#fluff is here everyone!

[evartandadam]

All right, 2 more chapters are up that I think everyone will love ❤️

[obsesssedblerd]

thinking about gojo taking the baby to work with him so you could nap peacefully and have a few hours to yourself. nanami and geto's lessons would get interrupted because the first and second years start going awwww when they see gojo arrive, happily wearing a baby carrier and proudly showing off his giggly blue-eyed mini.

[yuwuta]

I HAD TO HAVE THIS TALK WITH YOU, CAUSE I’D HATE TO HAVE TO ACT A FOOL — MEGUMI FUHSIGURO

cw this exists in the same rich kids/boarding school au as this piece, which are slowly forming their own universe, implied (past) drug use/underage drinking, more of megumi being your guard dog everybody cheer

Megumi scowls as yet another phone call goes to voicemail. He’s been standing outside the racetrack for fifteen minutes, watching Yuuji absolutely pummel Aoi in polo, and waiting for you. He huffs, just as Yuuji loudly celebrates another point, thumbing a text to Yuuta, asking if he’s seen you all morning. Yuuji claimed you’d left him all by himself after your shared morning class, Nobara was still in Switzerland, and Tsumiki also seemed to be ignoring his messages. 

He needed answers, and quickly, because this is the free period that Muta and his goons also have free, and he would hate to go back on his promise to stop egging him so soon after you’d asked him so sweetly to knock it off. 

Yuuta (received 12:57pm) — She’s fine, Tsumiki and I are with her. Picnic tables outside of the building 703. — Warning, your least favorite upperclassmen are here too, but don’t make a scene. They’re annoying, but not trouble yet. 

Megumi squints, turning on his heels towards the large building opposite the racetracks. As he rounds the side that opens into a field, formally known as one the many lawns dedicated in the Gojo family’s name, and informally revered as your favorite lunchtime spot, he hears the familiar sound of Tsumiki’s laughter, and the unpleasant squawking of his least favorite upperclassmen. 

Seeing you, Yuuta, and Tsumiki sitting at the picnic bench under the blooming wisteria was business as usual; seeing Hakari and another senior infiltrating the seating arrangement was not. Megumi frowns, strolling up to the table to halt the conversation when he’s noticed by you, and sized up by the upperclassman. 

“Oh, uh—hey, I—good afternoon, Fushiguro!” the other senior has the decency to greet him, stumbling with their overly-chipper tone. Megumi eyes them and blinks. Their face is a familiar shadow to Hakari’s, but he never could recall their name, no matter how many times he had the displeasure of running into the duo.  

“It was,” Megumi drawls. He turns his head to face you again, “You’re late.” 

From this angle, you have to tilt your head up to make eye contact with him. There’s an innocence behind your eyes, genuine warning, weary concern; and still, so beautiful it makes Megumi’s thoughts venture elsewhere—only for a moment; he supposes he should be grateful for Hakari’s presence, just this once, because the interjection of his grating voice pulls Megumi back to reality. 

“Relax, Fushiguro, we were all just talking, having a good time,” Hakari whistles, a dirty grin on his lips, “Ain’t that right, Kirara?” 

Ah, Kirara. That’s their name. Megumi doesn’t have time to mull it over, or pretend to commit it to memory; the majority of his energy is focused on preventing himself from throwing a punch. Briefly, he makes eye-contact with Tsumiki, a silent warning in her eyes to not be violent; so Megumi looks to the other side of the table at Yuuta, whose hollow eyes are apologetic, but cautious. Megumi can tell they’ve both been doing their best to neutralize the conversation before he arrived, without setting off your own alarm bells. 

They’ve been patient, but he won’t be: “Get lost, Hakari.” 

“Whoah, no need to rush things. Come on, I didn’t even get a chance to invite you to our party yet,” Hakari’s grin widens, “I just figured I’d get your owner on board before I pet the puppy, yeah?” 

Tsumiki and Yuuta share a look. Megumi bares teeth to growl, rests his palms on the picnic table and leans over to deliver his message again, “Get lost.” 

“Kin, don’t be so rude!” Megumi can hear Kirara’s teeth chattering beside him, a chittering voice attempting to cut through the tension, “What—what he means is that you’re all invited, really!” 

Megumi turns his head, not to acknowledge Kirara or to back down to Hakari, but to look at you. He knows that you know that there are three options to how this ends, and given that he’s already got a strike in your book for bullying Kokichi, and that Yuuta’s route would cause significantly more drama than his, he’s hoping you’ll settle this yourself. 

He tilts his head just enough, raised eyebrows in warning and wait; and then, you give a conceding blink, a small sigh, part your lips to speak, still looking at Megumi when you say: “Hakari, Kirara, you two should grab lunch. They’re going to stop serving the hot food soon.” 

