then eat at the ever present character B as well, who is faced with the awful decision of still supporting their friend and continuing this legacy, or separating themselves away even if the emotional attachment they have is more like an artery, and cutting it may feel fatal to them.

~𐂂

(Happy New Year, hope it's treating you well thus far! Sorry for always living in your inbox, lol)

BANGER new years resolution, 100% support!!!!! also please never apologise for living in my inbox. i have blankets and snacks here for a reason /j

it got long so putting it under a cut

ABOUT THE PROMPT...... AMAZING. first of all i always love life long friends being tested by fate. because theres so many things that can end/ruin a friendship! it can just be time, people changing, interests shifting and not aligning anymore, but it can be big arguments and big angst!!! and it's HORRID, it's like a breakup!

and because you were lifelong friends everyone is asking about it. B only ever appeared with A and vice versa, and now that they do their own stuff more and more often, everyone is staring and asking "wheres A?" and B just has to grit their teeth and be like "i dont know! im not their handler :)" and they try to make it sound like a joke but it comes out a little bitter.

people are looking at A and B's friendship and forming all these parasocial thoughts about them too. people think its the best friendship. most ideal. will last forever. they place both of them on a pedestal. they might not even realise how A is changing, or they might willfully ignore it because they also grew up with this friendship in a way, they grew up always seeing A and B together and they grew up seeing the two of them do great things.

and some people very much realise that A is changing. sometimes A is alone and does cruel things, and people wish B was there to stop them. why isnt B there? whats going on? but then sometimes B is there, and people see them turn a blind eye, people see B trying to intervene only half heartedly, and they dont understand. does B condone this? and B knows that A's change in behaviour reflects on them poorly, but what are they supposed to do? sever all ties with them? get into huge arguments in the middle of the street? theyre best friends. ..or they used to be. theyre best friends only in name anymore, only because B doesnt know what else to call their relationship, only because theyve never had to call it anything else for the past 30 years.

its uncharted territory, a life without A. its terrifying.

and if B does sever the ties, theyll have to learn to live without A. theyve never had to do that. they have to leave their legacy behind because its tied to A so closely, and now its tainted, and they cant bear to be recognised for it — but its not their choice. theyll forever be "A's best friend". a title once loving but now uttered with disgust because of A's actions. some people even detest them for severing ties, they think B shouldve stayed and helped A. how will A find their way back to being a good person now? without guidance? yet other people detest B for staying even as long as they had.

honestly, B probably changed a lot along with A while they stayed. they mightve tried to go along w it and act the same way, trying to repress the visceral disgust at their own actions. now theyre trying to make amends.

B has to start again. build their life from the ground up. leave the legacy behind. leave the memories behind. make new friends, create new memories, create a new legacy. will it corrupt their next best friend too? will it corrupt them this time? maybe a legacy is useless. maybe new friends are useless. maybe they should live as a recluse, with all the trust issues and social anxiety they now have.

and what about A? did they stop seeing B as a friend a while ago? are they just using B as a prop? are they just dragging B around everywhere because theyre getting increasingly suspicious that B might want to sever ties and leave?

or does it come entirely out of left field? because of course why would anyone want to leave them, theyre A, theyre awesome and perfect, theyre great. people would give an arm and a leg to be their friend.

does A resent B for displaying more morality? does A think its dumb? i imagine A constantly goes on these unhinged rants abt how heroes dont NEED morality, and theyre heroes now! theyre almost gods with that legacy theyre leaving behind.

when B tries to end the friendship quietly and sneak off, A latches on, sinks their claws in deeper. no one fucking leaves them. not on their watch. if it turns into a loud argument, A could get manipulative, blackmail B, say all the things thatd hurt them most because they have 30 years of data and information. or they might sever ties first before B has a chance, so they feel like the choice was theirs to make. but honestly they go through much the same experience. they snap at everyone who asks about B. theyre alone. theyre lonely. they get so much crueller.

eventually they cant refer back to the legacy anymore. no one cares. theyve changed too much. theyre barely the same person. its not their legacy anymore.

happy new year :)

[cruelsister-moved2]

hello!! im wondering if you have any advice regarding this, feel free to ignore. im so deep into the closet (lesbian) that at this point i feel suffocated mostly because of the scenarios i keep creating in my head when i think of coming out especially to my best friend. I gave her zero reasons for her to think im nothing other than straight so shattering that perception of me is scary. since we talk abt boys, well her i just listen and when i talk abt my thoughts on dating is very vague i feel like such a two faced person, lying to her face ya know? and these little scenarios i create in my head are the worst cause id imagine she wont believe me. thinking this way of her is not fair because is all in my head... im 27 btw

i hate the process of coming out and the like forced vulnerability and i also stayed in the closet to a lot of the straight people in my life for ages (and have no plans to come out to any of my extended family). i never really 'come out' to anyone, I just mention my girlfriend or like say whatever it is i want to say without a preamble. i think this forced sit-down thing that feels like an intervention is not for everyone, and honestly I find it dehumanising. maybe in some situations you decide it will produce the results you want, but it's not essential.

when you talk about shattering her perception of you, i wonder if part of the problem is the inherent discomfort of recognising that everyone creates their own idea of us in their heads that we can't control. It's just that coming out forced you to confront that in a way most cishet people might never have to. it's possible to be proud of being gay and happy with yourself and be anxious about what that might mean for the pictures others create. this is true of most -isms: you can reject the stereotypes for yourself and still recognise that other people might project them on you anyway, and no amout of self-love stops them from doing it.

i know it's hard to hear when you're in the situation, but it's important to confront whether a relationship in which you can't be yourself at all is something you really need. and sometimes it is - I don't need to have emotional intimacy about my dating life with my grandma, so I don't plan to either cut her off or come out to her, though I do keep her at a distance for my peace of mind. this isn't to say that i think your friend is going to reject you - i assume you've been friends a long time and must have some meaningful ties keeping you together despite all this + people are generally better than we think they are. but i do think the only way you're going to be able to do it is by accepting that whatever happens will be the right thing: lets say she flies into a homophobic rage, don't you want to know that about her? do you want to maintain a friendship where the only thing stopping that is you hiding yourself? you don't need to freak yourself imagining worst-case scenarios, you just need to draw a boundary for yourself that you aren't going to spend time in close relationships protecting other people's image of you.

it sounds like you mostly just want to not have to lie to her, so who cares if she doesn't believe you? instead of framing this as about her, and therefore reliant on her reaction, imagine it as being about your need to speak freely about your dating life (or whatever else you want from this), and then you won't be as worried about how she takes it (which you can't control) and more about how it feels for you (which you can). you can just say 'I'm not really interested in dating boys' and now youre free from the obligation to pretend, however she takes that. if you want to talk about girls, talk about them. if she has more questions, it's her responsibility to ask or keep them to herself. we take so much responsibility on trying to make our coming-outs easy for other people and forget abt ourselves!

[applesfallingfromblondehair]

Not from Malaysia but I had a pretty long conversation with a friend of mine who’s from there about the whole thing when it happened

Her stance was that she gets it when people are mad because something like that, actually breaching the law has negative consequences (eg other events of international artists being canceled or not invited anymore)

HOWEVER, she doesn’t see another way to start a protest. She thought it was very brave and selfless and a bit stupid of them to take such a risk. She was also pissed off at a lot of people on Twitter who clearly weren’t from Malaysia but kept talking about white saviour complex on their behalf. Bc artists or people who live in Malaysia and don’t get to just leave the country couldn’t do something like that without major consequences and prison sentences

First of all thank you for sending this in!

I also get why people are mad, I really do. This was a shocking thing to happen on an international stage, and even if it did come from a good place and was done out of love and protest against a fucked up system, I can definitely recognise that it was ill-advised and probably shouldn't have happened (in the grand scheme of things). If this truly had true repercussions on LGBTQ+ people in the country, I can see why people would be mad and that is also why I am asking the question, because I feel like I just maybe don't know enough about it and I want to educate myself.

That being said:

The festival was completely in the hands of the organisers, they decided to cancel it and I reckon they should be the one bearing the financial burden of said cancellation. The way they said they were "forced" to cancel the festival because of what happened at that show is just blatant scapegoating, that I am afraid a lot of people (and yes, that unfortunately does include queer Malaysians) are falling for;

This subsequent lawsuit is ludicrous, because as per above the band did not force them to do anything, the festival organisers were obviously just afraid more international artists might speak up as a result of Matty bringing this issue up;

I personally cannot stand the "white saviour complex" criticism: this wasn't a selfish act, or even an isolated incident. This has been happening over and over, whenever they get to a country where the laws are restricting people's freedom of expression and sometimes their freedom in general, and it was not intended as a "oh look at us, we're edgy and transgressive" thing, but more as a "wtf you guys, let's all be free together, watch this" thing. I'm incredibly sad to see how it backfired and is now seemingly coming back to bite literally everyone in the ass;

I do get that Malaysian artists don't have the same freedom of speech and do not get to leave the country and get banned and just avoid coming back, but that's precisely why this needs to be an international conversation, don't you think? What I keep noticing is that the LGBTQ+ population in Malaysia doesn't seem to be interested in fighting back, and I am sure there is a good reason for it, but it does look a bit shocking in the eyes of people coming from places where queerness is legal, celebrated, and liberated. Again, maybe I'm the ignorant one here, please educate me!

