#he’s turning those colorful bandaids

[datshitrandom]

Darren Criss was one of the most fun chats I've ever had on the show... From Glee to Broadway he's won an Emmy Award, Golden Globe and more ... he's performing Sunday night at the Adelaide Festival Centre.

He had such a great way to think of things when it comes to people enjoying any of his performances - tv, film or on stage ...

🎟️ | 🎥 via FIVEaa | Full interview: Evenings with Leith Forrest

[motelsnleatherseats]

By the time John gets back from his hunt, he can tell that his boys were far passed the point of no return. Dean can hardly look him in the eyes without donning a shameful expression, like he can smell the sin coming off him, and Sam's more flighty than usual, keeping as much space as he can between him and Dean as if the sudden distance compared to their usual closeness wasn't a red flag.

Sam's got a bandaid at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, but John can see the outskirts of bruising peeking out from the edges, tiny broken blood vessels darkening the skin caused by careless teeth and lips. Dean's refusing to take off his jacket despite the heat with the collar turned up to shield the obvious marks of blunt nails that were dragged down the nape of his neck and between shoulder blades. Only one bed looks slept in, the other exactly how it was when he left.

A few days go by before they let their guard down a bit, now back in each other's personal space, but John can see the way they look at each other. Dean spends too much time gazing longingly at his little brother every chance he gets, and when he's driving and looking at Sam in the rear view mirror, John has to remind him 'eyes on the road, Dean' more times than he should in the span of a few hours.

They pull off to a gas station to fill up and grab something to eat, and John heads inside, sees the boys head off to the bathroom together around the back, and already he can sense trouble. He gives them a few minutes, but when they're taking longer than they should, he marches his way to the bathroom and calls out for them, one stall occupied, two pairs of feet suddenly scrambling.

Sam's hair is disheveled and Dean looks like he's expecting to get throttled, panic evident. His cheeks that were momentarily red ago were draining color. John cocks his head towards the door in a silent demand that they leave and get back to the car. Sam rushes out but John grabs Dean by the lapel of his jacket and pushes him against the tiled wall before he had a chance to skirt passed him. He can feel his eldest go rigid, face scrunching up some like he's expecting to get hit, but John exhales a rough breath, releasing his hold on him.

"Never in public, do you understand me? And if you're going to mark each other up, get better at hiding it."

Dean stares in shock for a moment like his brain is trying to process what the hell was happening. John can see him trying to make sense of it, to come to the realization that yes, he knows, and he's not going to beat the daylights out of him for putting hands on Sammy.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yessir."

John takes the keys from Dean and lets him leave first to join his brother at the car. He takes a moment to splash his face with some water before scrubbing over it a sigh. Those young, careless boys. What was he going to do with them?

↳ a continuation of this post.

[bg-brainrot]

More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:

Word count: ~3.2k

Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.

It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”

Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”

Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”

One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.

“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”

The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”

That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”

“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”

“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”

You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile. 

Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.

Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.

“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”

“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"

There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.

You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.

“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”

The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”

“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.

Wait, is he actually inviting her?

You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”

There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.

__

That evening, Astarion slips away.

It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.

As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.

But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.

It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.

You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.

“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”

“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”

After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”

His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.

Almost as if…

“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.

“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.

“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.

He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”

You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”

Normally, such sweet words of unabashed ​​flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.

“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.

You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.

“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.

You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”

Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.

When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.

“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”

“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.

Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”

Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.

“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”

“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”

“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”

Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”

You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”

“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.

“A fool for you.”

The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”

He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.

“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”

“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”

The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”

This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”

“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.

Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.

“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”

He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.

“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.

Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”

At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.

“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”

You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.

“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”

Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”

“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.

It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.

“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”

The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.

“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.

So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.

No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…

“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.

You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”

“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”

He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”

Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”

“Astarion–”

“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”

If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”

“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”

Oh great, she’d heard everything.

“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.

“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”

“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”

“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”

You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”

“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.

With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.  When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”

[inkskinned]

over time the thing i have had more access to - through healing, maybe, or because i got out of that house, or because i was lucky, or because of those who taught me, or all of it - was this sense of a type of love that was all-encompassing and easy. nonromantic; it wasn't anything rose-colored but rather a world seen through honey.

it is this sense that i am in love with birds, and puddles, and how the nose of my dog moves. i am in love with my best friend's hands, and i am in love with your eyes, and i am in love with the little blades of wildflowers turning their heads towards the sun. today my mother told me one of my favorite flowers - lily of the valley - is endangered. i almost wept. i love them, i said.

when i was younger, and i said i am staying for the love, i thought love could only fit into a single birdwing. like a nesting doll; you could only find love somewhere balled up; hidden. you had to pry first, unlock. it would not absolve; only give you a moment's rest. somehow i thought - that was all.

oh but. this love, now. a love of how trains move, and how clouds scud the blue, and how when i asked does anyone have a bandaid i received offers from each person in the room. it is the love of a grey sunday and of mixing paint and of jazz music and seeing my neighbor sigh while he leashes his dog. this sense that it is all lovely and magical, that it is all romantic. the sense that i am in love with breakfast foods and i am in love with book nooks and i am in love with poetry and plants and how you braid your hair and how we shift our weight at the bus stop; and how each of these flood me, effortless and sleepy, like a memory of something i learned as a baby.

i think tomorrow for practice i will teach myself how to love the grey carpet of my ratty apartment; and how the fibers all hold hands with each other and snuggle into bed together, their forms all spooning. i think tonight i will love how my yoga mat leaves little imprints on my knees; a marathon of sticky kisses where the grooves all begged stay with me please. i think i will love the melon rind and i will love the ugly dark bruise.

while we're at it - although we are apart and have never met, i think right now, dear reader. i love you.

[ariseur]

✧˖° - 5 CENTIMETERS PER SECOND.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x gn!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; some bandaids and a movie is all you need with satoru.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - word count ; 1.7k words, -7k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - cw ; sfw, gn!reader, friends to lovers ( eventually, for now it’s more so borderline ), mentions of blood and cuts, small cameo / mentions of haibara, suguru, and shoko, satoru teasing you when it’s all truth in actuality, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - notes - working on an angsty fic rn and decided to hold you guys over with a small satoru fic 🫶 hope you guys enjoy for now

“shut your mouth.”

“i didn’t even say anything—!”

you turn your head back at satoru, tensing your arms as you cross one over the other. “i could tell you were gonna say something stupid,” you grit your teeth, “you always do.”

as per usual, he lets out a dramatic gasp as his hands fly up to clutch at the left side of his button up, right where his heart is at. you scoff, shaking your head before turning back to rummage through the drawers, in search for gauze and a couple of bandaids. he sighs, “such low standards you hold me to.”

your fingers grasp a small box of tan colored bandaids as you huff at the saleswoman on the front, a painful looking smile on her face.

you bump the wooden drawer with your hip, walking back over to satoru who sits on the edge of your bed with his legs spread comfortably. you roll your eyes immediately once you catch sight of his face, a boyish grin plastered on his lips enough that his cheeks almost look a little rosy. satoru always got a kick out of pissing you off.

your lips press together into a small pout, even subconsciously, your face couldn’t help but give yourself away — only giving gojo all the more reason to tease you about it.

“shouldn’t you be with shoko? i’m sure she’d be doing a much better job than i would,” you murmur as you grab his face, cheeks squishing beneath the rough pads of your fingers ( because no matter how many skincare products you’d use, you can’t hide the calloused feeling of your battles even from your body ) as you turn his face from side to side, trying to ignore the creeping prickles of embarrassment behind your ears under his gaze.

“you’re fun-ner to hang around—“

“not a word.”

“— and this gives you an opportunity to get close to me, such an honor, right?” his eyes narrow at you with his smile, now close lipped with his head tilted up at you. you suppress the urge to let out another, ‘tch’, and instead lightly smack his cheek, which surprisingly isn’t met with a wall of his ability and is instead responded with a half-hearted, “ow.”

“give me your hand,” you don’t look up at him when you say it, making a pout of his own begin to form on those pretty pink lips, a habit he’d always do when things wouldn’t go his way— which you were reminded, wasn’t often. your own hand extends as it awaits his own and you don’t even need to look at him to feel his obnoxious smile. “y’sure this isn’t just an excuse?”

“i’m sure, asshole.”

“ouch, i would’ve preferred ‘handsome’ but you know, whatever floats your boat,” he says. you know he’s just teasing but a flush can’t help but make its way to your ears. refusing to let it get to you though, you grab his hand yourself as you start to dab cotton on some of the open wounds left behind from his mission ( which you were still not given a clear answer on why he didn’t go to shoko for his stitches and instead bee-lined for your dorm, in need of you ).