A command hidden as a suggestion. It makes the upperclassmen scowl, but still Hakari motions across the table to Kirara, and they both gather their belongings. “Whatever,” he scoffs, “You know where to find us when you want to have some real fun.” 

Hakari flashes you a wink over his shoulder before he and Kirara make their way around the building and towards the main dining hall. When they’re out of earshot, you smile, look away from Megumi, and back down to your lunch, grabbing the single, wrapped daifuku and tearing open the packaging, before looking back up to him with a smile, “Well, have a seat, Megumi. Join us.” 

Megumi scoffs, standing up straight again, “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Gojo right now.” 

“I already had Yuuta do my bidding this morning, because he was so sweet to wake up before noon,” you reply, taking the desert out of the plastic, flashing Yuuta a brief smile before looking up to him again, “So I told him lunch was on me, and we ran into Tsumiki on our way. It’s so nice out, isn’t it? Come on, sit with us, enjoy the weather. Yuuta was telling us about the new coup he bought.”

Tsumiki chimes in about her lunch, looking over at Yuuta’s half-eaten tray and wishing she’d got beef instead of chicken. He offers her what’s left of his plate, and she politely declines, before Yuuta insists, pushing his food across the table to her, and you pitch in, putting the remainder of your sauce next to her. The three of you seem to easily pick up where your conversation was presumably before Hakari and Kirara crashed your lunch. 

Megumi’s scowl deepens. He knows that you know that he wants to know why Hakari and Kirara were here in the first place, he knows that you know that their party invitation was just a scheme to get you into trouble and get a rise out of him, he knows that you know he’s going to kick their asses six ways to Sunday unless you tell him not you. 

“Megumi,” you cut through his thoughts, words noticeably heavier, “Sit.” 

He rolls his tongue in his cheek, and you squint a bit, tilting your head to motion to the empty space beside you on the bench. You only spare him a sharp glance, before giving your attention back to Tsumiki, clapping happily as she shows you something she bought on her phone. 

With a huff, Megumi rounds the table, sets his bag down on the soft grass and swings his legs over the bench and next to you. Tsumiki turns her phone to Yuuta, and your attention is back to Megumi, breaking your daifuku in half and offering a piece to him. He puts an elbow on the table, leans his cheek into his palm, a defiant expression on his face you pay no mind to—you scrunch your nose with a deceptive smile, bringing the mochi to his lips, and opening your mouth mockingly for him to follow. He blinks at you, slowly; once, twice, a third time before his head dips every so slightly, mouth a jar, letting you place the dessert between his teeth. Only after he has it in his mouth do you begin to eat your half, sparing a hand to raise your arm and pat the top of his head, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Megumi tilts his head further into his palm. “You didn’t answer my calls.” 

“When you called, I was eating lunch. It’s rude to take calls when you have company,” you defend yourself. 

“Yuuta answered my texts.”

“Yuuta is scared of you,” you chirp, “And unlike you, he cares to not have write-ups on his transcript. He keeps his physical encounters off-campus.” 

“I am not scared of Megumi,” Yuuta scoffs, leaning over to poke at your forehead, “I’m scared of Tsumiki. And I did not want to be scolded for getting blood on her new Chanel skirt.” 

Between the two of them, Yuuta was certainly the more reformed one; it only took one incident of Tsumiki pulling at his ear and scolding him about using his words instead of his fists for him to actually listen to her. Megumi couldn’t blame him, Tsumiki was hellish when she was truly angry, and he feared Tsumiki as much as the next person, but he also knew how she had a soft spot for her younger brother; a mercy that Yuuta, Yuuji, and Nobara were not privy to when their violent streaks got the best of them. 

Besides, when Tsumiki couldn’t get to him, you were there to tug on his leash and reign him in. 

“Wimp,” Tsumiki coughs, “And simp,” she taunts her brother, “We ought to pick new bodyguards in our next life.”

You laugh softly at her teasing, but still, you rest your elbow on the table to mirror Megumi’s position, “You’re right. I call dibs on Yuuji.” 

Your joke makes the others laugh, and Megumi rolls his eyes as you all chuckle. Still, he shifts to lean his head against your shoulder, sly as he knocks his head against your neck and reminds you of a simple fact: “That’s too bad. You’re stuck with me, in this life and the next.”