As far as I understand, there are a lot of artists who point-blank refuse to tour Malaysia precisely for this reason, and while I do admit the band could and should have done their research before signing this contract, I also think the blame should be shared with the festival organisers. Once more, this wasn't an isolated incident. Sure, it was definitely a big one, but it's not like there wasn't any precedent. This lawsuit is just completely ludicrous, and most of the world can see it. I'm just a bit sad that some people from Malaysia don't seem to get this specific point. (But yet again, maybe there is something I'm missing.)

TL;DR, I am very passionate about this topic and would love to keep having this conversation because I think it's important. Please feel free to send more insight in :)

[crazybigredlove]

14th September 2013

Dear Pete, 

Day something-or-other of Big Red-free world and another day of leave from work. Though I knew I wouldn't hear from him, it's a sad blow to the ego to learn that everything Christopher said was true. It really was just sex. Is it ridiculous to expect that someone who said they cared would at the very least send a message asking if I'm okay? Realise he has to protect his relationship, as that is obviously so important to him, but given that was our most volatile interaction wouldn't he want to know that I have pulled through it okay like the little trooper I am? 

I feel lost and I am the first to admit that I don't understand why. Each time I feel like this I almost need to believe that we fell hopelessly in love over that weekend, because otherwise feeling this sad doesn't make sense. People are looking at me and asking why it is that he gets to me so much and I am asking myself the same question. But I don't know the answer. All I can conclude is that maybe this has nothing to do with Big Red, maybe it's just breaking point on what has been a largely traumatic dating history. 

Lost and confused as I am, more therapy might be a good idea. 

I'm not okay with you abandoning me, but maybe I understand it better these days. There have been times lately - actually most of them in the last twenty-four hours - where the idea of jumping on a plane and disappearing into the clouds definitely holds some appeal. Being broke is such a pain and pretty much the only reason I'm still here. That and I adopted a German Shepherd. It would just be irresponsible of me to abandon my furkid when we're so bonded now. 

Keeping Jamie completely out of the loop with the recent developments in the Big Red situation so she couldn't go into overdrive with her self-appointed big sister role. Of course the downside of that was that she decided tonight was perfect for hosting a dinner party with two of her bachelor friends out on her deck. She still hosts these diner parties monthly, but I'm telling you I haven't seen other singles at her house in the longest time. Except of course Andrew and Christopher, who are both very much single by choice. 

To be fair, the guest list wasn't as tragic and painful as it could've been so am not going to disown her just yet. There is no need to go into details about the potential suitors because they weren't any more attracted to me than I was to them. It was a little awkward for Christopher as I think they thought he was there as my date and it created a little confusion for everyone. Look at me, I'm starring in my own production of Blind Date. It was actually the walk over that was the more entertaining portion of the evening. 

"What're you doing?" Snatching my hand up in his own, I tried unsuccessfully to slip out of his steel grip whilst wondering which of the handmade quilts in the shop window he was so inexplicably drawn to that he felt compelled to drag me towards them. 

"Sh!" He whispered through clenched teeth. "Trust me." My eyes narrowed at him. "Christopher?!" 

Then I saw the reason for the abrupt halt to our momentum: across the street, a tall male and a much smaller female, him three or so paces in front of her. Hurrying along behind him, her hands brushed constantly at the sides of her head, protecting her cotton-candy bob from the whipping wind. Phone to his ear, he seemed to be ignoring her. The vibrant red of his hair clashed violently against the soft pink of hers and I shuddered a little thinking of how aggressive he now seemed with her delicately trailing behind. 

Eventually, I remembered how to speak. "Huh. So that's what love looks like? Funny, if he hadn't told me I wouldn't have recognised it." Chris placed an arm around my shoulders. "Are you okay?" The concern in his voice made me cringe. 

"It's not like I haven't known for a while that he has a girlfriend." "Liv, come on, it's been less than two days since you-" "No need to remind me," I said, cutting him off. "I am very aware of each and every mistake I've ever made. I like to file them alphabetically in my brain for any time when my confidence might be looking like it's on the rise." 

It only took a minute from the time I first saw them till they had rounded the corner and disappeared from view. The whole time he talked on his phone while she scurried along behind. A searing pain started in my rib cage - almost like Christopher had thrust a knife in deep in between my ribs while I wasn't looking - and spread deeper down my abdomen. 

Taking my hand in his Christopher pulled me back onto the path. We walked silently the rest of the way there, except for a single question that I posed as we reached Jamie's door. 

"What does it mean that I haven't heard from him?" "It means he hasn't contacted you. That's it. That's all it means. Just because someone doesn't behave the way you would doesn't mean you can apply our own value system to interpret their actions. He knows what all this means, you and I would only be speculating." 

The response was clinical. Sterile. Devoid of any emotion. Exactly how I should have been at seeing that man with his girlfriend. 

Everyone has told me that it's been nearly a month so I have to let go seeing as only knew him for a few weeks. Everyone can bite me as far as I'm concerned. For the record, Romeo and Juliet took place over only a couple of days and people loved that crap. At least in this story the tryst lasted longer and there were no suicides or bloody battles to the death. This is practically Sleepless In Seattle compared to that. 

If you're wondering, the lighting change in my room worked. Shadows are awesome for creating the illusion of muscle and giving me a hint of self-confidence when I feel like I have none left. 

Liv x 

[kuroopaisen]

takes one to know one || fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi just wants to buy some flowers from the nice stall attendant he definitely doesn’t have a crush on in peace. gojou has other plans.  

wc: 2.4k

warnings: gn!reader, incoherent chaos

a/n: gracie dearest this one’s for you :( you are so sweet and so lovely to me and i’m so, so glad we met in this hellscape (i would personally like to thank psycho-pass for existing) i hope i did your boy well! 

By the time he arrives at Jujutsu Tech, Megumi knows the flowers are a mistake.

“For me?” Gojou gasps, hands clasped and mouth agape in perhaps his most punchable smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

Megumi’s fist tightens around the handle of his bouquet. Today, it’s lilacs, irises and white lilies. It’s also much bigger than usual – too big to inconspicuously leave on someone’s fence or place in the school gardens.

“You can have them if you want,” he murmurs. What else is he supposed to do with them?

The delight on Gojou’s face collapses into a precarious mix of genuine confusion and insatiable curiosity. “Hah? They’re not for anyone?”

“No,” Megumi says. And if they were, I wouldn’t tell you. Although he doesn’t say that last part. Gojou would perceive it as a challenge, and the less he knew about Megumi’s private life, the better.

“So…” A grin splits Gojou’s face. “The person you bought them from must be special, then.” 

Megumi freezes for just a second. But he knows a second is enough for Gojou to glean all the information he needs.  

“Ah,” Gojou hums. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Megumi mumbles, well-aware of the heat rising in his cheeks.

“But why would you go out of your way to buy a bouquet of flowers, hm?” Gojou grins, shit-eating grin back on his face. “They don’t hand these out for free, you know.”

Megumi’s grip is so firm he’s scared he’ll crush the stems.

Although, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. It doesn’t feel right to throw them out – not when you’d spent time putting it together – but he wasn’t about to revamp his room with a distinctly floral accent.

Is it against social protocol to give the flowers back to you? Not now, of course, but maybe on his evening walk… or tomorrow morning…

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t just walk past you that first day.

But something about the way you were gazing out into the street, eyes wide and hopeful as you watched people ignore you on their daily commute… something about that drew him in.

And once he’d bought something from you once – just a small flower, one he didn’t know the name of, but seemed appropriate behind a cute girl’s ear – he couldn’t very well start ignoring you.

Not when your smile is so bright, your eyes sparkling with gratitude whenever he takes whatever floral arrangement you’ve lovingly bundled together out of your hands.

But now he’s paying the price – in more ways than one.

✧ ✧ ✧

Your flower stall is just a few feet away from one of the trendiest cafes in this area of Tokyo, and whoever oversees your little operation is obviously trying to capitalise on that. Setting up so early must be an attempt to catch the rush of bleary-eyed corporate workers craving their necessary morning coffee.

What use an office worker has for flowers, Megumi doesn’t know. But he has a feeling that you’d probably say something along the lines of “it’ll help brighten the place up.”

As usual, you’re waiting there patiently, eyes hopefully scanning the streets for any potential customers. Your face positively lights up when you finally catch sight of him – something that still makes Megumi nearly trip over his own feet.

“Good morning!” You call out, waving to him.

Megumi raises a hand in response, shuffling towards you with all the embarrassment of a high schooler on their way to their first date.

“Can I interest you in a floral arrangement on this fine Saturday morning?” You grin, eyes twinkling as you make your marketing pitch.

“Sure,” Megumi sighs, scanning the vast array of flowers currently on display. He’s getting better at picking them out, but he still can’t name any of them on sight.

You wait patiently, hands folded on the counter. If you think he’s an idiot, you keep it to yourself.

“Those ones,” he says, pointing at a group of blue heart-shaped flowers.

“The morning glories?” You ask reflexively, reaching over to pluck a bunch out of their display.

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugs. He has no idea what a morning glory is. The term sounds like something Gojou and Yuji would snicker at.

“They’re gorgeous,” you smile, taking a moment to admire them.

“Yeah,” Megumi says again.

Flowers aren’t really his thing; God help him if he was ever asked what his favourite kind was. But there’s no point in saying any of that – not when he’s already spent an embarrassing amount of money at this one stall.

“You’re keeping the business afloat, you know,” you giggle, as if reading his mind.