“maybe just keep your mouth shut for this part, yeah?”

“part?” satoru inquires, before his mouth twists into a sneer at the sight of you grabbing the hydrogen peroxide, putting the ball of cotton underneath the opening as you tip the bottle upside down for a split second before turning back to him with a smile.

you hum in agreement before grabbing his fingers, spreading his two middle digits as you examine the skin for the laceration you had spotted earlier. despite what he knew was coming, satoru didn’t make a move to escape. he simply closes his eyes, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist — thin fingers coming to where your pulse point rests. you can’t exactly say why you did it, but you let him hang onto you. maybe suguru was right. maybe he was growing on you, after all.

you grit your own teeth as if you were the one getting disinfectant on your own wounds. holding it there for a quick second, your ears prick up at gojo’s hiss as you pull away. “blow on it,” you affirm, causing him to peek a cerulean eye open at you, taking in the way you hold onto his fingers for a bit before looking away and making your way over to the trash can.

truth be told, you could’ve totally shoot your shot and threw the cotton ball in the trash from that distance, but you couldn’t let satoru have front row tickets to your sympathy ( even though you had a feeling he probably exaggerated his reaction for your attention ).

you hear a, “do it for me?” from behind you and turn only to see his puppy dog eyes and his glossy lips, holding his hand out for you to grab again.

you scoff, “let it burn then.”

he instead, blows cool air on it, like you asked.

walking back over to him, you hand him a small roll of finger tape for him to use and decide not to help him this time. an oxymoron lies within him, a man who can be so dumb yet so smart at the same time — he really can do anything, you think.

“you missed out this mission, y’know,” he laughs as you cross your arms, making sure he applies it right, and of course, knowing you see through his façade, he does. “me and suguru kicked curse ass. well, that’s nothing new but you know—“

“stupid,” you flick his forehead, not even letting a chuckle slip past your composed demeanor at his entertaining grumbles of, ‘ow..’ you put your hand on your hip as you cocked your head at him quizzically. “if you kicked so much ass, how come you can’t take care of yourself for once?”

“because i have my darling, amazing, and super caring friend to take care of me?”

“i’m not sure you’d describe shoko like that.”

“talking about you, you know,” he drags out the last vowel in his keen, rolling his eyes as a playful smile makes its way onto his face.

you laugh at that, “i’m not sure you’d describe me like that. did this curse scramble your brain or what?”

gojo tries not to reveal the feeling of triumph that arises in him when he makes you laugh, although his posture perks up a little too obviously at the sound. he taps a finger to his chin in thought. “when have i ever not been nice to you?”

“you ate the cake that suguru got me for my birthday, you tripped me the other day, you—“

“yeah, but i do all those things because i love you,” he responds proudly — neither you nor him focus on the heavy weight it settles on both your chests. “yeah right,” you roll your eyes.

he sighs, moving back to make himself comfortable against the plush pillows of your bed as his head sinks into them. “so,” he grins at you, “wha’dya wanna watch?”

“bold of you to assume you’re spending the night here,” you huffed as you watch gojo’s arms fold behind his head, snowy strands of hair splaying out against his skin. “you wouldn’t kick your favorite friend out, would you?”

“so manipulative,” you mumble as he lifts his hips up so you can search for the remote under the covers, because despite all of your comments, satoru gojo is never denied.

once you find it, he reaches over you to try and grab it before you use your leg to keep him away. “uh-uh, my dorm, my rules.”

“actually, it’s the school’s dorm — if you wanna get technical,” he says, pushing up his glasses as his voice raises in pitch. you glare at him, he stops.

you surf through the multitude of movies that are available for free with your subscription, listening to satoru’s mindless chatter as he points out a few new movies that are coming to theaters soon, how he wants to see them with you ( and suguru, who he’ll hopefully use a decoy before he coincidentally ‘has plans’ and has to cancel, leaving you and satoru alone ).

“oh, that one—!” he points to the screen, propping up on his elbow as you click on the thumbnail. ‘5 centimeters per second’, you read as your eyes squint to read the synopsis.

“you really wanna watch a romance movie?”

“hey, it’s a good movie — haibara cried,” he retorts.

you scoff, “are you sure you didn’t cry?”

“whatever, let’s just watch it, yeah?” he grabs the remote from your hands ( making sure to graze your fingers with his own ) as he clicks the movie to play — the familiar tune of a piano quietly filling the room as you turn off your lamp.

you watch the opening, resting the back of your head against your hand as satoru gets comfortable. you try to drown his mindless chatter out as you close your eyes and focus on the low audio, the dialogue not even being enough to draw out his low voice next to you. the small nudges against your arm don’t exactly help either.

“you asked me to watch this movie yet you keep interrupting it,” you finally say, your speech cutting short at the last syllable once you realize his intense gaze focused on you. no smile, no teasing quirk of his brow, just an uncharacteristic glint of curiosity swirling around in his eyes.

you laugh to get the tension off before he smiles too, giving you an amused huff before turning his head back to the movie; once again ignoring the growing weight that sat on both of your shoulders, satoru’s heart palpitating ever so slightly as you tapped your foot against his.

cerulean eyes find their way back to you, finding your own pair fixated on the distant screen as takaki comes on screen. his grin widens further. he taps his foot against yours.

𐙚 join my taglist ; @sad-darksoul @kasumitenbaz @seternic @kalulakunundrum @2ukika

𐙚 requests are open — july twenty-seventh, 2024 ( 12:50 am )

[glitch-but-ya]

To love the heartless, and for the heartless to love.

Pairing: Scaramouche x Reader

TW: Angst(?) + Fluff(?), mentions of death, Scaramouche backstory mentioned, bickering, slight cursing

Summary: What can one do when wounds run too deep for bandaids to cure? That is the shared fate of two souls, burdened by scars etched into their being—scars that mirror each other in color. Yet, despite all odds, the unlikely bond between you becomes the very salve needed for the healing to commence. Word count: 1,780 words

“And if the world condemns us for our sins, let us intertwine our fingers and raise our head in defense, for we would not have sinned if the world hadn’t torn us apart.”

When you met Scaramouche, he was resting beneath the shade of a giant ebony tree, perched on a sturdy branch from which he could observe the farthest lands. His body lay carelessly on the branch, an oversized hat shielding his eyes from the peeking rays of the sun, and his chest remained unmoving. A few leaves escaped from their places and swiftly twirled to the ground. You watched as they swayed before ending their journey on his porcelain face. His face, which glimmered with a serenity unbefitting his reputation, barely moved as the leaves slid past his cheeks. You wondered for a moment—was he alive? If so, why did he lie so still, as if he were nothing but a pretty doll perched on the branch of a great ebony tree?

To your relief, the figure stirred. Scaramouche raised his hand and swatted mindlessly at a bird that flapped around him. He opened his eyes, and a frustrated groan left his lips soon after. Eventually, his gaze landed on you. “You’ve been there for a while, haven’t you? Well, what were you staring at?” he mumbled sleepily, his eyebrows furrowed with irritation, almost as if you were the one who had disturbed his sleep.

You rolled your eyes. “Thinking about how embarrassing it would be to fall asleep under a tree. At noon. In a place where everyone can see me.” “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, jumping off the branch and dusting off his shorts. “I don’t sleep.” You crossed your arms. “Sure. Then, Mr. Wide Awake, what exactly were you doing?” He turned to you with a blank expression. “Hiding.” “Hiding? From what? A squirrel?”

Scaramouche sighed. “You’re exhausting. Do you always let your curiosity run wild?” “Excuse me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. I’m leaving. Don’t even think about following me.” You huffed. “Please. Why would I waste my time chasing after a lost cause?”

“Good. You're smarter than I expected." “Ugh. You’re helpless.” You turned around and began walking in the opposite direction. You prayed this would be the last time you’d ever have to interact with him again. Unfortunately for you, the gods did not favor your request.

You ran into him a total of seven times afterward. He was everywhere you went. A few times, you found him resting on branches of various trees. Once, you ran into him being swamped by a flock of wild kittens. Other times, you spotted him across the street in the grand bazaar as you shopped for your daily groceries. If it weren’t purely coincidental, you might have thought you’d gained yourself a new stalker.

Eventually, you learned that, besides being a lazy asshole, he was also a student at the Akademiya, much like you. You found out the day you saw him studying in the House of Daena late at night, long after all the classes had ended. Looking back now, you’re quite glad he showed up there, at that moment, for that reason. Because after that oddly intimate conversation under the dim light of the desk lamp, something sprouted between the two of you. A growing bond, perhaps. An unexpected affection.