[scealaiscoite]

poly fluff alphabet ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

a = affection; is anyone more overly affectionate than the others? when it comes to physical vs verbal, who prefers what?

b = bed; what’s the sleeping situation like? are there regular sleeping arrangements - does anyone like to sleep alone?

c = comfort; when someone’s feeling down, how do the rest look after them?

d = dates; what do dates look like? who usually plans them, or are is it a group affair?

e = events; who drags everyone else to their family/friends’ events?

f = fights; are arguments something that happen often? what are they over, and how are they resolved?

g = getting together; how did it all come about? were there any pre-existing relationships between them?

h = hobbies; does anyone share any hobbies/passions? how do they include the rest of their partners in them?

i = in sickness and in health - when someone falls ill, who’s the carer and who’s the germaphobe? is there anyone that resists being looked after?

j = joker; who’s got the best sense of humour? do they like to tease and banter with everyone else?

k = knowing; who can read their partners like a book? is there anyone who’s got their walls up, even around their partners?

l = lavish; is there anyone who really likes to treat their partners/show them off? how do the rest tend to react - who revels in it, and who’s made shy by it?

m = memories - is anyone more on the sentimental side?

n = nights; what’s the nighttime routine like when they’re all together?

o = open; how open is everyone with one another?

p = pda; what’s pda like with them? is there anyone who loves it, and anyone who’s less fond of it? what actions/words does it manifest as?

q = quiet; who prefers to spend their time with their partners out and about, and who likes to spend it at home?

r = romantic; is anyone a bit of a sap for their partners?

s = sharing; is there anyone who’s particularly territorial of their partners?

t = terms of endearment; nicknames! who’s crazy on them, and who do they make cringe? what’re the go-to’s?

u = urge; who’s the most impulsive? who do they loop into their plans, and who entertains their antics?

v = vacations; how do holidays go? are they big exotic trips, or the occasional staycation?

w = worthy; how are insecurities handled? is anyone more self-conscious than the others?

x = xoxo; who checks up on their partners a lot when they’re apart? do they call, or are texts enough to make them feel close?

y = yearn; who misses their partners the easiest (ie, calls them to hear their voices when all they’ve done is run to the grocery store)?

z = zealous; who was especially eager in their pursuit of the relationship? was anyone more reserved in their want for it?

[mxltifxnd0m]

cereal-lized ✫ winchesters

summary: a morning after a rough hunt

pairings: dean winchester x gn! reader, sam winchester x gn! reader, platonic! dean winchester x reader, implied sam winchester x reader

requested: yes/no: by anon! thank you for requesting this, i hope this is what you envisioned :)

words: 745

warnings: no use of 'y/n', smidge of angst, fluff, none really

a/n: thank you again to the anon that requested this! also i couldn't resist having sam and the reader together since they're besties with dean 🤭. also sorry for the bad pun for the title, i couldn't resist lol

𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You managed to pull yourself out of bed this morning, detangling yourself from the arms that were wrapped around you. You trudged through the halls of the bunker to get to the kitchen, where you found Dean in his 'dead man' robe, sitting at the table. He was practically slumped over his bowl of cereal, his head in his hand as he chewed slowly, staring at the wall blankly.

The hunt for the three of you was a rough one, not only on your bodies but also on your minds. You never liked going on hunts when they involved kids, and you guys had to deal with changelings. It took you guys a lot longer than it should have to try to find where the mother changeling had the kids, and by the time you guys found and killed the thing, it had fed on over half of the kids it took.

It hit the three of you hard as the drive back to the bunker was dead silent. No music, no conversation. Just the rumblings of the Impala and the low noises of breathing coming from you, Dean, and Sam.

Your sock-clad feet led you to the shelves that held the tableware, and you grabbed a bowl, then looked in the silverware drawer to grab a spoon before sitting across from Dean and pouring cereal and milk into it.

Usually, whoever got up first in the bunker would make breakfast for the three of you, but it was always either you or Dean since Sam would go on his morning runs and come back after you had just finished cooking breakfast. But this morning was different for obvious reasons. Sam didn't go on his morning run, and Dean made cereal instead of the typical eggs, bacon, and toast he would make for the three of you.

Dean made eye contact with you as he chewed his food lazily and nodded at you in acknowledgment.

"Morning." You rasped out before diving into your breakfast. You usually had an appetite in the mornings but you were not feeling it this morning. Regardless, you still need to eat something and cereal was your safest bet.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, content with just being in each other's presence as your spoons clinked against the porcelain of the bowls the two of you ate out of. You and Dean found solace in each other's company, whether it be in silence or the random conversations the two of you would have when avoiding research for a hunt. Sam would complain when the two of you would procrastinate and tell you two to shut up (even though you saw the slight smile on his face when you and Dean would get into petty arguments).

You had a good rapport with the eldest Winchester, being able to match his stubbornness and sarcastic responses with your quick wit and level-headedness when it came to tense hunts you guys would be working. You eventually broke through his tough exterior and became each other's best friends. He was able to confide in you in ways that he couldn't with his brother.

A couple of minutes had passed before Sam made his way into the kitchen, still in the sweatpants and black t-shirt he wore to bed, and went over to the fridge to grab a water bottle.