Megumi blinks at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “It wouldn’t be amiss to say you’re our most important patron.” You beam at him, same sparkle in your eyes as always.

He’d be furious, if you weren’t so nice.

How is he supposed to focus when you’re looking at him like that? How’s he supposed to ask who ‘we’ is? A business partner? A partner partner?

But you look so young. You can’t possibly be running a business. But you might have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both. Or a partner of an otherwise non-binary gender.

Too many questions, no social capacity to ask them.

“So,” Megumi begins, his voice calm and composed as ever. His mind, however, is scrambling around like a fast-food joint at rush hour, trying to string together a sentence that’s not only coherent but also fascinating.

“How old are you?”

Whoops.

It’s the forbidden question. Or, at least, that’s what people always say. People, in this case, is Gojou. It usually is.

You seem unbothered. “I turn seventeen this year.”

Was it only a forbidden question for people who’re older? But in that case, surely knowing someone’s age was pertinent for the whole ‘respect’ thing. Maybe Gojou just didn’t think he should ever ask anyone’s age because then he’s not beholden to honorifics.

But Megumi can’t imagine him using them properly anyway.

That’s not the point. The point is that you’re the same age as him. You weren’t somehow twenty-seven with a baby face.

“Oh,” Megumi nods. “Me too.”

The smile you give him is almost unbearable. How is it even more of a smile than your usual smile? That doesn’t make any sense.

There’s a certain excitement bubbling in his gut that he doesn’t recognise or like.

Wait, if you’re his age, then…

“Do you not go to school on Saturdays?” He asks.

Is this conversation too dry? He’s not sure. He doesn’t usually make an effort at this sort of thing.

“My school doesn’t have classes on Saturday mornings,” you smile, meticulously wrapping brown paper around the stems of a set of particularly bright morning glories. You always do it so delicately; where on earth do you find the patience?

There’s something… graceful, about how you go about it. Sure, it’s your job, but Megumi still enjoys watching you work because—

“Hello there!”

Megumi knows that voice.

Oh no.

“Hello!” You fold your hands in front of you and give your new customer a bow. But your usual smile has been replaced with an expression of middling confusion as you look him up and down.

Megumi doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind him.

“Who’d’ve thought there’d be so many kinds of flowers in bloom, huh?” Gojou grins, slinging a lanky arm around Megumi’s shoulders.

Megumi glances to the side.

A pair of startingly blue eyes peek at him from behind black shades.

“What are you doing here?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I thought I’d just come out for a morning stroll,” Gojou sighs, gesturing to the sky. “Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”

Megumi’s ready to commit a murder.

“And look at all these flowers!” Gojou exclaims, bending down to peer at some asters closely. “Did you grow them all yourself?”

“Of course not,” you laugh. “I just sell them.”

Jealous maybe isn’t the right word. But there is a twisting in Megumi’s gut upon the realisation that within minutes of meeting you, Gojou had made you laugh. Megumi, on the other hand, was yet to do that.

“Well, either way, my student is a big fan,” Gojou smirks, shaking Megumi’s shoulder. Megumi’s soul is currently leaving his body.

“I was just telling him that he’s our most valued customer,” you smile, tilting your head at the pair of them.

“Ah, is that so?” Gojou grins. It’s amazing, really, how he manages to capture all the terror of the apocalypse in one smile. “I never really took him as a flower guy.”

“Everyone’s a flower guy, sir,” you tsk, shaking your head. “Even you.”

Gojou places an affronted hand on his chest. “So quick to make assumptions!”

“Not at all,” you smile. “You’d be surprised by what our customer base looks like.”

“You don’t say,” Gojou grins, turning to Megumi.

Megumi considers the consequences of punching Gojou right in the nether regions. He doubts he’d be punished for it by the higher ups; if anything, he’ll probably be rewarded. Maybe even pushed up a grade for his invaluable service.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh no.

Megumi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His head whips round to Gojou. His teacher is already looking straight at him.

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “I told Yuji to meet me here this morning.” The glint in his eyes strikes terror right through Megumi’s departing soul.

Sure enough, Itadori barrels his way towards them, damn near colliding against Megumi with a ‘thump’.

Megumi can do something but stare into the abyss, hoping, wishing, praying this is just a nightmare.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

You give the newest addition to this strange little posse a customary bow. “Good morning!”

Itadori beams at you, his entire face lighting up. “Good morning!”

A strange panic starts to rise from Megumi’s gut. If he thought about it, you and Itadori would get along well. Too well.

Thoughts of you and Itadori walking hand in hand down the street as you laugh, Itadori offering you his coat on a clod morning as you blush, Itadori walking you home, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as you lean towards him and –

Megumi blinks the thoughts away. What is wrong with him today?

You and Itadori have just met. And what was it to Megumi anyway? It’s not like he—

“Megumi?” Itadori tilts his head at him.

Megumi stares back blankly. “Hm?”

“I wanted to know how you found this place,” Itadori asks, voice bright but with the uncertain quality inherent to repeating oneself.

“Oh,” Megumi murmurs. “Well, I…”

In truth, he doesn’t remember. He just saw you one morning and decided to approach. He still doesn’t know why. But he doesn’t regret it.

“I roped him in with my charm,” you piqued up, picking up the lull in conversation.

Try as he might, Megumi just can’t concentrate. Itadori’s pressed against him, Gojou’s still got his arm slung around his shoulder, and—

“Ah, Nobara’s here!” Gojou beams, waving a hand over his head.

“What are you doing here of all places?” Nobara frowns, raising an eyebrow at Megumi. “I wouldn’t have taken this as your sort of scene.”

If there’s a hell, Megumi’s sure it’s this.

Conversation is bubbling around him but none of it is registering in his mind, he can see Nobara’s dissatisfied look as she takes in the situation at hand but he doesn’t have the energy to retort, Gojou is playing with the petals of one of the display flowers but Megumi knows he’s not going to buy it and—

“Hey, Megumi?”

He snaps back to reality at the sound of your voice, gentle and concerned.

“Are you alright?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. It’s as if you’re completely ignoring the rabble, as if you see him and only him.

Next to him Gojou, Yuji and Nobara watch with rapt attention.

“Yeah,” he lies. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

You frown at you look at him. Something flashes in your eyes and you suddenly duck beneath your countertop.

Megumi and his gaggle of fools blink in surprise.

In a moment you hop back up, something purple bundled up in your hands. “Here,” you smile, handing it out to him, “this is supposed to help you sleep.”

One whiff and he knows it’s lavender.

“How much?” Megumi asks.

You shake your head. “Oh, no. It’s on me.”

Megumi’s heart flutters as you smile. Despite the chaos going on around him, despite the fact that he knows he’s going to be mocked for this for weeks to come, he’s grateful.

Somehow.

“Sorry about this…” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Megumi feels Gojou chuckle quietly, his chest rattling. Itadori is unusually quiet and Nobara seems moments away from a laughing fit.

“I should go,” Megumi says quickly and suddenly. He doesn’t give you time to respond, zipping down the street as fast as his feet can carry him. He needs a shower and then a run and then he needs to beat a training dummy up and then—

“Wait, Megumi!”

He freezes in his tracks. That’s… your voice.

And around his wrist is… is…

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, eyes darting for where you hand wraps around his wrist. Why is his heart racing so absurdly fast? Why does it feel like his head’s about to explode? You’re just holding his wrist. You’re not even touching his skin. Not that it matters—

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You ask, not quite able to meet his gaze.

It brings him back to the moment.

“Of course,” Megumi answers reflexively.

You finally lift your eyes up. They seem to be sparkling. “I look forward to it.”

Before he even has time to process it you’ve let him go and trotted back to your stall, tending to your flowers as if nothing’d happened.

This has been too much embarrassment for one day. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on and he’s not sure he wants to know. But man, he needs at least several hours alone to process everything.

As Megumi shuffles away, Gojou bounds after him, still grinning like a fool.

“So, Megumi’s got himself a—”

Megumi elbows him in the stomach before Gojou even has a chance to finish his sentence.

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[wri0thesley]

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns. 

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[go-learn-esperanto]

I'll never forget when the writer of TUMOASD (Eneli) first started writing the fic. She was in a discord with me and I remember every chapter everyone would get so excited to see what she wrote, and I remember most of us pointedly ignoring the chapters where things were off. Everyone knew that the fic was going to end extremely sad but we couldn't bring ourselves to accept that (not unlike tommy being in denial as well)

...and i'll never forget eneli sending me another one of their fics and saying they wrote fluff this time and it was the fucking zombie apocalypse oneshot LMAO

I think the TUMOASD hate is due to varied reasons:

Popular thing bad

People didn't found the motivation to keep reading the fic and didn't keep trying. It was difficult to read = bad to them.

Not paying attention to chapter 30.

People taking Eneli's message for leaving the fandom too seriously and to heart. I think if they knew her better they would get how she does things and that it was mostly a light-hearted tweet to say goodbye to something she was no longer interested in. Also she was on mcyttwt and I don't know if I'd wish that for anyone ASDFGHJKL

So many people have wonderful memories of being friends with Eneli, of just being distraught over the fic and might even finding it fun! People saying it wasn't even funny: maybe not for you. I personally found Tubbo broadcasting Jump In the Cadillac to the whole city pretty funny.

(Spoilers for TUMOASD):

I did not cry at any of characters' deaths. However I did cry when Eneli told why she wrote the fic.