But you couldn’t deny that, even after all those encounters, Scaramouche remained a figure shrouded in darkness. No matter how many times you ran into each other afterward, and no matter how many times the two of you deliberately met and conversed, you felt as if you were still farther away from his past than you’d ever been.

That changed when you came across him one day on an isolated hilltop, gazing at the stars in the vast sky.

Scaramouche had deep scars—scars that left scrapes across his porcelain skin. Many parts of him were shattered, and some parts of him were missing entirely. That was the first thing you learned that served as revolutionary progress for your mental databank about him. And although you could not see these deformations with your naked eye, you could tell that they were there, festering, rotting beneath the nonchalant facade he wore. He wove a mask to protect everyone from inhaling the stench, the noxious gases that poisoned those around him.

But his mask wasn’t only formed to protect the world from him—it also protected him from the world. If the world caught wind of the sins and the mass of corpses he carried to this day, it would not be kind to him. He would lose everything he had fought to rebuild. Scaramouche was abandoned, betrayed, and tortured beyond human comprehension, yes. But nobody was responsible for his crimes except himself. So, he was forced to carry the weight of his actions, to bear the foul odor until he had truly redeemed himself and beyond. Just as he was born to do with his "mother’s" Gnosis.

However, you would not be scared away. What he didn’t know was that you also hid a few wounds of your own.

When you told Scaramouche about your past, he listened. Not once did he interrupt you, mock you for the tears you held back, or let his gaze overwhelm you as you spoke. His eyes were glued to the flickering stars, the bundle of sparkling lies you found mesmerizing. You had no doubt he was listening because he truly was. For some odd reason, you knew he cared, showing it in his own way.

“I just wish I could heal, move on from all this, and start over one day. But these wounds…” You picked at your skin and laughed dryly. “They don’t heal,” Scaramouche concluded for you. You looked at him with widened eyes, staring as the pencil of moonlight illuminated his face perfectly. “You know what it’s like.” “And after a while, they begin to rot.” You nodded to his words. “And then…” you continued, “They leave a scar engraved upon your being, a scar that won’t heal. A scar that will torment you with every beat of your battered heart.” You looked down at your hands. Silence stretched between you two.

Scaramouche couldn’t love you. He was the toy soldier who didn’t know where his feelings came from. He was the heartless Harbinger who brought only the suffering of his past to those around him. His hatred spread like a disease. He could not risk infecting you with the same sins that destroyed him. And on top of it all, Scaramouche did not have a heart. Every fleeting emotion that had ever rooted itself in his nonexistent heart must not exist, either.

“You survived with your heart. Ruined, I guess. But real.” You looked at him. “Do you not have a heart, Scaramouche?” He tsked, but you knew his words held no bite. “Have you memorized my anatomy?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t have a heart. I never did. For five hundred years, I dedicated myself to a voyage to find and reclaim my missing heart. But I never got close to achieving my goal. And my journey… only resulted in the death of someone dear to me.”

Scaramouche was but a shattered porcelain doll. His bones rusted as his blood seeped through the cracks. He was a bloodied man, drenched head to toe in crimson. He did not deserve to heal.

You sat with him for a while, basking in the gentle night breeze. Your hair flowed with the same tranquility your face carried. After a moment to yourself, your hand slowly found its way to his. “Let us heal,” you smiled; genuinely, this time. “This time, we will rewrite our fate.”

Scaramouche turned his head toward the sky, his eyes flicking over the fake stars that hung proudly in the air. “Even if our fate was predetermined?” You nodded. He looked down at the spot where his heart should be. “Do you have what it takes to love the heartless?” “Does the heartless have what it takes to love?” “If I say yes?” His hand gripped yours. “Then I’ll show you how I love the heartless.”

Perhaps feelings truly can emerge from a heart that does not exist. Perhaps the right people can make a missing heart beat. Scaramouche was certain this time he would not be betrayed.

A/N: For a friend. If you’re reading this, I truly hope you could enjoy this fic.

[literaila]

Oh my god 😭😭 that's actually devastating and mildly concerning. Gojo is COVERED and no wonder megumi looks grumpy. Poor tsumiki smiles... She's pulling through

you know i have to take this idea and run with it—

megumi cant say that he loves it when you’re gone—sure, there’s the fact that it most likely means that you’re out dealing with a curse, and probably struggling (as gojo likes to tease), which is worrisome enough. but it also means that he’s stuck in the house with his sister and a lunatic.

and that he’s being stared down now, trying not to viciously glare at gojo (not trying at all actually).

because you’ve lined them up on the couch, and honestly megumi knows you’re scary. he’s seen gojo flail around when he’s doing something he shouldn’t—which is always—trying to escape the inevitable fury that will be aimed at him and his stupid decisions. but megumi doesn’t typically experience it first hand.

and dinner was terrible too, so the boy is honestly just having a bad day.

“speak.” you say, to all three of them. someone has to break sometime.

megumi knows it’s not going to be him, but rather one of his slightly more annoying family members. or gojo.

“if someone doesn’t fess up,” you continue to the three of them—tsumiki is trying not to laugh at the end of the couch because she’s a terrible liar, and an even worse snitch. “then i’m going to make you sleep outside. and i’m not bringing any blankets.”

“in some places that could be deemed as—“ gojo cuts off when you give him a glare.

“now, satoru.”

(megumi is quite enjoying the guilty look on gojo’s face)

“look, okay,” the man starts, hands roaming the air like he’s trying to hypnotize you. “after you left, we hung out for a while, just staring at the wall, and so i suggested that we get up and do something. and then we were playing with the pups, right? and—“

tsumiki is nodding and megumi sighs, leaning back against the couch.

“—they were being a bit rough, like puppies are, and we all got a couple of scratches. and maybe a few bites. nothing major, okay? but i remembered where you put the first aid kit, and patched us all up. battle wounds, you know? so we’re all fine—“

“gojo started messing with the puppies and they were attacking him, and when i intervened he got me scratched too.”

gojo looks over at him, mouth turned completely upside down. “are you serious? we agreed—“

“what did i say about instigating, satoru? and what happened to you, miki? what’s on your face?”

tsumiki smiles. “oh, i just wanted one. they look kinda like stickers.”

you sigh, shaking your head with a hand to your face. “cant even leave the house for a few hours,” you’re mumbling, dropping your hand to roll your eyes and then you look at all of them again.

“okay, to your rooms,” you say, shooing all of them off of the couch. “and no dessert,” you give gojo a pointed look.

he pouts, but megumi is happy to play the victim in this scenario (because he is) and he jumps up off of the couch, turning down the hall to go to his room. tsumiki follows closely behind, trying to flat tire him along the way.

but they can both hear the whispered “what do you mean no dessert?”

a groan, and then “and you’re still sleeping outside—“

“i followed your instructions!”

“those aren’t even real bandaids! they’re the stickers tsumiki got in that coloring book—“

[monstress]

arcane s2 thoughts

prayinggg we get a no soundtrack version because while i do like a few of the tracks (yes even Enemy!!!), there are more duds than hits and they take me out each time

also obviously i'm a Jinx Is Alive truther because of the ending scene of cait staring at the air ducts to the hextech tower fiddling with a fragment of her bomb...come on. jinx has said in the start of the season that she wanted to leave piltover/zaun and with isha gone and her sister happy, she can finally do that

i am very invested in jinx and vi's relationship so when jinx without any hesitation chose to let herself go from vi's grasp and destroy warwick (both something that vi could not do) which in one fell swoop legitimizes her agency, protects vi from a monster, saves vander from eternal hell - i'm like yea...[sniffs] that's a redemption arc baby

jinx and vi. piltover and zaun. they'll always be sisters...yea....

i admire the open ending with the airship. but she did say she'll ride one of those things one day. yay.

maybe an unpopular opinion but i liked cait this season. finally some bite and controversy and trauma to her choices. she was way tooooo comfortable in s1. while she's still a cop, at least she's interesting now!

also ok....yelled and hollered when lesbian sex is finally happening. rejoice guys - i thought we will never get it

the writing pace of this show is bonkers and i understand they need to keep it tight because of animation budget but what the helllllll was that viktor machine herald speedrun. it felt like it needed a good one more season to incubate and i was overwhelmed with that + jayce's heel turn + mel's superpower reveal like hold on hold the fuck onnnnnn what does this meannnnnn

gay sex in hextech void deus ex machina goes crazy tho

like oh yeah i am cosmically tied to only one man in this world and he alone can guide me to the error of my ways in any universe

ok!