"Morning." Sam greeted the two of you as he closed the refrigerator door.

Dean mumbled something that sounded like 'morning,' but you couldn't tell because his mouth was full. You heard Sam bustling about the kitchen behind you before sitting down beside you with a bowl and spoon and planting a kiss on your head as he did.

You smiled at him before going back and eating your cereal slowly. At this point, the cereal was kinda soggy, but you didn't mind.

Dean grunted something, sleep still riddling his features as he shoved his bowl towards Sam, a couple of spoonfuls left in his bowl.

Sam's eyebrows pinched in confusion as he looked at his brother.

"Have the rest. I'm done." Dean said before getting up, his robe swishing behind him as he padded out of the kitchen and down the hall.

You and Sam stared at the doorway that Dean left through, puzzled. You shrugged it off before going back to your now very soggy cereal. Meanwhile, Sam scoffed and shook his head before grabbing the cereal and pouring it into his bowl.

[sunnie-angel]

a little something to celebrate 100 followers (and finishing my finals!)

Jason’s thigh shifts under your cheek. The fabric of his jeans is warmed by your combined body heat, worn soft in the way a best loved pair always is. It’s been a long day, a long week actually, but its over now. You’ve made it through though and there’s nothing but a glorious evening free ahead of you now. You’re lying on your side, eyes closed, head pillowed by Jason’s delicious thighs. He was sitting on the couch when you came home, thighs splayed wide open and absorbed in a book. He’d looked so comfy sitting there, it was all you could do to control your descent onto the couch. You’d flopped down, boneless the instant your body made contact with his. Jason’s thighs were just as comfortable as they looked, warm and firm with just the right amount of give. He looks down at you, fond.

“You gettin’ comfy down there sweetheart?” It’s wry, and probably accompanied by a smile, if you could be bothered to look up and open your eyes to see it.

“Mmmhmmm.”

You nuzzle your face further into his thigh, let the smell of detergent and Jason wash away the day. He reaches for something over you, pulls down a soft fleece blanket to cover you with. He drapes it over you, let’s you adjust it the way you like it. He pets over your hair once, twice, then buries his hand it to cradle your skull. There’s a rustle of pages and you know he’s gone back to his book.

You drift there, warm and comforted by Jason’s steady presence. There’s nothing but the sound of your combined breathing punctuated by the occasional turn of a page. You’re not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you open your eyes again the quality of the light has changed. The living room is only lit by the low warm light of several lamps, the sun completely gone down. For the past few minutes Jason’s gone back to petting your hair, finished with his book.

“You back with me yet?”

Instead of answering, you try and bury your face even further into his leg. His thigh just so firm and biteable that you give into the urge and gently clamp down.

“Hey! Okay, we’re both getting up now. You can either wait here on the couch or sit in the kitchen with me but I need to start making dinner.”

He tries to shake you free but you’re not ready yet. It’s not until he bends over to kiss you on the temple that you magnanimously let him go. Turn up to look at him appraisingly.

“Kitchen but I get to be your taste tester and I get to bring the blanket.”

He laughs then, bright and loud. Sweeps you up, blanket and all, and bridal carries you to the kitchen. Sets you down on one of the bar chairs across the counter so you can watch him, and then starts to pull out pans. Gets the black tea and spice chest out of the cupboard and starts digging for the mortar and pestle under the kitchen sink. Chops and peels a ginger root, adds it to the pot with the tea and spices before covering it all with water to boil. He cleans up as he goes, pulling out the ingredients for pasta as the water boils. You rest your head in your hands to watch him work. A few spoonfuls of sugar and a cup of milk go into the pot now. His hands are steady and mesmerizing as they use a ladle to aerate the boiling milk. The kitchen smells amazing, warmed spices and tea filling the air. A steaming mug appears in front of you, as if by magic.

“New spice blend. Let me know what you think.”

Jason winks before spinning back to the stove.The chai is rich and sweet on your tongue, warming you up from the inside out. It’s probably your favourite version yet, but then you say that about every new iteration he lets you try out.

Jason’s multitasking in a way your tired brain can’t quite catch up to. Pasta’s boiling in one pot, chicken seasoned and shallow frying in a pan, and his knife’s flying to dice garlic and cherry tomatoes. He darts forward with a bit of chicken on a fork, gets you to blow on it before carefully putting it between your teeth. It’s plump and juicy, fat adding salt and the basic seasoning doing the rest to make it delicious.

“It’s good. Taste tester approved. The chai and the chicken.”

“Glad to know my cooking meets your high standards.”

He grins like quick silver, hands never stopping their motions. There’s a pesto sauce cooking off with the chicken and its fat, garlic frying up with it. A dash of cream and the colour goes a soft green. The chai’s almost gone now, a satisfying weight in your belly that only makes you hungrier. There’s pasta on another fork waving in front of your face. Annoyed, you snap it up with your teeth.