Anyone who has read it knows that the fic, despite being a fic with an insane amount of mcyt references, isn't really about the MCYTs. It's actually a very personal fic about Eneli's problems at home. It's a personal fic she wrote for herself so she could cope with all she was going through. I think that is something that people fail to recognise.

Passerine is a bit like it too. Not the whole fic but at least a part. And again

(Spoilers for Passerine):

Thcscus has said before that the way she wrote Philza was a bit of a mirror of her relationship with her father. You can see it especially well in Wilbur's talk with Phil in Chapter 6. That isn't a "Wilbur finally confronts his father about what he did to them" talk, or at least not completely. It's actually what Kyle wishes she could say to her father, who she realises left her to make her family's life better, but she can't help but feel conflicted and saddened by the whole situation. (She talks a bit about it in the Passerine Podcast interview).

Fanfiction is something people write for themselves: if someone enjoys it it's amazing! But people need to realise it's not something made specifically for you. There's a lot going into them and you should respect that people have different opinions and likes. Don't shame others for liking a harmless fic.

I'll give you some examples:

I've read Accelerate. I don't get why there was so much fuss about it. It's just a smut fic to me. But I won't go everywhere saying that it's bad. I guess people might like the specific situation. I don't like it particularly. I respect who likes it though.

I have conflicted thoughts about Flowers of 1970. It's not on my top quality fics. That being said, I try to understand why people might like it: the possibilities of the plot, the plot with Wilbur's family being genuinely interesting. There's so many reasons why people might resonate with it. Who am I to say they can't.

I think people should hate less. Authors are writing for free. Go read what you like. Constructive criticism is fine, however please know what you're talking about and accept that people might consider what you think is a fault an advantage.

[helpistolethesecharacters]

I'll Be Your Romeo If You'll Be My Juliet

Lucius Malfoy x Male Reader

Word Count: 1911

This was a request from an anon for a Lucius x male reader.

I hope this is everything you wanted from your request anon, if it isn't, feel free to send me another request!

---------

It was time for the annual Yule gathering. The Black family had the honor of hosting it this year, and they had taken every opportunity to remind everyone of that fact.

The heirs, the ones that mattered anyway, had been almost insufferable on the lead up to the yule break.

Lucius had mixed feelings on the whole subject, not that he could let that show to anyone.

Luckily, it looked like his betrothed was of a similar mind. The lovely Andromeda Black had been as quiet as he had been lately. If they had had even the smallest bit of interest in each other, they might have brought their concerns up.

Lucius thought fleetingly of a world where they could be in love. They would spirit themselves away to an abandoned classroom where they could talk uninterrupted about all of the things that were bothering them. They would take comfort in not being alone. It would bring them closer together and they could fall in love all over again.

But reality was a cruel mistress, and rarely allowed for such flights of fancy.

As it was, Lucius and Andromeda were just two teens who had been promised to each other from before they had even been born. There was nothing more between them.

Lucius sighed silently as he exited the floo into the receiving room at the Black Manor.

He barely registered an elf banishing the soot from his dress robes as he moved out of the room.

"Heir Malfoy, a pleasure to have you in our humble home this evening. And of course you as well Lord and Lady Malfoy!"

Lucius nodded at the welcome and stood obediently by his parents' side as he waited for the greetings to end. Sometimes he tired of all the stiff pureblood airs and graces.

After the obligatory back handed compliments they moved off into the party proper. With a last terse command to not embarrass the family name, courtesy of his father, Lucius moved away to see if he could find someone a little closer to his age.

He absently took a glass of sparkling cider from one of the floating trays that dotted the ballroom. The Blacks really had outdone themselves this year. The room was done in shades of white, sliver and blue. It really was stunning, but nothing seemed to be able to knock Lucius out of the numbness he had slipped into.

It had started at the start of that school year with the arrival of a transfer student. The other boy was their age, and the most enchanting creature that Lucius had ever laid eyes on. He had watched his sorting with longing, but the dratted hat had put Y/n into Ravenclaw. It wasn't really the end of the world, Lucius shuddered to think if he had been put into Gryffindor, or worse, Hufflepuff. Unfortunately, Lucius was already betrothed, but even if he wasn't, Abraxas Malfoy would never allow him to sully the Malfoy name with a male partner.

So Lucius had had to swallow his feelings as best he could. It hadn't worked very well, so he had allowed himself to pine from afar just a little.

He was jolted out of his daydream by the object of his thoughts. Lucius inhaled his mouthful of cider at the sight of Y/n.

He looked amazing in his dress robes, dressed up all fancy for the ball. Lucius thought to himself that if this was the cause of his death it would be worth it.

He was aware, once he managed to stop choking, of three things. One, everyone was looking at him, two, his face was probably red enough to shame a Weasley's hair, and lastly, that Y/n had the brightest e/c eyes possible.

He was struck with the awful thought that this was probably the first time that Y/n had known that Lucius existed.

'Well, that was a fantastic first impression,' Lucius thought to himself. He pointedly looked everyone who would meet his gaze straight in the eyes. As he had thought, it was enough to discomfort them into looking away.

Lucius raised his chin and moved off into a different area of the ballroom.

-------------

Ever since Y/n had realised that Lucius Malfoy was at the party as well, he had been jittery. The other boy was always looking at him. He had been the cause of enough distraction before this, when he was just someone who lurked at the fringes of his awareness while he studied in the school library. Now, Y/n was sure that he would never be getting rid of the image of Lucius in dress robes. How was he ever going to be able to concentrate again?

He shook himself slightly and tried to focus back in on whatever it was that the Greengrass heiress was talking about. He was supposed to be making connections here, maybe paving the way for a betrothal contract. As the first Pendragon to be seen in this and the previous generation, there was a lot of pressure to make the right political connections. A marriage to someone who was already politically powerful in this community would go a long way toward putting them back on the map in this magical community.

It was the Gods eternal joke that he was the only one that could do this. He only had one other relative, and his uncle wasn't exactly all there anymore. His parents had made it clear that this was their only chance to become the powerful family that they had once been.

Sure, potions had made it possible to have a male pregnancy, but it was still looked down on pretty harshly by most purebloods. Y/n had no idea how he was supposed to get his family back to its former glory, when to do it he would have to marry a girl. Why did he have to be gay?

------------

Lucius was slowly going out of his mind. He had moved around the party doing his best to ignore Y/n, but he couldn't get him out of his head. The other boy was still standing where he had first spotted him, entirely surrounded by everyone their age.

What was worse was that these were people Lucius had grown up with. He had known these people for his whole life, and it was this that allowed him to see what was happening.

They were all flirting with Y/n.

Lucius was almost certain that some of them, most notably his friends, were only doing it to irritate him and not because they were genuinely interested in Y/n.

He had been shooting furtive looks over at the group for the last half an hour, and still they kept it up. Lucius just didn't know what to do. Oh sure, he knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew that there was no way he could actually pull it off.

For one thing, if he showed his hand by going over there and making a fool of himself he would face serious consequences when he got home. He was sure he would already be in trouble for his incident earlier that night, but if his father heard even a hint of a whisper that his only heir was gay, well, Lucius wasn't sure he would survive that particular punishment.

He was pulled up short at the realisation of where he was. He was in a room with some of the biggest gossips in the magical world, all of which could just about smell weakness. He shot his eyes around the room and realised with a start that it was already too late.

He recognised the look in his fathers eyes when he met them. Someone must have said something about his preoccupation with his classmate to Abraxas. Lucius swallowed, noting his suddenly dry throat.

He looked away from his father, toward Y/n and his friends. There might be a way to salvage this, pretend to have been watching another of his friends. He would still be in trouble for lusting after someone who was not his betrothed, but much less than if it had been the very male Y/n.

There was a commotion over by one of the doors, but Lucius was too busy thinking. He was realising that he was done. He couldn't live like this anymore, and he was done pretending that he could.

He squared his shoulders and moved over to his friends.

"Excuse me, may I borrow Y/n for a moment. We won't be long."

He didn't even bother waiting for a response, just grabbed a hold of him and started off in a random direction. The only thing in his mind was getting as far away from other people so he could have this discussion in peace.

He pulled Y/n out of the ballroom and down hallway after hallway until he decided they were lost enough that only a house elf would be able to find them.

He turned back to the other boy after making sure that the area was empty. They were both panting a little after their impromptu jog.

Y/n was looking at Lucius cautiously.

Lucius surged forward and connected their lips.

They were gasping for breath again when he pulled back.

"You know we can't do this."

Lucius cut him off before he could continue.

"I'm done. I'm done being the perfect heir for parents that don't care to know the real me. I'm done pretending that I'm not head over heels for you. Most of all, I'm done holding back from the things I want just because society wants so badly to tell me no."

He pulled in a deep breath, still standing in Y/n personal space. Neither boy had moved back.

"I want you, Y/n, and I think you've known that for as long as I have. If I haven't missed my guess, you want me too. I'm certainly not alone in all the looks I've sent your way, and I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't at least find out if you could feel the same way as I do for you."

Y/n sighed and shifted back a step.

"Those are pretty words Lucius, easy to say them here, alone in a secluded corner of someone else's manor, but how will you feel walking into Hogwarts next week, and letting everyone see. How will you feel when your parents cut you off?"

"I'm not totally helpless Y/n, I'll find a way to survive. I know for sure that if I have you by my side there isn't anything that we can't face."

He softly took Y/n's hand and stroked the back with his thumb.

"So what do you say? Can you feel the same way I do?"

Y/n shut his eyes in resignation.