mel being the most specialest princess in the entire world seems right imo. i can easily be riled up to sycophantic fervor to serve in her army just say the word ma'am 🫡

let's not forget the tragic irony that Mel was exiled by her mother and has tried to carve her own path through diplomacy and peace in defiance but ends up finding herself sitting in her mother's steel ship in her colors with her army with so much power in her veins and now leaves the city she loved that her mother ruined too. mel merdada one of the characters of all time......

and i am a number one sap so!!!!!!! the flashback scenes this season got me hurting real bad. when i thought i was devastated by Remember Me...here comes s2e7 to punch me in the gut

the fact happiness and normalcy was possible for powder...the fact that powder will never use hexcore because of what happened to vi and it made all the difference. vi's death unknowingly protecting her sister (and the world!) from beyond the grave...i am sobbing my eyes out

also as a season one timebomb shipper, thank youuuu arcane writers i didnt expect this at ALLLLLLLLLL???? it was written like everyone knows they were an item except themselves??? i have done nothing to deserve this but thank you

UPDATE: i hv been informed that they are already dating in the alternative universe from background details. even more delicious

i am just happy to be here and prepared to be devastated

vanderco Real. like don't even waste your breath to say they aren't when they look like they are glowing in domestic bliss. what's some light stabbing and drowning between married couples amirite fellas

claggor and mylo!!!! i didn't expect to get emotional seeing them since idrc but seeing them grown up like ohhhh these are vi and jinx's brothers...and they'll never know this life...okay.....

the alternative timeline pretty much put a bandaid to the pain and suffering for the past 2 seasons and as contrast for more suffering. i love it. the writers are so diabolical

heimerdinger sacrificing himself for ekko is ok for me lol idc abt him goodbye cheesepuff

i still need to process the Ambessa vs MelCait fight. im quite sure there's some great parallels there

but Ambessa as a character is sooooo fascinating. while i hv qualms making a prominently Black character be an imperalist warlord (othering her with her accent too), Ambessa i fear is so so very cool and i was slightly rooting for her ngl like i can't hate a cunning ambitious woman it's against my nature!!!!!

i am gonna think abt mel holding up ambessa like repin's painting of ivan the terrible for a longggg time

side note: i love that sevika finally got what silco wanted all along - a seat at the (council)table. like that's my wifeeeeeee. lib ending i know i know since the best ending is a free state of zaun but like narrative wise it would notttt make sense at the point of time. but also since they never confirmed anything, i wanna say they'll have a go at dismantling the power structure that is oppressing zaun with sevika keeping an eye on it. not a perfect solution but i'll take it rather than leave it

so will i watch another show on LoL?

mmmm.......anyways guys watch Penelope of Sparta!

[oatmealdaydreams]

Black Hole Fantasy: even in my fantasy, I keep the car running / in case I need to take off

Please let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist!

Part 2

Inspired By Works: the Shifter Stan AU made by @the-east-art! Check out her stuff, it's super good. Shout out to East!

Pairing: Stan Pines & Ford Pines, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Summary: Back when he first leaves New Jersey, Stanley Pines discovers something new about himself on the streets. It’s dark, and there’s hardly anyone else on the road as he drives in the rough terrain of Mount Tammany. He figures out a little comfort when he can’t stop thinking about how his brother’s doing.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

Midnight skies have always been beautiful with twinkling stars and darkened clouds, but Stan Pines does not have time for anything beautiful. 

The soft rumble of his car—the Stanleymobile, the El Diablo—helps keep him awake at the wheel. Various failed products are scattered in the back, alongside whatever spare clothes he has in his dufflebag. There’s even a spare suit for when he tries doing this door-to-door salesman gig over in Pennsylvania. He’s gotta keep a bright-colored winning smile for any potential customers, so he has a couple of makeshift suits to match it. This is the seventies, after all. Or is it the eighties? Whatever, doesn’t matter. He’s got this new idea for a cheap bandaid deal that’s sure to make some dough. Stan’s…starting to run low on gas again, nevermind the fact he’s not sure when his next meal will be. There’s probably some joint on the roadside he can steal some shit from. Pennsylvania is a new adventure. 

Banned from New Jersey, huh? Well, it isn’t like he has much to stay for. His Pa ain’t too fond of him. His Ma can only do so much with Pa still around. His brother…Stan shakes his head lightly as he turns a corner. In the dark of night, the shrubs and trees surrounding the roadside look more menacing. It doesn’t help the fact that there’s not really any railing out where he drives. Maybe there’s more of it up the mountainside or something. He hopes so, at least. Stan hates driving so high up like that. It feels as though he may plummet if he makes too sharp a turn. 

He tries the radio, having to smack it a few times to get it to work. Turning the dial, the stations flicker through bullshit talk shows and half-crackling static. He growls, shutting it off. Ain’t like he’d hear much of any music anyway, what, with the way his ears hurt from the pressure up in the mountains. Moses, he hates driving through Mount Tammany. He’s not doing this again. It’s not like he can come back to Jersey without some repercussions, anyhow. 

Something sad, empty, somber settles in his chest. He can’t return to Glass Shard Beach ever again. Not to his Pa’s face; he kicked him out. Not to his Ma’s face; he’ll disappoint her. Not to his brother’s face. Not…yeah. Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t return for a long while. At least, until he has a fortune to appease his Pa. He’s gotta make something of his sorry self, y’know. Make ‘em all proud and shit. Like a good son would. And, well, though he’s never claimed to be a good anything, there’s this stubborn hope that he can find a way to fix things. Make ‘em better. He can hide the less tasteful sides of himself if it means seeing his family again. 

Stan may be a dumbass, but he knows something’s wrong with him. Normal people can’t grow an extra finger at will. Normal people don’t shapeshift like they’re some weirdo from those books Sixer used ta read. 

Does he still read those? Or has he moved to all that college junk where he reads a bunch of nonsense textbooks? Y’know, with all those equations and nerd words and everything? 

Stan focuses on the road. 

It’s empty out here. Crickets and cicadas keep the ambience not so creepy-like. There’s no one out here. It’s just Stan and the Stanleymobile. Stan and Stan. Just…Stan. 

He doubts anyone’s gonna care if he neglects to use his blinker a few times. The brights on the car don’t work too well, so it ain’t like his lights will blind something. He swears they keep making brighter and brighter lights on cars these days. Someone’s oughta crash in a ditch from it eventually. 

Ford always complained about the lack of brights on the El Diablo. ‘What if it’s dark and you’re stranded, Stanley?’ he’d say, ‘What are you going to do if it comes down to you being on your own? What if there’s no one to help you?’ Kind of ironic, actually. Was he some future-seeing weirdo? Heh, imagine, his brother, some superhero who could see the future. Stan wonders if he’d have warned him if he saw what would happen. If he knew, would he’ve told him? Tried an’ helped him figure some shit out?

Ugh, he needs to stop thinkin’ about all this! 

Stan doesn’t need to glance down at his hands to know a sixth finger grows on them. 

Fuck, he thinks as he pulls over on a little lookout thing meant for resting travelers or sightseers. Fucking Christ almighty. 

He stops the car, not wanting to waste gas. Taking his hands off the wheel, Stan glances down at them with a huff. Yeah, he was right. A sixth finger on each hand, just the way it is on his brother’s. Maybe if Stan wore glasses on his face, they’d truly be hard to tell apart. He’d look all nerdy and…like Ford. He’d look like his brother. 

His throat’s dry. He has to swallow down whatever’s prickling his eyes. Stan isn’t gonna cry. That’s not—he’s not gonna get all weepy over hands. 

He’s not.

He’s not. 

He’s…

Shit.

Stan ignores the way a few stubborn tears glide down his face. He ignores the way his breath hitches at the thought of his brother. He ignores the thrumming, buzzing emptiness that grows a pit in his chest. It feels grey. It feels like static. It hurts in a way that doesn’t bleed. It hurts. He can feel that pit surge when he tries to take a fucking breath. It doesn’t help much. Stan just stares all teary-like down at his stupid hands as he clenches and unclenches them. He shifts one back to its typical five-fingered form. With shaking hands, he intertwines them. One six, one five—just like it used ta be. He grips his hands tighter as he lets out the first cry. Stan shuts his eyes and tips his hand back against the headrest. If he looks down at his hands for any longer, he’ll break. He can’t break. He can’t let himself break. 

Outside the car windows is a dark, starry sky that twinkles. 