“It’s cooked.”

A cloud of steam and the pasta’s drained, tossed into the chicken and sauce. Two bowls appear on the counter filled with chicken and pasta, topped with cherry tomatoes and grated Parmesan. You’re not even sure when he had time to grate cheese. It looks so good, your mouth is already watering.

You’re warm and relaxed, still bundled in a blanket, the dregs of chai still in the mug wrapped in your hands. There’s food on the table, good food made with care. There’s a beautiful man leaning across the counter from you, in the apartment that you’ve made a home together. It’s been a long day, but you’re home with the man you love and none of that matters anymore.

[yuyu-bubu]

invincibility candy!!!

[chuunai]

i know odasaku barely lost the poll buuuut you should do it anyways :)

baby daddy odasaku ! who hugs you tightly for a while silently after you tell him you’re pregnant. you two had been trying for a while now—sure, you had the orphans to take care of, but you wanted one of your own—and now it was real.

baby daddy odasaku ! who is the definition of a perfect husband and father-to-be. calmly holding back your hair as you puke your guts out at four in the morning. cooking all your cravings (perfectly) and feeding it to you. reassuring you that you were the most beautiful woman in the world and that a bit of weight gain from his child wouldn’t change anything.

baby daddy odasaku ! who totally does one of those belly casting kits for when your stomach starts to swell. smoothing the strips over your stomach and occasionally patting it. expect the orphans to paint on the casting (he made two—a blank slate and a casting for the kids to paint and gift to you).

baby daddy odasaku ! who (with your permission) tells Dazai and Ango one night at Bar Lupin that he’ll be a father soon. Dazai asks to be the godfather of which he declines. Dazai’s a child himself, after all. Ango merely offers his thanks and support for you two. he doesn’t drink as much anymore, too.

baby daddy odasaku ! who holds you on the days where everything feels like shit. the curtains drawn, the air conditioning on and his sturdy arms wrapped around you as you cry into his chest. those days are the ones where he takes the next day off to make sure you’re okay and feel loved by him. he’s read about the mood swings and insecurities that pregnancy has.

baby daddy odasaku ! who paints an entire nursery for the newborn. a light yellow is chosen for the walls. stuffed toys (gifted from Ango) are neatly placed in the crib. the whole house is baby proofed, too. he isn’t taking your newfound family lightly.

baby daddy odasaku ! who cradles your sleeping daughter to his chest after she finally falls asleep. while she snuggles into his chest, he’s sat at his desk, supporting her tiny head carefully as he revises a draft of a story he wrote about a woman that oddly resembles you. it’s expected though. you’re his muse. the one who gave him his daughter. he just hopes to finish the story as a gift for you.

baby daddy odasaku ! who relishes in his new life. escaping from the mafia wasn’t easy—thank god for his friends’ help—but it was worth it. for you and his daughter.

Oda would be one of the best dads and he is strictly a girl dad !

Tags: @twst-om-lover, @sinfulthoughtsposts, @xxcandlelightxx

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Part 2 of the "reveal at work" comic for the rlgl au! bc of popular demand and because i cant handle even the slightest amount of unresolved angst apparently

Just Sun being Sun

Okay just to clarify in this version of the au they have been neighbours for a little under a year and have gotten rather close in a "will they, wont they" kind of way.

[newoozi]

your new friend vernon is walking you home one night, telling you all about the date his mom is setting him up on in an attempt to “get out there more”. he admits it’s been a while since he’s taken somebody on a date, and he’s sort of nervous and half dreading it. he doesn’t even have any idea what he’s going to wear.

the two of you reach the front of your apartment building, and you face to look at him. placing your hands on his shoulders you teasingly say, “wear that navy blue polo shirt of yours. it almost makes you look nice.”

he huffs out a small laugh in response, but the truth is he’s sort of spiraling. you notice what he’s wearing beyond an aesthetic sense? do you pay attention to how the shirt fits him perfectly, how it hugs at his chest and shows off his arms? of course, vernon knows he’s attractive — people swoon over him on the daily, and many times he can get away with not paying for ramen at the convenience store if the girl at the counter is young. but, it never crossed his mind that you thought about him in that way. it was different with you, wasn’t it?

he thinks about that, and you, on the way back to his dorm.

you text him to ask about his date the next night, the curiosity getting the better of you.

how was ur date? did she appreciate the polo?

he admits he didn’t wear the polo, but doesn’t offer any explanation as to why. he adds that the date was going fine until they were saying goodbye and she went in for a kiss on the cheek and he held out his hand. he probably won’t see her again.

you laugh out loud at his message.

when it’s your birthday a week later, he wears the polo to the casual dinner you host at your place with your closest friends. he notices when your eyes linger on his lean figure, and the way you blush when you know you’ve been caught. you’re almost sure he’s worn it on purpose.