"You know I do."

They stood at the end of their silent hallway for some time, just holding each other.

"You know this will be the second scandal of the night?"

Lucius pulled back to look at Y/n.

"What do you mean?"

Y/n looked at Lucius, shocked.

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Didn't you hear, just before you pulled me out of there, one of the older Blacks ran in and caused quite the scene. By the looks of things Andromeda is missing. From what I managed to gather, she's run off with that muggleborn from Ravenclaw, you know, Tonks-something, or something-Tonks."

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 1. Is It A Bird?

A/N Make sure you read the prologue before, or this chapter might not make sense!

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 4869

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

You watched the bird fly from behind the clear glass, level with the top floors of the office building.

You followed it the best you could, walking the stretch of the room alongside it. The window was long and wide, filling the wall entirely. This whole section of the building was made of glass, and stood tall against the skyline �� so that you could often see the flocks of birds that flew by.

Though, it wasn’t as tall as the ones closer to the inner city.

No, this was more of a dwarfed skyscraper.

You reached the end of the office, and placed your hands up against the cool glass as the bird continued onwards — leaving you behind. Below, the street seemed desolate, just as the sky now did. There wasn’t a single soul lurking down there — but you didn’t trust your eyes in the slightest. Especially not here.

You needed a better view. You needed a bird’s-eye view.

The fire escape steps were rickety, and metal flakes crumbled beneath your feet. They had rusted from the rain, and you tried not to think about how precariously they squeaked as you made your ascent to the roof. You’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d cave beneath you — and laugh their squeaky laughs as they sent you plummeting to the ground.

You reached the top, and felt the breeze on your cheek as you scaled the roof courtyard. Up here, everything seemed untouched. It always had done. This high up, people would look like mere ants — harmless, and far enough away that it didn’t matter if they weren’t.

The wind blew, and you stared out towards the building parallel to the corporate one you were currently standing on. It had been a hotel once. But now its roof held something far more valuable than deckchairs and a cocktail bar.

There she was, you smiled, and what a beauty indeed.

It was an army helicopter, sat perfectly still against the horizon — like a bird nesting. It was a camo green, but it didn’t camouflage against the greyish sky in the slightest. Though, it did seem like it belonged there; it was a hawk after all.

A Sikorsky Hawk, to be more specific.

You’d never flown her type before, but she’d been there ever since you first took refuge in the building, like an abandoned bird in an abandoned city. The army had been the first to flee, after all — or the first to die. Either way, the hawk had sat alone for nearly two months, teasing you.

You should have just stayed in Georgia.

It was only meant to be a weekend trip, but somehow you’d gotten stranded in Atlanta during the end of the world. You would have cursed your luck, but then again you were lucky enough to get stuck on the outskirts — only narrowly missing the bombs as they reigned down upon the city.

It was like a meteor shower. Except, instead of falling stars, it had been napalm.

You could remember it perfectly. First the power had gone out, then the water mains dried up, and finally the food whittled down to nothing. You’d hopped from building to building until you came across this corporate graveyard — which had enough supplies to keep you alive for a few weeks. But you should have just left Atlanta whilst you had the chance.

This tower had lulled you in with the promise of safety, but had kept you trapped there ever since.

Walking closer to the roof’s edge, you glanced along the building in the distance. You’d checked it a dozen times now — mapping out all of its exits to try and find a way inside. You had to be prepared. After all, it wasn’t like you could just wait until you got there. Your boot hit the fencing, and you felt the urge to peer over the railing at the alley below.

Don’t look down, you told yourself — but you always did.

A narrow sidestreet separated the office block from the hotel. There was a fence at one end, secured with a thick padlock, whilst the other was open. That would have been fine on its own; except, the biters had all stumbled into the alley as though it were a cattle cage — and couldn’t figure out how to leave once they were there.

Dumb fucks, you thought, watching them pile up against the gate as though it were a concert barrier.

Almost every day, you’d come to see that helicopter — separated by a channel of the undead, their heads bobbing like ripples on the surface of water — and every day you’d turn around and head back down the fire escape.

Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a sigh. The stale lunchroom cereal had recently run empty. You felt for your pistol in your back pocket — the one you’d managed to get a hold of during the initial outbreak.

Six bullets, you counted, before slipping it back into your jeans.

You smiled at the irony.

“Six!” you yelled at the man, placing your card face-up on the bar. “It’s my lucky number.”

Dixon knocked back his whiskey and grimaced as it went down. Joe’s was practically empty by now, but the man lingered about like the aftertaste of your drink — waiting for your shift to end.

“An’ why’s that?” he asked, not looking up from his own hand.

You smiled — the alcohol making you loose-lipped.

“It was your closing time. Six in the evening,” you explained, waiting for him to lay his last card. “But you still fixed up the Camaro anyway.”

Your fingertips rested along the hem of the jacket, feeling the worn leather. The air was stiflingly warm, but you kept it on. After all, it still smelled faintly of the man who’d given it to you.

Like whiskey and gasoline.

Atlanta had gone still and quiet, leaving you to your thoughts as you stood on that rooftop — trying to be brave. Military training was meant to beat that into a person, but maybe you’d gone soft since then. After all, you always preferred to stay above the action than be in the midst of it.

Six bullets, a Hawk, and a cattle grid filled with biters.

You laughed. Everything interesting always seemed to happen on a Tuesday.

Glancing over your shoulder at the bird once more, you tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped and your palms sweat. It was probably from the heat, you tried to tell yourself, but you knew better than that.

“I guess today’s the day,” you said, to no one in particular.

Then, you began to descend that rickety fire escape once again — because what goes up must always come down.

//

What you hadn’t realised, is that the same could be said for that Sikorsky Hawk, which spat you out of the sky like you didn’t deserve to be there.

When you finally came back around — after drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like much too long — all you could smell was burning rubber.

That’s not good, you thought, as you blinked your eyes open.

Black smoke hung thick in the air, melding with the orange flames that flickered in the distance and caught the trees.

Those damn trees.

You hissed curses through your teeth as the pain finally kicked into gear — albeit a bit delayed. In your haziness, you’d barely realised how precarious your situation was. Like a puppet on a string, you dangled from the branches of a tall, leafless tree — caught by your parachute wires.

Your breaths were shallow and strained, and you slowly lifted a hand — the one not tangled in the cords — to feel your stomach.

Blood.

It was shrapnel from the crash. It stung like a bitch, and would probably need stitches. Well, it would if you could get down in the first place.

You glanced up at your other arm, eyes stinging from the brightness of the sky.

That doesn’t look right either, you grimaced.

It had gotten caught during the fall, and had twisted at an unnatural angle which only made you wince as you tried to free it. Like a marionette, if you plucked those wires ever so slightly, your whole body flailed.

The radios whirred below you, letting out a continuous note of high-pitched static as they caught alight. It reminded you of the screeching of wheels as they spun over tarmac — or something like that.

But, then you saw a man.

And the man saw you.

At first, you barely recognised him without his oil-stained work clothes — wrench in hand. But at the same time, he seemed to blend in perfectly with this new world. He had a crossbow slung over his back, and a rope of limp squirrels looped around his shoulder. A natural born hunter, indeed.

With numb toes, and blood rushing to your head, you called out to him hoarsely — hoping that he’d spot you perched among the trees.

“Dixon,” you spoke, and winced straight after.

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own.

Still, the man whipped around, and stared straight through you as though he were looking at a ghost.

“How’s it hanging?” you teased, and recognition flashed on his face.

It had taken him a while to cut you down, untwisting your limbs delicately from the cables. But once you were free, he carried you in his arms — like some trophy game from his hunting trip.

Then, he noticed the wound.

The mechanic looked down at you helplessly. He still hadn’t said a single word, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. They rested on your hands — which were pressed down firmly to stop the bleeding — before trailing back up to your face.

He looked older than you remembered, and more hardened. And he didn’t view you with the same shy curiosity as before — you had noticed.

No. This was sadness.

You brought a hand up from your stomach and touched it to his cheek. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

You could swear he even leaned into it.

His mousy stubble tickled your palm, and only then did you realise the bloody fingerprints you’d left behind on his skin. You let your head flop against the man’s chest, your ear pressed to his pounding heartbeat.

“Today really isn’t my day,” you murmured there, and he started walking.

//

You watched the sky the whole way back.

It looked so different from the sky in Atlanta. There were no hulking skyscrapers blocking it, nor fast food billboards that had begun to peel away. And there were far more birds flying by — the real kind, not any Sikorsky Hawks.

Dixon remained completely silent, except for when he’d occasionally remind you to keep pressure on that wound. He moved quickly, but he seemed lost in thought — lacking the usual bite you remembered.

He also seemed to have lost his words, you thought.

But then you reached a clearing.

You could hear the commotion before you saw it; there was some rustling behind the trees, accompanied by dry shouts and the clanging of metal. You glanced up at the man carrying you for answers, but he didn’t once look down.

Daryl stepped out into the open air, and squinted from the sunlight. You did the same, turning your head into his chest for some cover from it.

“Ya can drop yer weapons,” you heard him say.

Well, more like felt — since the vibrations rumbled against your cheek.

“Unless yer plannin’ on offing me with tha’ shovel,” he snapped.

There he was, you smiled, that was the Dixon you recognised.

You could feel his heart thumping as he spoke, and you had to coax yourself away to take a look at the scene for yourself.

A group of people holding spades, a bashed-in biter, and a mauled deer.