Somewhere in a last-ditch-effort type of university, a six-fingered student watches the same stars.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[takeyourdailydoseofcyanide]

One Of Those Nights

AO3

Fandom: soul eater

Characters: spirit albarn, franken stein

Word count: 1 466

Tags: age regression/de-aging, little!stein, caregiver!spirit, mild hurt/comfort, tbf this goes nowhere just a quick little idea I had in mind a though process of sorts, fluff and angst, fluff without plot, angst without plot, no plot/plotless, some plot, oh and I meant to say thought process not though process dear god, angst and hurt/comfort, fluff and hurt/comfort, accidental baby acquisition, that tag is certainly something, cuddling & snuggling

Summary: As of late, Spirit has been coming home to a regressed Stein. It just so happens to be one of those nights. He is in a particular state and Spirit takes care of him.

Notes: well, this exists now

it’s been a little while since I last did age regression I think so here

It was like being abandoned in a dingy, musty alleyway; you don’t know who left you there, you don’t know who precisely you are, you don’t know where you are, and you don’t know how you’ve survived for the year or two or less you’ve been supposedly alive. The alleyway reeks of rotten food and garbage, weed and smoke - the concrete soaked with rainwater and, at times, drying semen and some other… unknown substances. There are used needles and spots of blood littering the ground, empty chip bags and scurrying rats and mice. Perhaps the alleyway is present in some sort of red-light district where you were likely conceived, random sparsely-clothed women often trapped in dire straits approaching any car and any passerby without a lick of apprehension.

You hide away in the very corner of the alleyway beside the large garbage can, head in your knees, your eyes swollen and vermillion in color, scleras bloodshot. You cry out for comfort and help, though you learned long ago that if you were to weep, to do so quietly, silently, so as to not attracted even a single malignant soul of whom would hear your moment of weakness and take it upon themselves to devour you whole, making you into theirs to torture for life. The stuffed animal with a music box for innards is but a bandaid over a bullet wound; you nuzzle your face into its dirtied, somewhat mangy fur, listening to the lullaby it’d produce specially for you and only you, something swelling in your chest, a tight knot, a surge of bittersweet warmth coursing through your tiny, dehydrated veins - though whether you derive any sort of comfort from the toy or not is of no matter when you are still resting your back against cockroach-infested bricks, and when that toy, that reticent friend was likely to be stolen from you at any moment no matter how much you kicked and wailed.

The only source of food you had was whatever wasn’t too surrounded by flies in the garbage can; the only source of water being whatever poured from the sky. Perhaps your sources of affection were the few prostitutes who’d spare concerned and kindred glances at you, the men who’d regularly come and fuck them allowing you to see the nauseating pity in their eyes, though they’d do not a thing to assist. There was something foreign within you that wished to call out to someone, wished you wanted to call out to someone, to be able to find solace in a specific person and to call out for them, to be made better by that person, to be assisted and taken care of by that person, but each and every time you’d whimper, the sentence “I want…” was never followed by anyone’s name- not even the usual ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy,’ and thus, the sentence would never reach nor find its end.

It was like desperately digging your knees into the concrete, reaching out with needy hands to the group of adults surrounding you, only to be met with nothing but the group walking away, perhaps occasionally turning around to glare and snicker and sneer, as they were never facing you to begin with.

It was being left entirely alone - and not in the typical pleasant way, not of your own volition - because of perceived abnormalities, abnormalities of which they’d all gladly leave you to rot for; you are not human, and therefore deserve none of the liberties humans, and even stray mutts, are afforded.

That was how Franken described age regression to a very curious Spirit Albarn.

<~~~~~~>

Frequently had he been coming home to a regressed and struggling Stein, either curled up on the couch or in his bed, leaving the door to his room ajar as a silent invitation. He’d ghost a tender hand over the boy’s shoulder, muttering an “are you awake” before gathering him in his arms and readying him for sleep and/or simple relaxation, for release, for “quiet time” as they so often addressed it as.

He’d look him over, searching for any injuries or blooming bruises. He never knew how long Stein had been regressed before coming home or seeing him again in whatever capacity, so he’d always ensure that he hadn’t gotten himself into any sort of trouble. Lest he be awake, Spirit had made it a habit to check his eyes, as he’d either have a far-away and blank gaze or unbefitting tears swirling and dusting over his lash line - likely from whatever triggered the ‘fuzzy’ feelings in the first place- and that would typically tell him with an impressive level of accuracy what kind of night they’d be having and what he needed most.

Tonight was one of those nights; the sort of night where his stare would be more thousand-yard than ever, where he seemed to not even be within himself - lost somewhere in his mindscapes and staring off into space. He would seldom, if at all, eat, drink, sleep, move, blink, speak, and ostensibly breathe. Though, to be fair, he was never much of a talker, especially when regressed. He was usually entirely nonverbal outside of his habitual parroting, but something about it within the context of one of these nights simply felt different. Creepily different. Concerning, even.

“Hey, Stein?” He spoke gently, laying his hand on top of his and shuffling their toothbrushes back into the glass holder. He had him perched atop the chilled bathroom counter, visible goosebumps protruding from his limbs. “I’m going to take you back to your bedroom and we can get all comfy and settled in, okay? Everything we need is already in there, so I figured it’d be less of a hassle.”

Stein’s eyes remained transfixed on the white wall ahead of him, his head tilted on its axis like a globe. He wasn’t swinging his feet back and forth like he typically would.

“I’m going to pick you up again, so don’t be alarmed, all right?” He pulled him closer until his legs wrapped around his waist, hoisting him up and off of the counter, switching the light off on his way out of the bathroom. As he swayed from side to side on his feet, he noticed a certain someone’s face burying itself into the crook of his neck, hiding away from all that it could. He hoped that the meister could bask in the warmth radiating from off of his body, he hoped that he could find the sensation of skin-to-skin contact grounding in some way.

The hinges of the bedroom door produced a strident creak as Spirit pushed it open, to which he grimaced and immediately glanced over at his partner, of whom seemed strangely unbothered. With scrunched brows and a rattling sigh, he slipped the both of them seamlessly into Stein’s bed, lifting the patchwork covers to enfold the male and offer him a taste of the soft textures he adored so much.

“Here you go,” after situating him properly in his lap, he brought a black pacifier to his lips, running his nails up and down the expanses of his awfully rigid spine.

Franken accepted the soother similarly to how he blinked: slowly and mechanically. Though not before acting as the ricocheting echoes bouncing off of the walls of a dim and vacant cave; “..’ere ‘ou go.”

His whisper sounded distracted as though he were not truly present, his countenance just the same. Spirit wasn’t even entirely sure if the boy was aware he was speaking at all. Perhaps his languid and sporadic suckling of the pacifier was but a reflex, something subconscious, as he didn’t seem aware of that either.

He didn’t have his usual fistfuls of Spirit’s shirt in his hands, nor was he rolling the blanket in his fingers. Albarn never quite realized how much he enjoyed having Stein around, whether he was childishly clinging to him or, god forbid, dissecting something, until he’d lose him for however long despite his body still being well within his grasp.

“S…”

His now trembling soul nearly barreled out of his pores. “Whoa- I mean what?”

“...pirit.

…

Spirit.”

“What is it? Can you speak?”

“S..pi’it… Spirit,” his voice, muffled by the pacifier and having gone unused for quite a while, was hushed and laced with rasp. It was as if he was experimenting, analyzing how each letter, each syllable of his weapon’s name felt upon his limp and heavy tongue, how it felt brushing over and leaving his tattered lips. It was as if he were testing the boundaries of his ability to speak. “S…piwit.” And it appeared he was facing some difficulty.

“Yes,” he drawled, a proud and adoring grin etching itself upon his visage. “Spirit.”

With that same shell-shocked, ‘gone’ expression, he repeated, “Spirit.”

[pasteloctoz]

Hi there! So- @ajfromthestarss and @darlin-collins decided they wanted some angst and gave me the prompt "Darlin has a nightmare‼️ Sam comforts them🔥the nightmare was abt Quinn ‼️" So I wrote it. Fair warning- this is a bit intense, though it's also the first time I've posted angst before. But also, because I felt like this was pretty intense, there's some fluff at the end cause DAMN Darlin needs it. Also, It's 1,749 words so that's something.

Anyways, triggers: flashback to trauma, with mentions of character death and light details of body horror, there's a small panic attack and what I would consider a bit of a dissociative episode after the flashback, though that bit isn't too bad. I also kinda leaned into the canonicity of Darlin having body issues, specifically toward their scars so be aware of that. Like I said this was intense to even write about.