[fic-dumpster]

Kakucho x Reader || blurb, romantic vomit, kissing.

Thinking about Kakucho…

he’s so big and rough around the edges, yk? He struggles to find the right words sometimes, but the moment you’re sitting on his lap and he has you close, arms wrapped around you? He’s eyes literally sparkle and go oh… so very soft as they delicately travel all over your face.

He loves it. He loves you, your company, your presence, your everything. You know he’s honest, although a bit unpolished, but that’s just part of his charm. And in those moments when it’s just the two of you and he can’t get his tongue to work, you cave in with pleasure; knowing exactly what he needs without further instruction.

It’s not one sided, that deep connection? No. He also knows how to move you, handling you with so much care with… those hands that have felt and caused so much pain. He knows sometimes you need it—him. No questions asked.

Then there’s the kissing. It’s not a spark extinguishing in an instant. It’s a lasting sensation—a fire ignited, burning through both your bodies the moment your lips meet. You’ve been keeping at steady peace, no hurry to end or move on. His cracked lips stroking gently yours… yours that feel soft and plump as his tongue caresses its edges.

A moment that should last forever, but it’s been a while and both your lips had gone a bit numb, that familiar tingling already taking over your swollen lips. Breathes blending as one and it’s so safe with him, so easy to let go. He’s got you.

“Be good and let go,” he rasped, voice gone hoarse from the lack of use of it.

And you do… because you know he’ll take care of it all. Just like you’re there for him, he’s there for you.

[pjs-everyday]

10. Hugs 🩷🎉 // Twiyor Month @twiyorbase

[yuwuta]

yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always. 

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

One of Us is Guilty; Epilogue (Final)

Azul is now gone, but the actual room is known. Perhaps they will live to tell this tale.

Characters; Vil Schoenheit, Jade Leech, Silver, Azul Ashengrotto, Cater Diamond, Rook Hunt

Content; Murder mystery, the ending of this tale

Content Warnings; Blood, injury, death, murder, kidnapping (aka dead dove content)

Word Count; 1.3 K

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue (Part 1) | Epilogue (Final)

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Azul was gone, in much a similar manner as Cater — the only evidence serving that he was there being the shattered glasses that now lay on the ground.

“AZUL!” Jade was too late though, and this was the most emotion that he had really shown that night; the bottled emotions finally coming to the surface. 

He knelt down and carefully picked up the glasses, paying no mind to the tiny shards that pricked at his skin through his gloves. Paying no mind to the pinpricks of scarlet that had begun to stain the white fabric. And he stared at the broken glass; in a way, it represented their night. Normal enough at first, but once you got too close, it cuts at you and makes you bleed… it hurts you. And Jade was hurting, he had been since he had found the Prefect’s body earlier that night. 

There was no time though; to mourn, to panic, to freeze. Time would come later, now was the time for action; to stop this here and now.

“Sorry,” Jade breathed, dusting himself off, and pocketing Azul’s glasses. “Are you both alright?”

Silver and Vil both looked at Jade, taking in the slight tremble of his hands as well as the pinpricks of blood that stained his gloves. The calm mask had slipped for a mere second, but they both knew that this affected Jade just as much as it affected them.

“None of us are alright,” Vil sighed, massaging his temples. “And you don’t need to apologize; it’s okay to not be alright… especially in this situation.”

Silver nodded his head in agreement. “If it were Malleus… I would have the same reaction,” he whispered. “You’re strong, Jade.”

Jade pursed his lips but said nothing, instead just offering them both a silent nod; he got the message, but he also knew this was neither the time nor place to lose control of himself. 

“But if the teacher’s lounge wasn’t the room–” Silver mused.

“The library,” Vil exclaimed, eyes widening at the realization. “Think about it; where was Rook at the beginning of all this? The library!” Vil calmed himself down though, since that outburst was quite unlike him. “And if Cater and Azul are being held there, that’s where they will likely be.”

Silver and Jade looked at each other before looking back at Vil, and they followed after him, hands on their pens; ready for the worst, but hoping for the best. Because hope was the only thing that they had now.

…

…

The library was brightly lit up, almost harshly so. And although it was bright, the brightness cast equally as dark shadows.

Rook was nowhere to be seen, and that was both reassuring and a cause for dread. If he wasn’t here, he could be anywhere — hiding.

“Stay together,” Vil murmured, taking the lead again.

Silver and Jade looked at each other, each of them taking to a side of Vil; Silver to his left, and Jade to his right. 

“MhmMMMMM!” 