You laughed. Fucking Tuesdays.

Except, the laugh trailed off into a wheeze as the pain started up, and the blood poured.

Daryl quickly kicked into gear with urgency, and brushed off the group as they tried to ask their questions. “Someone best go get Merle off his lazy ass,” he yelled, “tell him his favourite helicopter pilot jus’ crash landed ‘ere.”

Your head snapped up at his words.

Merle Dixon, too? You weren’t sure you could handle them both.

Except, nobody moved to go and retrieve the older brother. Instead, a small asian man stepped forward — removing his baseball cap and wringing it in his hands.

“I can’t believe it,” he announced, eyes locked on you, “helicopter boy was telling the truth!”

You squinted at his words, trying to make sense of them amidst the heatstroke and blood loss.

But, you didn’t have to try for long. A second man stepped out from behind the frontline of people, also parting with his obnoxiously large hat as he did so. Except, this was no baseball cap; this was a damn country midwestern cowboy hat.

The badge in the centre of it caught the light and beamed it back directly into your eyes, making you cower away. The man shucked his hands into his pockets, and only then did you catch sight of him fully — clad in his King County Sheriff’s Department uniform .

Great, you sighed, letting your head flop back over Daryl’s arm. A fucking cop.

Dixon’s jaw clenched, too. You saw it above you — tensing.

“You come from Atlanta?” the officer questioned, “earlier today?”

That caught your attention. He’d been in Atlanta, too?

You definitely hadn’t seen any survivors on the flight over. But then again, it would’ve been nearly impossible to distinguish the dead from the living at that altitude. You swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“What happened to you?” he pressed.

The group’s chatter had died to a silence, and even Daryl seemed to await your answer.

“Engine failed,” you croaked, parched from a lack of water. “Couldn’t control the descent so I had to jump,” you cursed the last part, “too many trees.”

Then, you pinched Daryl’s arm lightly — feeling woozy from the sun. He nodded, and wordlessly stepped over the rotting corpse near his boot.

“You two know each other?” a voice interrupted, “and you just happened to find her?”

You didn’t like this man’s eyes; you hadn’t since you’d first caught a glimpse of them. He had dark, bouffant hair that seemed far too prim for the end of the world, and was wearing light cargo pants.

Then you noticed the dog tags hanging from his neck, and the combat boots which matched what you knew to be police-issued training gear.

Seriously, you thought, another one?

Daryl didn’t seem particularly fond of the guy, either, because he narrowed his eyes at him in the same way he did the biter at his feet. He looked as though he was considering ignoring him completely. And you couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t like you were bleeding out, or anything.

“Was trackin’ tha’ deer,” he responded, toeing the dead animal with his boot. “Seen the bird go down an’ followed it.”

Daryl readjusted his grip on you, and you groaned from his heavy-handedness. But you didn’t miss his guilty expression.

After all, he probably tried to be gentle.

“An’ there she was, jus’ swingin’ from tha' tree like a big ol' piñata,” he finished — that southern drawl thick on his tongue.

You watched the other man’s jaw shift as though he were chewing on a bee, and spit at the ground like it had stung his mouth.

“You’re telling me that she crashed a damn helicopter in our backyard?” he barked, narrowing in on you with those sharp, dark eyes. “Drawing walkers from all over?”

Daryl shifted where he stood, making the leather of your jacket squeak as it rubbed together. You were beginning to feel like tinfoil in a microwave — cooking slowly in the sun as you waited for the men to finish brooding.

“Ya hear ‘nything?” the mechanic asked of the group, who turned away from his intense gaze one-by-one. “Din’t think so,” he spat, and you could practically hear his thoughts.

What a bunch of cowards.

“Was in the bow of the woods,” Daryl went on, eyeing the dark-haired man where he stood. “Land dips in at either side, like a noise tunnel.”

He paused, his eyes briefly flicking up to the sky as though seeing the scene once more.

“Only ones hearin’ it were the ones a’ready there.”

Daryl juggled you in his arms again, probably aching from the long trek, and seemed antsy to finally escape those heavy stares. But then, the man shook his head — as though remembering something.

“Now where’s my damn brother?” he growled.

And everyone’s eyes fell straight to the ground, like birds swooping down from the sky.

//

It would be an understatement to say that Daryl Dixon had exploded at the news.

He went nuclear.

If you hadn’t been in his arms at the time, you were certain that someone would’ve been on the receiving end of Daryl’s right hook. You’d seen it before, after all. That man wasn’t exactly one to pull his punches.

But, luckily, you had been there — crumpled in on yourself as the white hot pain also reached nuclear levels.

And so, you were ushered into a small, greyish tent that smelled faintly of oil and gasoline — and the unfortunate alcoholic stench of Merle Dixon — and stripped out of your jacket by a woman who tried her best to quell the bleeding.

But even then, you could still hear the storm raging outside the thin canvas material — the storm that went by the name of Dixon. He’d never shown that sort of temper around you before, so it came as a shock to see it brewing for yourself.

Yells competed with each other outside the tent walls, as a woman with short, greyish hair politely tended to your wounds — pretending she couldn’t hear anything at all.

But, you heard it and bolted upright, straight as an arrow.

Merle Dixon had been chained to a roof like a dog in Atlanta.

What fucking irony.

The smoking ban had loomed over rural Georgia for a while now, but it fell on the deaf ears of the regulars. They still smoked their thickly rolled cigars, and cheap cartons of cigarettes — clogging up the bar and your lungs every time you took a breath.

Dixon sat on the stool, watching as you wiped down the chestnut oak covered in sticky beer rings, and pulled new drinks for the impatient men twice your age. He was mulling over a particularly hard whiskey that day, but wouldn’t tell you the reason behind it.

So, you continued with your rounds until another man approached you, and took the only free seat beside the mechanic.

Big mistake, you smirked, and awaited his reaction.

Daryl Dixon shared barspace with no one - hence, the free seats on an otherwise crowded Friday night. Except, he did nothing but shoot the stranger a side-eyed glance, before returning to his whiskey that needed a top-up on ice.

The newcomer let his eyes slide down over you, in that sleazy way you’d become familiar with by now. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and tilted his head back in an exaggerated display of bravado.

And you snorted; you just couldn’t help it.

He scowled at you in response, as his gaze rested on the bare skin of your neck.

“Military dog,” he spat, despite your lack of tags, “where's yer collar?"

Beside him, the mechanic’s jaw clenched as he looked up from the ice melting in his glass.

You laughed. “Howdy, redneck, where’s your cousin?”

And Daryl choked on that same ice.

Surprisingly, the bitterness all but faded away from the unknown man’s face — as he seemed to take your comment in jest. He smirked, and wacked Daryl on the back forcefully as he hacked up his whiskey — yelling something about it being too damn expensive to go shooting out all over the bar.

You couldn’t understand the situation. You’d never seen Daryl act like that with anyone at Joe’s — let alone this particular breed of asshole.

“Feisty, jus’ how I like ‘em,” the stranger quipped back, sending a wink at you that lingered on your skin.

You pulled a face, and went back to wiping down the bar — careful not to lean over too much.

“Knock it off, Merle would’ya?” Daryl shot back, his voice rising in pitch over the name.

The other man — Merle — grinned, before clapping Daryl over the back once more. “No promises, lil’ brother,” he teased.

Then, he knocked back a drink you were certain he must’ve snuck in — because you sure as hell hadn’t poured it for him — and disappeared into the sea of drunkards playing pool and throwing darts haphazardly.

You froze, glancing over to the mechanic.

“That’s your brother? I’m so sorry-”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he interrupted, before finishing his whiskey and handing you the empty glass. “Asshole deserved it.”

Back then, you saw no resemblance between Daryl and Merle Dixon — but, families always had a strange hold over a person. After all, that was the reason why you’d gotten shipped off to Georgia in the first place; your parents had swept you under the rug like a bad kept secret — simply to try and keep up appearances.

You’d followed your brother into the military, only for it to spit you back out and leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths afterwards.

The tent door unzipped, and flapped as it caught the evening breeze.

Daryl entered like a hurricane, startling the woman — Carol — as she tended to you. He was followed by an entourage of curious faces who watched as he toed his boots off, and kicked them to the side.

“All of ya best get out,” he grumbled, as he peeled off his leather vest and set it down next to you — his eyes focused on your white shirt that had since been dyed red.

The group seemed to register his words, but no one made the move to leave.

The man let out a frustrated grunt, before fumbling with the small first-aid box near your feet. “Need to give ‘er stitches, an’ I ain’t need no one breathin’ down my neck,” he said, scowling down at the supplies.

You swallowed thickly, that didn’t sound very convincing.

A blonde woman near the tent entrance seemed to think the same, because she chirped up.

“You know how to do that?” she questioned — braver than any of the men who stood in stunned silence.

Daryl’s jaw set. “Y’ain’t believe me?” he bit back. “Think ‘m only good for spittin’ on the ground an’ feedin’ ya damn squirrels?”

The same woman recoiled at his words, and you sighed.

Always had a bark much worse than his bite, that one.

But then the man reached over for the hem of your shirt and you just froze — before slapping his hand away. He also recoiled with the same, exaggerated movements, and scowled at you as though your touch had burnt him.

You wanted to trust him, but part of you just couldn’t.

Daryl must’ve caught the look in your eyes — and recognised it for himself — because he sighed and shook his head, and glanced over at the women nearby.