The ghosts of your past

You find yourself curled in bed, comfortable, scrolling on your phone. It was close to midnight and your mate was fast asleep next to you. Despite not needing sleep, he enjoyed it when the two of you would lay in bed together until one of you fell asleep. This time he was the one who fell asleep first.

You turn over onto your back, turning off your phone. Looking up at the ceiling, you thought about everything that had happened recently. Thoughts and feelings mixed in knots that desperately needed to be untied. Though, at that moment, there was no one there to untie those knots. No one to reassure you that everything would be okay. So, you let your mind wander, and before long, you were fast asleep.

When you opened your eyes, you felt for the dip in the bed where your mate layed. He wasn’t there which was to be expected with the way he slept. What was weird was that the dip didn’t even exist anymore. You got up, reaching for your phone on your nightstand, only to grab the air. Confused, you examined the room. It was familiar, you knew that much.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were in the small, unfurnished apartment you shared with him years ago. There was a gentle humming coming from outside the bedroom door. You recognized the humming from anywhere. He was here. Immediately your anger was pressed down by a solemn, calculated feeling. You took a deep breath and thought, “Now’s a better time than any, I guess.”

You opened the door, yawning while pulling up your hair into the signature bun you wore when you were with him. You noticed that your normal orange creme-colored pajamas had been replaced with some very old blue and white pajamas that you never wore anymore. You were nervous upon seeing your ex. Though, you didn’t know why. The last time you saw him you felt a strong deal of hate. You couldn’t recall the last time you had seen him for some reason. You didn’t care as you focused on the conversation.

“Hey, precious,” He smirked as he let a long breath of smoke out, almost like a dragon. The smoke detector was laid out on the kitchen island as he leaned against it. He never bothered to open a window, but he would put in all the effort to take apart a smoke detector… or at least mangle it ‘til it stopped screeching.

He handed you a cigar, to which you declined, “Not today…”

“C’mon precious, it’s just one. I know you don’t like them, but it’ll grow on you. Trust me.”

You ignored his comment, which seemed to get on his nerves. Though, he kept his cool as you spoke to him. You figured you’d pull the bandaid right off, “I- I think we should break up.” A chill went down your spine. It was that night. The night that you truly felt alone after so long.

“No,” you thought, “Not again. I can’t live through this night again. No. I- I have a mate. An actual mate th- that cares about me- Hi- His name is… What was his name?” You couldn’t remember your mate’s name even though it was on the tip of your tongue. You weren’t in control of your actions. You couldn’t tell him to fuck off. You couldn’t go see your friend, you couldn’t protect them. You were helpless to let this play out the way it always did. Whether it was in your head or in real life.

Your vision went black and within a few seconds, you found yourself wandering a dark void, helpless, alone, and scared. Eventually, you came across your friend, unempowered, helpless, and scared. They lay on the floor in front of you, staring into the abyss above you. Quickly, you rush to their side, worried. As you hold them in your arms, you take in the familiarity of their mutilated body. The bite marks, the scratches, even the small burns caused by your ex’s weak magic. You knew this part, you knew they’d still be alive you just had to get them to the hospital. You brushed their bangs out of their eyes, whispering gently to them, “Everything’s going to be okay, I can fix this,” but dropped them quickly when you realized their eyes were lifeless. You backed up quickly before bumping into something.

“Hello, precious,” your ex’s accent startled you as you whipped around, quickly to see nothing.

You heard him behind you again, “How’s your mate doing?” He spoke in the normal, teasing tone he used when he spoke to you last, “And his progeny? Oh, I’d give anything to see Fred now that I’m gone officially. Kind of makes me wish I had taken him the first time I met him.”

“How are you-”

“Nevermind that, I just wanted to let you know that no matter where you are. And no matter where I am, Sam is never safe-”

You wake up in a cold sweat and frantically look to your side. There he was, your mate, sound asleep. Catching your breath, you check the time… 3:34 am. You sigh and carefully make your way out of the room you shared with your mate, careful not to wake him up. You make your way to the bathroom after grabbing your clothing for the day. All of your thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess.

You felt your heart was still racing as you walked over to the sink. You looked into the mirror, giving yourself a second to breathe. As you took your pajamas off, you examined the scars across your body. Slipping into your new clothes you thought for a moment, “These scars could’ve been avoided, had I not gotten with him.” Immediately you regretted your thought. If it weren’t for your ex, you wouldn’t have met your mate. Your mate that loved you, and cared for you. That didn’t excuse the things he did, and you knew that. You still held the same hate you had for him the moment he attempted to make your life a living hell.

After getting ready for the day, you sat in the kitchen drinking a coffee, thinking to yourself. You tried keeping your mind on other things, but nothing worked. You scanned the room for something to do, eventually, your eyes fell on your mate’s coat that laid across the sofa. Quickly, you finished your cup of coffee before grabbing a monster from the fridge and wrapping yourself in the coat. Instantly, you felt better as you walked out to the front porch and scanned the tree line surrounding the house.

After a while, you hear the gentle voice of your mate, “Darlin’? Did you fall asleep on the porch?”

You yawn, realizing that the sky was now fading into the morning. It was almost dawn, and Sam was out there to wake you up, “... What? Oh, yeah… I guess I did. Sorry ‘bout that.” You got up, remembering that you brought a monster with you outside. The can still felt cold, and you realized that your hands and feet were icy cold as well.

“Don’t apologize, I just seemed to get out of bed at the right time,” He reached out for your hand and was startled to find out how cold it was. “Jesus, Darlin’! How long have you been out here?”

You shrugged, “4:10 just about.”

He looked at you, concerned, “The hell were you doing up at 4:10!?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, why not?” his face softened, though his accent was harsh along with his tone.

You decided it would be best to tell him the truth as the two of you made it into the living room, “I had a nightmare.”

The two of you sat down on the couch as worry crossed his face. It seemed to make sense to him after everything that had happened recently, “... Was it about him?”

You rubbed your arm awkwardly, “Yes.”

Immediately, your mate held your hand in his, tightly. He looked you in the eyes and spoke in a gentle, loving tone, “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I- I know… I’m just angry, I guess,” you gazed into his silver eyes as a soft smile teased the corners of your mouth. Just being near him would make you feel better about anything. You continued to speak as he looked confused, “I didn’t think that after it was all set and done with that he’d still bother me. I didn’t think he ever had that much of an effect on me.”

“Darlin’... I- Can I give you a hug?” you nodded and he held you as closely as you’d allow him to. He continued speaking to you as he embraced you, “Just because the problem is fixed doesn’t mean that all the… damage he caused you are healed. It takes time and patience to let a wound heal, and he left a pretty big fuckin’ wound. I should know.”

“I thought he would go away finally. I thought that he would stop haunting me. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened, what I could’ve done, what I could’ve said. I don’t even want to think about him, I just want him to leave me alone.”

“Darlin’, even though you have ghosts in your past, you shouldn’t let those ghosts affect you in the present. What happened has happened. And I don’t know about you but even though there were some hardships, I’m happy the way it turned out. Because now I have you,” He held you tighter and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“Sam… I love you,” you said, finally coming to terms with the fact that you would need time to heal. You knew that every step of the way Sam would be there, to comfort and take care of you.

“I love you too, Darlin’... You wanna know something?” He asked you as you pulled away to look at him.

“What?”

“I think It’s pretty damn cute that you wore my coat to go fall asleep on the porch.”

“I was cold.” You told him, smiling mischievously.

“Really? So that’s why you had your arms wrapped around yourself like you were giving yourself a big hug?” He smiled as he teased you.

“Just let me have this one,” you said as you sat closer to him and cuddled into his chest.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Sad that it’s the end of mermay, always awesome to see what people create (merman Gaz was amazing to read)

Almost pride month though! Have a feeling that 141 would be extremely chaotic (in a good way) at a pride parade

~💫

Well now I feel like giving you my chaotic little pride parade hc:

1- In the words of my beautiful @superhero-landing, John Price is a leather daddy and shows up on one of the floats in full leather gear but with his ass out in assless chaps. He looks delicious. That's it. That's all I've got for the old man.

2- Simon Riley is wearing noise cancelling headphones and the darkest hoodie and jeans despite how hot it is out, but he has a reversible rainbow flag face mask that he can turn over to be fully black whenever he decides he's done with the crowd of people and wants to go home.