Muffled yelling; at least one of them was alive.

Following the muffled sounds, Vil, Silver and Jade found themselves in a sheltered alcove of the library. And amongst the dusty books that rarely got any use was Cater, who was looking at the trio with tears in his eyes, and Azul, who was currently unconscious.

They were both alive. And while the trio felt tremendous relief that they were both alive, they couldn’t help but question why. 

Why did Rook spare them? Why did he kill Crowley? Why did he kill Crowley and Professor Crewel with magic, yet he slit the Ramshackle Prefect’s throat? Expired love potions caused some nasty side effects, but nothing to this level of violence and bloodlust.

Jade acted first though, cutting Cater free of his bounds first; using the broken glass from Azul’s glasses to cut through the ropes. 

Once Cater was free of the ropes, he ripped the gag off, taking it heaving breaths. “Get out,” he hissed, gripping Jade’s shoulders. “He’s planning something and you need to get out!”

Jade stared into Cater’s eyes and nodded, and took his hands off his shoulders before moving over to Azul. “We will, but not without both of you,” he said just loud enough that Cater could barely make it out.

Vil and Silver covered Jade as he cut through Azul’s ropes, and then carried his house warden like a bag of potatoes over his shoulder. Yes, he would be livid once he woke up, but this allowed Jade to carry Azul while wielding his pen, should he need to protect himself, Azul, or the group.

And right as they were about to cross the threshold of the library’s doors, they slammed shut, and all the lights died out.

It was a trap, but I already knew that. It was too easy. Vil thought to himself, and brought out his pen, illuminating their immediate area in a purple glow.

“Ah, leaving so soon?” Rook’s voice called out from the darkness, a breathy chuckle echoing off the walls.

Vil grabbed a book, and while the others were looking at him with shock — since now is not the time to read — he paid them no mind. “It seems that you caught us,” he answered, hoping that some banter would allow him to do what he needed to do. 

Give me a few minutes of time, please. Vil looked into the darkness, searching for that familiar face. “It is awfully rude of you though, to leave your guests in the dark. After all, you can only see the fairest of them all with proper lighting.”

Leave, get out now. Vil’s message got across though, and using the third-year’s distraction, Jade (still with Azul over his shoulder), Silver and Cater managed to slip through the door.

“Roi du Poison, what are you planning? Do you think I would be so foolish to accept anything from you knowing how your unique magic works?” Rook finally stepped out from the darkness, just enough to where he was faintly visible.

Vil quirked his brow at Rook and shook his head, “No, I know you well enough.” But do you know me when I’ve been backed into a corner? “And I know that the real Rook wouldn’t do any of this. It’s the duty of the beautiful to take responsibility for all of their choices. So — Take. Responsibility.” Vil hissed, his grip tightening on the book. 

Rook cocked his head, staring at Vil with empty eyes, the sclera still stained black. “Why does the cat chase the mouse, even though its food dish is full? Why does someone hunt, but not for food?” Rook mused, taking a few steps closer, not breaking eye contact with Vil.

Just a bit closer.

“For sport. For the thrill,” Vil tutted. “Was that what all of this was for then? For you to just have fun hunting down your professors and peers just because you were bored?!”

Rook stopped walking, just an arm's distance away from Vil. “No, it wasn’t fun; they didn’t know…”

Now.

Vil took a breath, stealing his nerves. “You trapped yourself, and you shall remain trapped until we find a way to fix this,” he placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder, and once Rook looked at Vil’s hand in curiosity, Vil pushed the book he was holding to Rook’s chest.

Remain trapped until we find a way to fix this.

And the book sucked Rook into its pages; a prison of paper. And Vil slumped to the floor. Out of relief — that for now, it was over — but also exhaustion. He was so tired.

And while, yes, Rook was now caught, he and the others still had far to go. With reporting everything that had happened. To figuring out how to free Rook and reverse the effects of the potion. To working through the trauma they all had lived through, since this whole ordeal definitely had taken its toll on all of them.

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Fin!

Author's Note; Thank you to everyone who voted throughout the duration of this event. Without you, none of this would be possible. I hope that you enjoyed this event as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Do you ship Godwyn and Fortissax? (p.s I LOVE your art! It's amazing!)

i mean if it were the pre-DLC version where i drew him purely on vibe going with whatever was popular in the fandom at the time (cuz i didn't have an actual take on him yet)... yeah maybe?

but the current version im drawing with bracelets and different hairstyle, no, i don't.... because i have a specific interpretation of his relationship with Fortissax, they are at most just close friends to me (actually i don't even believe that because the DLC dragon quest really got me looking sideway at any human that got love from dragons...like why all of them require the dragons to sacrifice so much for some random person that gave them nothing in return leave those creatures alone holy shit at least Nameless King forsake everything to stand by the dragons' side)

[mysteriesmuse]

Pro-Heroes New Years Livestream Q&A Featuring Katsuki Bakugou / Dynamite

The next morning you couldn’t help but find yourself reflecting on years past — and not just the previous one!