“Anyone else know how to give stitches ‘round ‘ere?” he demanded, but the majority shook their heads.

All except one.

“I think I-” Carol piped up, before a burly man shot her a look so boldly threatening that it even made you flinch.

The woman paused over her words, before eventually shaking her head.

“I don’t. I’m sorry,” she mumbled, timidly, before that same man slipped his hand in hers and pulled her away.

You recognised that look, too.

And so the rest of the stragglers disappeared from the tent one-by-one, until only you and Daryl remained — deadlocked.

“C’mon, Camaro, quit yer bitchin’,” he coaxed, his voice more soft now that it was just the two of you. “Unless ya wanna bleed out o’er my tent.”

He had the needle and thread all prepared between his fingers, waiting for your permission.

You sighed. “You used to be a lot nicer, you know that?” you remarked, thinking back to the Dixon who shyly smoked cigarettes on that cliff’s edge, watching you like you were brighter than the stars.

You had noticed.

Then, you lifted up your shirt with your trembling hand, as he pressed onto your skin with his steady one.

And so Daryl gave you stitches — filling you up on Merle’s stash of whiskey to dull the pain — and muttering how, despite his work not being pretty, it’d be functional. You didn’t question how he’d come to learn how to sew butterfly stitches in the first place, thinking it best not to ask, nor did you comment on how gentle he wiped away the blood.

Always a man of his word, Daryl Dixon’s stitches were definitely not pretty.

But, to you, they looked like constellations.

He’d made it clear how lucky you’d been that it was only a surface injury; if it were anything deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to patch you up. It was probably thanks to that thick jacket that you’d managed to walk away from the crash mostly unscathed.

You’d seen him eyeing it occasionally as he worked, glancing over at the bloody leather that stained his tent floor.

Like hell would you be giving it back.

After that, he’d also managed to sneak Carol back inside — away from who you could only guess to be her husband. She’d told you that your arm wasn’t broken, but in fact dislocated, and helped set it back into place as your eyes stung with salt tears.

But you couldn’t complain.

After all, they’d tried to put you back together like humpty dumpty after your crash — albeit with staples and scotch tape.

Though, as soon as you were out of the woods and in the clear, Daryl pulled his boots back on and collected his things impatiently — not even sparing you a second glance.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Your words left your mouth a bit slurred from the medical-whiskey concoction, but he only pretended not to hear them.

You asked again, until he finally responded. “‘M goin’ to get my damn brother back, where’d ya think?” he answered, frustration laced in his voice.

He stuffed a few things into his rucksack, before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Careful, Dixon,” you cautioned, “you have a habit of finding yourself in a mess when you let your temper get the best of you.”

The man scoffed, and made a point of looking you up and down — calling you hypocritical with his eyes alone.

“Don’ act like ya know me tha’ well,” he growled, startling you with his tone.

But, you couldn’t blame him for his words.

After all, you’d spent more time apart than you had together.

The man sighed. “Gotta go get Merle,” he reasoned, more carefully this time.

He flickered open the tent, and let in the sky. It was not yet black, but a burnt orange, as though preparing to be set alight with stars. It reminded you of those evenings you’d get to close up early, and walk past a certain auto-shop that still had its amber lights turned on, and its door wide open.

And the former mechanic started walking away, leaving you behind out on the sidewalk.

“Daryl-” you called after him.

The word spilled from your mouth like beer overflowing from a glass — pouring over before you could stop it.

He glanced back immediately.

You never called him that.

Even though you knew his name from other people’s tongues, he’d always been Dixon — ever since the moment you read it on his shoddy name-tag. Not once during the month you’d spent with him had you called him Daryl.

Not until now.

“It’s getting dark out,” you whispered, even though the sky was still clearly orange.

You swallowed the dryness from your throat — and with it, your pride.

“Please stay? Until morning?”

Dixon looked back at you, swaddled in one of his clean shirts that he’d buttoned up himself — making you look so small.

And he sighed. He always was the worst liar of them all.

“Jus’ ‘til mornin’,” he repeated, trudging back to that grey tent.

Then, he took a seat beside you, his knees knocking against yours. But you tried to fight against your smile, and racing heart that pounded deep in your chest.

Because what goes up must always come down.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, if you enjoy my writing, you might want to buy me a coffee or commission me - tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N Boom. The series has officially been kicked off. Did you like seeing the parallels between Daryl’s POV in the prologue and the reader’s? I really hope you all enjoyed it - please let me know what you think :)

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[hehebread]

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

--

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

--

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

--

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

[tacticaldiary]

Late Night Snack

REQUEST: Could you do one where Shoto and Y/N are up really late at the dorms making snacks but then get caught kissing? - Anon

--------------------------------------------------------------------

This ask made me very excited. I may or may not have made an audible happy noise at it... :)

Pairing: Reader x Todoroki Shoto

Genre: Fluff

“Y/N waits in anticipation, but he doesn’t move a muscle, his breath fanning gently over her face. When she cracks open her eyes to see what was wrong, she finds a tiny smirk on his face.”

 Turns out people do walk into the kitchen at 3am on a Saturday. 

Masterlist

Noise wasn’t a problem in the dorms, so when the microwave beeps obnoxiously at 3am to signify the popcorn’s finished cooking, neither Todorki nor Y/N cringe. 

“Do you think that’ll be enough?” Todoroki asks as he peers into the bowl of fresh popcorn, setting it beside Y/N who was seated on one of the marble countertops, legs swinging below her. 

“Should be.” She replies quietly. She holds a bowl of chips in her hand, a container of pretzels sat next to her. 

They had snuck downstairs to grab some snacks for a movie night Y/N had insisted she and her boyfriend have today. Although it was nearing 3:30am, neither of them felt a bit tired, taking their fuel off each other's presence. The movie was set up in Y/N’s room, including fluffy blankets and dim lights. This was the last step. 

Todoroki had no complaints. He got to spend time with Y/N and that was enough for him. Shifting to stand in front of her, he presses his forehead against her, humming in contentment a little. The silence encompassed them in a bubble, giving them a sense of privacy. Nothing was heard except the soft sounds of breathing. 

There’s a clink, when Y/N places the bowl she’s holding next to her, before she loops her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. As he’s pulled forward, he places his hands on either side of her legs on the counter. He smiles down at her, taking her in, allowing his eyes to roam over her face. 

“What’re you looking at?” She teases, watching him with amusement. 

“You. You’re beautiful.” He says bluntly. He thought that she deserved to know, that Y/N should know. What point would it prove to hide it from her. 

She feels her face heat up as she shakes her head a little. Todoroki raises an eyebrow at the movement. “You disagree?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, and a little closer to hers

“No? I mean-...I don’t think so , but-” She’s silenced by him leaning forwards and pressing their lips together. Her eyes flutter close as her mind goes blank, as it usually did when they were this close together. As he pulls away, he chuckles a little and stops just shy of her face again. He meets her gaze head on, something intense and determined in his own eyes that makes Y/N’s stomach somersault. 

“I’ll make you believe it, then. I can’t have you look at yourself and think you are anything less than perfect.” he states, before reaching up to place a kiss on her forehead. He moves down to each cheek. Her nose. He moves lower and stops shy of her lips. Y/N waits in anticipation, but he doesn’t move a muscle, his breath fanning gently over her face. When she cracks open her eyes to see what was wrong, she finds a tiny smirk on his face. 

He was waiting for her to do it. 

She huffs a little, before quickly leaning in and closing the distance between them quickly. Todoroki catches on quickly and moves closer to her, brushing against her legs. 

It wasn’t unusual to see sleep-deprived 1-A students trudging into the kitchen to fix themselves a snack or, on worse cases, another cup of coffee. Since it was 3am on a Saturday, the both of them assumed that no one would be awake, instead opting to take advantage of the free time and rest. 

They were very wrong. 

One of Todoroki’s hands starts to trail over her waist, making her skin prickle pleasantly, before a muffled shriek causes them to jump out of their skin. Turning around, they see a very embarrassed, very red-faced Izuku standing there in mortification. Y/N glances at Todoroki, who shrugs nonchalantly. 

Izuku doesn’t seem to be alone though. Apologies tumbling out of his mouth in jumbled together mutters, he turns around to bolt back, but collides with another person, both of them sent sprawling to the ground. 

Y/N groans and rests her head against Todoroki’s chest, as she recognises the familiar mop of frazzled yellow hair. She was sure Izuku wouldn’t tell anyone...but Denki? They were never going to hear the end of this. She feels Todoroki’s arm wrap around her waist, almost protectively.

The two intruders groan and sit up. Denki, rubs his head and goes to complain, but stops short when he sees the position the couple is in. His look of confusion quickly morphs into one of mischief and teasing. 

“Well, what do we have here. The lovebirds decided to have a midnight makeo-” he’s cut off by Izuku who quickly yanks Denki to his feet, frantically apologising, saying something about him and Denki training outside. Denki’s quickly dragged outside, and the two are left in silence again.

“That-...That just happened.” Y/N groans burying her face into his chest and groaning. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Maybe not.” He says back. “Might as well finish where we left out in that case.” he adds, tilting her chin up, pecking her on the face quickly, before grabbing her gently from the counter. Y/N yelps and wraps her arm around his neck to hold on, while he hooks one arm under her legs, and the other around her back. 

Ignoring her protests, they make their way to Y/N’s room, where He plops her down onto the covers and reaches over to grab her laptop. Y/N shakes her head with an amused smile and cuddles up next to him, engulfing them in the blankets. Todoroki gratefully holds her close, as they settle down to watch the movie. 