3- Kyle Garrick is definitely in the cutest color-coordinated outfit, wearing a crop top and denim shorts AND has both the rainbow flag and the trans flag painted on his cheeks, and has all his piercings showing. He definitely carries a fanny pack with a few things for other people, including hair ties and bandaids, just in case.

4- Johnny MacTavish is in the most ridiculous Hawaiian style shirt (could be flamingos, could be just polka dots, it's one of those short sleeve styles), cargo shorts and combat boots... but his shirt is unbuttoned and he's showing off his entire hairy torso. Has been drinking beer and is wearing a backward baseball cap like some sort of American frat boy... But has definitely has been (consensually) grinding on a tall goth-looking bloke for the past 20 minutes.

I don't make the rules.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory: Chapter List

Main Masterlist ° Butterfly Effect Installments ° AO3

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Series Summary: After finding your way back to Michael and finally finding out who he really is, there is no doubt in your mind that you want to stick around. You care about him and now that the truth is out, you can see him clearly and you know that he needs someone who loves and supports him. You can be that person. You can help him get the happiness he deserves, you think, and perhaps help him get his daughter back, too. You're naive though, and you see it all through heart-shaped glasses - the life Michael is leading is dangerous and you don't know what you've signed up for until it's too late. And you soon realize that falling in love with a Kinsella isn't as easy as you thought it would be.

Warnings: Angst, Smut, established relationship, canon typical violence, graphic descriptions of injury, plot, description of child abuse, Character Death (chapter-specific warnings will be added before every chapter)

A/n: This is the official list of chapters. For those of you who haven’t read it, this is a continuation of my mini-series “Butterfly Effect”. It is not necessary to read because I mention the events that happened during the 7 parts of the mini-series again in this series to go with the plot. Still, it would probably be a good idea to read it and become familiar with their back story. It’s kind of a prequel, if you will. Also, I did add another warning because the plot evolved. I encourage you to read the warnings carefully and stay away if these topics trigger you. That’s all, I think. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE: Secret New Beginnings

CHAPTER TWO: I Know You Feel Like A Piece Of You’s Dead Inside

CHAPTER THREE: I’ll Show You Every Version Of Myself Tonight

CHAPTER FOUR: You See Right Through Me

CHAPTER FIVE: Designed To Deceive

CHAPTER SIX: My Reputation’s Never Been Worse

CHAPTER SEVEN: I Hope I Never Lose You

CHAPTER EIGHT: Let Us Hold Each Other

CHAPTER NINE: I Want You

CHAPTER TEN: I'll Look After You

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Not The Same As It Was

CHAPTER TWELVE: Just Let Me Adore You

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: He Looks Up Grinning Like A Devil

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: We'll Be A Fine Line

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stop, You’re Losing Me

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Come Back To Me

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Crisp Trepidation

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Maybe I Don’t Quite Know What To Say

CHAPTER NINETEEN: My Castle’s Crumbling Down

CHAPTER TWENTY: You Showed Me Colors You Know I Can’t See With Anyone Else

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Look At This Godforsaken Mess That You Made Me?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: I Stay When You’re Lost, And I’m Scared, And You’re Turning Away

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Bandaids Don’t Fix Bulletholes

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Seven Devils All Around

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

if you want to be tagged, just let me know! tag list is always open!

[ccaptain]

While H:SR Kaeya's ways of having fun may look silly, and sometimes his joyous reactions may take people by surprise, there's unfortunately a sad truth that was already pointed out that explains it:

Becoming an active part of the Enigmata ''beings'' isn't always an happy experience- if at all.

Most of Kaeya's time is spent in a deeply melancholic contemplation of his mission and his destiny. There are many enemies that refuse to see his point of view and that have tried to chase or harm him, deaf to his explanations, and surely he's fated to make many more along the road. When observed closely, there's this distant expression on his face and too many thoughts in his head, and too many boulders on his shoulders. 

When there's a way to feel even a slighty spark of happiness, he'll take and indulge into it until he has to go.

Be it a silly moment shared with a friend over a jiggly pudding, or a night out with drinks and chatting while the sun rises outside of a tavern. He has learned that a night of singing his heart out at a karaoke with strangers and friends alike is just as soothing as a good night of sleep, too. He likes to bake, and is quite apt at it as long as it's not a multilayered, complicated cake, and it excites him to try how good he can do each time. He has taken up cooking too, and is passable in some dishes. He'll seize the occasion of a long travel and take pictures with his phone to show Siobhan when he's back home, or to send them to his friends. He can mix drinks quite well, and will show that talent off to anyone, if allowed to. He finds the warmth of a bonfire warding away the cold of the night enthrancing, and will watch as the embers die out and he's plunged back into darkness. He had many occasions to dance in heavy rain, content with how fresh the droplets felt on his skin and not minding being soaked after. He watches an hurricane devastate everything in his path, coming for him with the wind whipping his hair across his face, and was awestruck at the strenght of nature. 

He has seen the northern lights, and was so mesmerized by them that, for a long moment, he forgot the heaviness he carries with him.

His room, a space in the middle of nowhere, is impersonal in the decorations. His sheets are of a anonymous light blue, his closet of an anonymous brown, and his furniture is spartan and lacking. And then, there are the trinkets.

Plenty of them. Laid on every high surface he could find, on every empty shelf, on the nightstand, on the windowshill with the curtains drawn back. Little shimmering crystals, small animals with fake gemstones for eyes, funny-looking rocks, some bandaids never unwrapped but clearly given to him, coins from other planets, the littlest toy guns known to man, including colorful waterguns, soft toys to squeeze to keep the stress at bay. Rusted-over, old toy cars, clean cups, small glasses that glimmer in a sun that will never rise in the space where Kaeya's room is. All of those and more are displayed for himself to see each time he wishes to, from new and old friends he made along the way that are no longer alive.

He has a diffuser with a pleasing scent of jasmine and sandal going at all times. He has acquired a projector that shines a pre-made set of patterns that glow and move in the dark and that he could stare at for hours, laying on his bed in company or alone, feeling absolute calmness.

Kaeya's friends probably don't know how vital and necessary they are for him: in a way, they keep him sane. When they laugh with him, they make him think that the burden he has is worth carrying, if it means that they cross paths, ever once in a blue moon, and can share a moment of company or even travel together, off to adventures and places to see and explore.

Even if a person he's close to will, one day, turn against him, Kaeya will still bear no grudge and cherish the memories of their happy moments, and the camaraderie they shared before things turned for the worst.

[vxiphoid]

៚ BREAK ALL RULES !!⟢

❨ skateboarding with ruggie ❩ omg an actual fic😧😧!!! oh look its those two best friends that clearly have feelings for each other but wont admit it… KISS ALREADY. i need to start writing for more characters, i love savanaclaw too much😞 ooc ruggie (just to be sure), mentions of injuries, cursing, extremely bad explaining for skateboard tricks goodbye, not proof read, other than that tooth rotting fluff<3

⌜ 1k+ words⌟

♫ take me to the sun - d4vd & who - 웨터 (wetter)

“OH FUCK—“

“ruggie!? ruggie, are you okay?!” the camera immediately dropped as you slid down the ramp to assist your friend, landing in this crooked position with both of you somehow in the frame. ruggie was curled up on the pavement when you knelt down beside him, worry splashed on your face. it wasn't until you were kneeling by him did the faux hurt disappear from his face.

“i think i fell for you.”

then he shot you a cheeky little wink. you stared blankly at the man sprawled in front of you. ruggie had to purse his lips to stop himself from laughing, your expression was priceless. you looked like you'd just been scolded for some sort of transgression—y’know, before you finally realized he was teasing you, which prompted to you start attacking him with everything you could muster. “you absolute asshole! i thought you actually hurt yourself!”

ruggie, on the other hand, balled himself up and protected his head with his arms as he cackled. “ow, fuck— don’t hit me, i’m already injured!” he wheezed between chuckles. your punches got lighter and lighter till they were nothing but little pats on his shoulder and ribs as his contagious laughter effected you. and eventually the two of you collapsed into hysterical giggles, covered in dirt and scratches but happy none the less.