You’d gotten out the box full of your childhood yearbooks that your parents made you take to your new apartment. Ironically, using the wobbly stool you’d stolen from your parents house in order to grab the dusty stack off the top shelf of your closet.

And now you sat on the floor by your coffee table coughing and sneezing as you flipped up all the yearbooks labeled with: Musutafu Middle.

You flipped through them all. Laying each book out in front of you as if you were some kind of detective with a red string to connect; and honestly, you kind of did because for the life of you. You. Could. Not. Remember Katsuki Bakugou. You had absolutely zero recollection of him from your time in middle school.

The worst part about it was that none of your friends could really remember him either. Like you knew he was rich, and snobby, and sporty, but that’s just because it was a small middle school. The way that you still remember a lot of other classmates, except that was all you could recall about Bakugou Katsuki. I mean, you don’t think you knew each other well enough for your name to be the one uttered by a ProHero in a nationally televised talk show?!!

You’d watched that video over and over and over again until you could practically see him on the talkshow repeating himself behind the red folds of your eyelids. And now you’d embarrassingly see him behind your eyes every time you blinked. But besides the video corroborating the fact that you had to be the girl Dynamite was speaking about you and your bestie couldn’t figure out how he’d encountered you in middle school? Because at the very least you never ran into him. Like you knew he was there and who he was in the small town sense, but you don’t recall having met Bakugou.

At least, not in the way that your eyes light up and you cause a charming boyish grin on a man whose reputation is just THAT. That devilishly handsome, incredibly chiseled Adonis looking with the cheekbones and jawbone that may injure a person, incredibly smoldering eyebrows and sharp intellectual eyes, kind of way. Not to mention, a top ten hero at the tender age of 23.

The past few days yours and your classmates photos had been circulating through various social media platforms as the general public tried to piece together the puzzle with their own detective work.

Meanwhile, you’d managed to hide out in your little apartment as the internet took Dynamite’s childhood crush by storm. You were immensely grateful that the public hadn’t picked up on it yet. Watching the internet frenzy from afar was enough for you.

Dynamite had already released a statement that he would not confirm or give up your name for the sake of protecting your own privacy. And as quoted by @dynamiteoffical, “absolutely fucking not. that’s low shit to do to anyone you know, especially to someone you don’t know very well yet.” If the revelation in itself did it have you swooning, then the public defense, and the mention of yet did. but still? ProHero Dynamite?? A guy you’d apparently known as children and harbored a small celebrity crush on for the past year and a half, it just didn’t feel real. It didn’t make sense, why? What did he see? You dragged the final yearbook off the coffee table and much like the others you’d blown off the dust and immediately gone to find Bakugou Katsuki.

Your fingers traced around the corners of the pages. A delicate finger around the generic blue background that framed your pictures. There you stood smiling back at yourself your red kerchief matching the ribbon your mother had put in your hair. You touched the back off your head. The same hairstyle that you’d never quite grown out of: a braided ponytail; just like ProHero Dynamite had called it.

Frantically, you’d pushed your way through the filler pages of clubs, ceremonies, and school events that had occurred throughout the year. The ones that always separated the graduating class from the rest of the student bodies pictures. So many clubs and event were put on — including the semi-annual quirk emergency training. That was coordinated through the Mustafu Police Department. They canceled all club activities for one afternoon and divided up the school in half; 1st year and 2nd years together, and then 3rd and 4th years. Which according to your calculations meant that you’d been in the same safety seminar as Katsuki for 2 years. And that only explained how you did remember, and meet, ProHero Deku. They always split off the kids with quirks capable of self-defense and gave them some small group training. Meanwhile the rest of you stayed in the gymnasium learning self defense moves with partners. — You always paired up with your best friend.

You flipped past more stuff. Fondly remembering the Battle of the Books win that year. As well as the Middle school Medieval themed dance with the inflatable sword duel with the Student Body President and Vice President. And especially the Battle of the Bands an event you participated in every year til high school, much to your parents chargin, and finally that final year you’d placed top three. In the photo you stood clutching the neck of your guitar to your chest with the golden microphone in your hand. How you ever left the house in that outfit you’d never understand. You smiled fondly tracing over the trophy with your hand, a relic that your parents ironically kept in order to show off to their friends still.

Finally, you’d flipped to the grade below you and spotted the elusive head of blonde hair. In a frustrated sigh you asked, “seriously Dynamite how on earth do you know me? Like actually?” Because honestly how could a ProHero like you when you were sooo cringe.