About 10 minutes in, Y/N speaks.

“We forgot the snacks...”

Requests Are Open and Welcome!

[d0llpie]

could we suggest a scenario instead of a # from the prompt list? if we can could you write hcs (or whatever format you prefer haha) of fake dating for sakusa? like maybe you’re going home from college and ur parents are expecting you to bring home a boyfriend.

ofc if this isn’t what you normally do i understand !!

Fake Dating Sakusa

sakusa x reader

a/n: Hii yes this is perfectly fine, thank you for the request love <33 Also i don’t usually incorporate ‘germaphobe’ sakusa into my works, i still make reference to his social anxiety and cleanliness but i keep it low key if that makes sense? Hope you enjoy regardless <3

wc: 2k

- You were friends with Komori during middle school since he lived near you

- As you grew closer you started attending his volleyball practices and he introduced you to Sakusa

- You were bright and bubbly and spoke to him every game and practice, commending him on his skills. It was rare to get a reply but you still tried nonetheless

- Once Komori had asked you to become the manager, the three of you started hanging out more often, leading to you being one of the few people Sakusa wasn’t uncomfortable around

- Once you entered high school together the boy’s volleyball team was already amazing, Sakusa became the ace while you were focused on your studies and own extra curriculars

- When Sakusa asked you to manage his team he didn’t think you would decline, as petty as it was he started ignoring you

- Komori was annoyed at his behaviour and you just tried to get under his skin to annoy him. Slipping notes into his locker and notebooks, even flinging your mask at him across the classroom but he didn’t blink.

- Your mum asked why she hadn’t seen Kiyoomi around lately and you decided to tell her everything, including how much you missed him.

- She offered to call his mum but you quickly shut her down, instead making Komori talk some sense into him.

- The next day he showed up at your door, with brows furrowed, although you could only see half his face you could tell he had a guilty expression

- “Soo, you come crawling back to me just like always” you sighed dramatically before entering your house, rolling his eyes

- “I’m sorry for expecting so much from you, i know you aren’t interested in volleyball and just support me but i enjoy your support.” you were taken back by his blunt apology and nodded, about to speak when you were interrupted

- “Sakusa! Come in come in, i haven’t seen you in while how is volleyball!” you mum ushered him into the kitchen, starting the kettle to make some tea

- “Hi mrs l/n, it’s been good, we’re improving and nationals is approaching” he removed his mask and sat at the bench, looking over at you expectantly

- You smiled before sitting next him, “Well thats great! I’m sure your mum is proud, i need to catch up with her soon” you watched fondly as they interacted, remembering how your mum seemed to be on his side more when you explained his absence

- “I have to leave soon, i’ll be back in a few hours, Kiyoomi would you like to stay for dinner dear?” he nodded curtly “if that’s okay with you” she smiled before turning to you

- “y/n, about the trip next week, your cousin is bringing her boyfriend so you can bring Sakusa, if you’re free of course” you became embarrassed quickly, understanding that your mum had mistaken Kiyoomi for your boyfriend when you spoke to her

- “mum wait-“ “okay i really need to go now, we can talk about this later, bye guys” she rushed out the door and you sighed, slowly turning to see Sakusa’s unreadable expression

- “Is your mother under the impression that we’re dating...?” you wanted to crawl under the floorboards and melt into the earth “um, i think so? i didn’t tell her that i think she got confused when i explained why you were ignoring me..” he nodded understandingly

- “I am free” you quirked your brow “Omi you don’t have to come i can explain everything to her..”

- “i guess, that’s a bit of a hassle though don’t you think? And besides, your family likes me more than you.” you lightly hit his shoulder before standing up to bring the tea into the lounge room, Sakusa following behind you

- “I guess, but, you’d have to pretend to be my boyfriend in front of everyone and my cousin will ask a lot of question, do you think you’d be okay?” his eyes softened at your concern before he answered

- “I don’t mind, it won’t be difficult, plus we can always just stay in the hotel room and say we’re on a date or something if it gets too much” he shrugged “wow Omi, i didn’t know you could think this much so fast” he glared at you and you laughed

- “Alright then babe, i’ll tell mum when she gets back” you laughed again, focusing on your cup of tea, missing the way the tips of his ears burned red

~

Next week came all too fast, you and Sakusa had managed to slip back into the way your friendship was beforehand, comfortable.

Sakusa was sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you pack up the last of your things into the suitcase. You knew it might be a bit much for him to be in a car with your family for hours so you were going to take his car. It would give you both time to sort out your story and prepare for the week ahead. You hopped into the passenger seat and started playing your playlist.

“Okay so, mum won’t ask many questions, she loves you anyway, however, my cousin will ask about first dates and will want to know e v e r y t h i n g” you turned to face him when his arm reached behind the head of your chair, he looked back to reverse and you stared blankly at his side profile, seeing his arms flex. You cleared your throat and turned back in front of you to continue. “We need a story”, as he pulled out of your street and began driving he spoke “I mean we can tell the truth about how we met, say you confessed after a volleyball match where i won and our first date was a picnic, we’ve been together for a few months and your mum found out recently” you stared at him shocked “i thought i would be having to prepare you but okay” you playfully rolled your eyes and smiled “What about acting like a couple?” “well your mum already assumed and i’m comfortable with you so it’s not like people don’t already think we act like one, anything off limits?” you hummed “jeez what do you have in mind” you teased and he scoffed “I mean the obvious hand holding and hugs will have to probably happen but anything else you do or don’t want?” yes. You shook the thought away “That should be fine, what about you?” “that’s fine, you can take a nap if you’re tired, it’ll be a few hours” you nodded before settling into your seat comfortably, quickly falling asleep.

Sakusa looked over at you and noticed the goosebumps on your skin, he reaching onto the backseat floor and placed a jacket over you the best he could. He glanced to you at the side fairly often, watching you peacefully sleep under his jacket. He smiled to himself while continuing to drive.

You woke up as soon as the car stopped, looking around confused, feeling an unfamiliar weight and material draped over you. You looked down and recognised Sakusas jacket, remembering you fell asleep in the car. You looked over to see Sakusa looking down at you “sleep well?” “mhm” you sat up properly and took a few minutes to adjust to being awake. “Alright well, your family is here, you ready to act babe?” he threw the nickname back at you and your eyes widened before you put on a casual smile, realising you needed to get used to acting like you were in a relationship with your friend.

“Y/n, Sakusa! How was the drive? We’re all gonna put our bags away and get settled in before dinner, make sure you both get ready!” your parents greeted you both “It was nice, we’ll settle in now, thank you” your mother handed Sakusa one of the room keys. You went to grab your bags but Sakusa beat you to it, taking both of your bags and leading you to the room.

When you entered you made a mental note to annoy your mother, there was only one bed. “Kiyoomi i’m sorry, I didn’t know she would book it like this, actually i’m not surprised...” he nodded understandingly, putting both your bags on the bed. “I’ll sleep on the chair or the floor it’ll be fine, c’mon let’s get ready” you wanted to argue against him doing that, but hummed and began to get ready.

Once you finished getting dressed, you left the bathroom and met Sakusa by the door “You look good, ready?” you nodded, smiling brightly at him. He slipped an arm around your waist and you tensed up before relaxing into his hold

Dinner went smoothly for the most part, you let Kiyoomi do most of the talking since he answered all the questions relating to your relationship with ease, even including stories from middle school and weaving them into the lies about your dating life. “So, when did you realise you liked each other?” your cousin eyed you curiously and you looked over to Sakusa. “I’ve always known, she’s always made me feel safe enough to be myself, respecting me while still annoying the crap out of me. I knew on her first day as our manager in middle school, during a break she handed everyone water bottles but she went to my bag to bring me my own water bottle instead” you were staring at him in awe, millions of thoughts running through your mind. Was he serious? He couldn’t be..but wow that was detailed and he seemed, genuine? He looked over to see you staring at him, starstruck expression on your face, similar to when he looks over to you in the stands after landing a spike. Your cousin let out a few ‘awws’ holding her boyfriends hand before turning to you again. “Oh, um, I knew when he came and picked me up at the mall, i had had a horrible day, everything was going wrong and i just wanted to get out of there but i was so stressed and despite the crowded place he still came anyway.” your heart was racing, you were sure you looked completely flustered, fiddling with your hands under the table. Sakusa noticed your nervous state and gripped your hand in his own, squeezing to calm you while keeping his attention on the rest of the table. You smiled, squeezing back softly.

After dinner you flopped onto the bed, exhausted and trying to calm down. You let Kiyoomi shower first, hopping in after him, letting the hot water soak into your muscles and relax you. After you got ready for bed you came out of the bathroom to see Kiyoomi setting blankets on the floor “Just get on the bed Sakusa” you laughed and slid under the covers, lying as far on edge as possible to avoid making him uncomfortable. “I wasn’t lying.” he was lying on his back, staring up at the roof, you turned to face him, your heart rate picking up again. “Me neither...” he turned his head to look at you, moving onto his side, your faces mere inches apart. “I agreed to this because i like you y/n..” you could feel his breath fan across your face and you smiled “I wanted you to come, i like you too” you whispered the last part as you closed the distance between you both, kissing him on the cheek softly. A small blush spread across his cheeks and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest “I’m glad we aren’t faking anymore” you whispered into his chest “i never was, goodnight y/n” you snuggled further into his hold “goodnight omi”