“you done watching that video? it’s your turn, you know!”

ruggie’s voice snapped you back to reality, the video playing from your phone quickly forgotten as quick as it stole your attention. it was supposed to be a simple video of ruggie doing an ollie since he was so adamant about actually having it down this time yet… he turned it into a corny pick up line after brutally falling on his face. you’re totally posting this on magicam.

you placed your phone down besides you, sliding down the small ramp for the umpteenth time tonight. “yeah, yeah, im coming!” ruggie chose the perfect night to practice skateboarding for the moon was at its fullest and the stars were all out, lighting the whole area with twinkling luminescence. it really made things look ethereal, especially in contrast with the street lamps nearby.

ruggie had found this skateboard a month back and there was this run down skatepark near the school so you both decided, hey, why not give some tricks a try. all the bruises and cuts definitely made your teachers and some students concerned but at least you were improving every now and again. it didn’t take long for ruggie to get the hang of it, at least sort of. there was this one trick you saw online that completely peaked your interest and in attempt of trying it, you ended up with a bloody nose. nothing was going to stop you from mastering this trick though, and if that meant getting bruised up more then so be it.

ruggie was squinting at his hand as you approached him, “i think i did actually cut my thumb when i fell, though.”

you rocked back and forth with your hands deep in your (rather, his) puffy jacket like the biggest shit you could be. “unfortunately for you, were all out of hello kitty bandaids.” he snorted at your words, turning around to face you properly. small scratches littered his face along with brightly colored bandages in different shapes and his smile wasnt as bright as his ocean blue eyes. he nudges the board towards your feet, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater before offering his hand. “ready?”

ruggie didnt miss how careful you were taking his hand and the slight squeeze you added when you stepped onto the board. your other hand flew to steady yourself as you put your other foot on the board. you glanced up to see him biting his bottom lip as his eyes trained on your shoes for any sign of unsteadiness or discomfort—like you might topple over if he weren’t looking. his concern brought a faint warmth to your heart as his gaze flickered to meet you, he was being so gentle with you. his hand loosened slightly on yours but you held on tight enough so he couldn’t pull away. “you good?” he asked with furrowed brows as his gaze lingered on your face. “don’t want you fallin’ off—“

“no.” you interrupted, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “i’m ready.”

for extra measurements as ruggie let go of your hand, his fingertips hovered over yours to make sure you weren’t going to fall, his hands quickly missing the warmth.

you started off slowly, gliding across the ground gently. ruggie followed suit closely behind, watching carefully to ensure no accidents happen. the wind blew past your faces, tickling your cheeks as you gradually picked up speed. he watched you smile to yourself, the glint of pride in your eyes.

it was only after you’d kicked off the ramp did he feel it—the familiar tug of your magic. the wind was working with you, your legs lifting off of the floor as you went higher. your back foot going under the board and flipping it back around, letting out a whoop that ruggie was sure he hadn’t heard from you before. his mouth opened wider than ever at your display—the wind was pushing you faster than he’d seen you move before. you seemed to glide across the concrete, never once breaking your stride. though when you landed, albeit a little off balanced, your eyes lit up like you had one the biggest teddy bear from a rigged claw machine. your face was glowing too, almost glowing like it could reflect your joy. your giggle rang through the chilly night air like music to his ears, and as soon as the feeling passed he felt it return tenfold. you were so fucking adorable. “did you see that?!”

ruggie braced himself for impact as you ran towards him with your arms outstretched, jumping and tackling him to the ground in one swift motion. the momentum caused the both of you to tumble onto your backs, your bodies pressed together tightly. his breath knocked from his lungs yet nothing stopped him from laughing along with you.

he pushes you away, scanning your face. “you’re okay, right? no scratches?” he reached up to cup one side of your face, gently wiping away a tear from your eye that rolled down to your nose. you were such an emotional little thing, it was absolutely endearing and god, he loved seeing you like this.

“of course i am! who cares?” you exclaim, knowing by heart that ruggie would catch you if you lost control of the skateboard mid-air. he always did.

your noses were brushing up against each other as you spoke, his eyes flicking down for a moment before darting back up. your lips were inches apart and if his heart was beating loud enough for the both of you to hear, it surely must have been so damn loud, you couldn’t miss the flutter of his breath against your face.

“i do.”

and maybe it was his tone, maybe it was the way he was staring at you in that way he was—so intent and full of emotion. you swallowed the lump in your throat; maybe it had something to do with the way he was gripping both sides of your face. maybe it was the warmness of his hands on either side of yours—you didn’t know and you didn’t particularly care. the urge to press your lips against his became too strong.

but he did. he leaned closer and closed his eyes, and suddenly you could hear the loud beating of your hearts, deafening even, as his lips brushed against yours for mere millimeters, yet your entire body froze in place. his touch was light at first, a feather light kiss that sent shivers down your spine. but before you knew it you had threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss in hopes of convincing yourself that you weren’t dreaming. you weren’t. it felt just as amazing as you dreamed of, warm and comforting as you melted into his embrace while pressing deeper into the kiss with passion.

ruggie pulled back with a breathless laugh, resting his forehead against yours in awe. a grin stretched across his face, his eyes still closed and a dazed look plastered across his features. he could see why everyone always said that love makes fools of us all, because he was absolutely sure he looked like a total buffoon.

back to twst masterlist

[alienaiver]

Something to think about on this fine day....

Shinou has to get a vaccine. He hates vaccines. You make them more fun with bandaids in the most absurd colors and designs.

But what designs does he pick to put on your arm when you get your vaccine?

dira ur making my brain go crazy !!!!! that is the cutest little thing in thE WORLD !!! i couldnt help but write a little smth for that 🥺🥺

its 715 words and i dont mention the needles or go into detail abt the vaccine itself !! 🧡✨

ty for inspiring me my beloved !!! its good to get out of the one-track-mind i get in when i work on One Project ! 🥹🧡✨

(also all this is written on my phone, i havent had energy to proof read as it just came quickly to me !!! 🧡)

"hitoshi, get up." you playfully smack at his forearm but all it does is make him curl more in on himself. you snort a laugh and when you try to get your hands underneath the blanket to tickle him, your cat Soup joins the fray. you sit back on your haunches with a raised brow, "you can't hide in there forever. we have to leave in a few minutes."

a sound between a groan and a whine is heard from the pile in front of you before he dramatically throws the duvet off of him and spreads his arms fully onto the bed, "I don't wanna." he moans with his eyes glued shut. you shake your head at his childish antics from his valid fear, "i know baby but you gotta. im in the high risk group, right? and with your job you-" he starts blabbering noises to make you stop before he admits with a pout, "i know.."

you lean down and kiss his forehead, "is there a way i can make this easier? a treat from starbucks on the way back? a muffin from the bakery?"

shinsou huffs, "y'kno we have shared economy, right?"

you roll your eyes, "it's the act of me buying it for you, not the actual money spent."

he blows you a raspberry. you laugh and kiss his nose, "what if we bring our own band-aids? the ones you love with the kittens?"

shinsou's eyes show his earnest excitement about that when he tries to steel his expression. then, he grabs your cheeks with his hands and looks into your eyes, a serious expression painted in his features, "will you put it on me?"

you smile, "if they let me."

it makes it easier. you're also incredibly lucky that the lady vaccinating the both of you is incredibly kind and patient. she lets you go first to show shinsou that it isn't that scary and she lets him put on a band-aid on you if he sanitizes his hands first, which is a good step for him to know that she'll let you do the same when it's his turn. he spent a few minutes debating which band-aids each of you should get and when you see what he put on you, you can't help but coo at him.

it's the one with the black cat that looks like his old cat, the one aizawa and yamada had back when he moved in with them - he's been very careful about when those band-aids are to be used lest they run out, but here he is, willingly putting one on you.

for himself, he's chosen the one that he knows is your favorite. it's the one with the cat you think is the cutest because of the pose. the doctor goes through each step carefully for shinsou as you hold his hand and keep his eyes focused on you.

it's honestly over before he realizes, but he squeezes your hand a moment longer than necessary, as if to silently thank you for being there through his odd anxiety (you don't think it's half as odd as he thinks himself). he only lets go when you need your hand to put on the band-aid.

he sighs out in relief after you've put it on, but let out a surprised yelp when you pat the area after you've put on the band-aid. you heave in a quick breath before you apologize, "i'm so sorry babe that was reflex! i didn't mean to.. oh god, it didn't hurt too bad right?"

he ends up just laughing at you, "you're really hurting me after i've gone through this?"

on the way out you're holding hands, your thumb caressing the hand in yours, reminding him you're here and that he was very brave. when you prompt him about which reward he would like, he scratches the back of his neck as he admits, "i'd like both the coffee and the muffin.. and a kiss."

you happily oblige to all three wishes, only teasing him about being greedy but promising him you'll never deprive him from what he wants. it's a successful day.

you're not sure how to tell him that he'll need to repeat it next year. you'll wait at least 10-11 months before telling him, you think - and you'll maybe buy the specific band-aids as soon as possible and hide them, so you're sure you have them if they're out of production next year.