#how was this 700 words

[beelmons]

Spencer x ADHD!girlfriend.

"...and that's exactly why The Zodiac, in theory, was more prolific as a mathematician than a serial killer." he finished his sentence as he drew a couple more words and connected lines on his whiteboard. His body turned in your direction, and it made you jump slightly on your spot on the couch.

"You're so right, babe, that makes a lot of sense." you said. Truth was, you had no idea what he was talking about. You were having dinner together, and you mentioned Zac Efron on the Bundy movie, things escalated, and he took out his whiteboard, and that's what you remembered happening last.

You loved your boyfriend, and you absolutely adored hearing him ramble about whatever topic he was feeling passionate about. It was one of his most endearing features, and you vowed to yourself you would always be there to listen.

Tinsy problem, sometimes your brain was physically uncapable to keep up with his talking speed, and the second you didn't understand something and you couldn't just interrupt him to clarify it to you, your brain would fly somewhere else. It wasn't because of boredom, his speeches were never dull to you, you were just wired that way, and there was little you could do about it but conceal it from him and try to pretend that you got everything he was sharing with you. At the end, that was your true intention every time.

His arms dropped defeatedly to leave the marker by his coffee table, immediately they traveled back to his chest, crossing them over it. "Okay. What was it this time?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" you frowned in confusion. He noticed your obliviousness and decided to walk in your direction, crouching down in front of the couch.

"You zoned out. I'm curious about what you were thinking about instead of The Zodiac." he smiled.

"You noticed?!" you almost yelled out your question.

The chuckle that he let out, amused and surprised, easied the slight anxiety that you had began to feel. "You do that all the time, I'm pretty familiar with your present-body-absent-mind expression." he clarified.

Your hands flew to your face, covering it with your palms in embarrassment. "I can't believe you have known all along." you mumbled against your own skin "I'm so sorry." you said with a slightly saddened voice.

"Hey," he reached out to grab your hands and guide them away from your face, taking them in his instead "why are you sorry?"

"I really love hearing you talk about things so passionately, I promise." you tried to reassure him. He let out a smaller laugh this time.

"From all the people I've met in my life, you're the only one that's never asked me to stop." his eyes moved to yours. His sight was longing and gentle, his thumbs rubbing at your hands with adoration. Your heart beat erraticly for a second, regardless of the amount of time you had been together, he still made you nervous, he wooed you with his beauty and kindness. "Regardless of how long my ramble is, or the topic. Not even that one time I was telling you about flatulence characteristics and types." he admitted shyly.

You took back your hands and bent forward instead. Your fingers landed on his cheeks and you pulled him closer so you could place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.

"And we weren't even dating then." you joked "Still, you should have said something."

"It doesn't bother me" he stated "If anything, I'm always amazed with the random, completely unrelated thoughts that pop into your mind during your zoning out. So, tell me, what was it this time?"

Your lips pursed slightly, eyes looking away shyly "I was wondering how faucets work." you admitted and he yet again let out a gentle chuckle.

"I actually know the answer to that one." his eyes narrowed and he turned back to stare at his messy whiteboard, his entire body still crouched before you. "Perhaps if I break it down on modules, and we have a dynamic activity in between, I can keep your attention engaged." he said once he had turned back at you.

"Or we could make out. That keeps me engaged." you mentioned, your hands tangling on his hair.

"Yeah, nevermind, let's do that."

[lightseoul]

hi! please could you do number 7 with the mc having a ghost-related quirk??

decided to quickly write this one just in time for halloween! i hope y'all enjoy this little piece amidst the boop war we all find ourselves in right now lol. thank you for playing n have a nice day <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

7. "THE GHOSTS WOULD DISAGREE WITH YOU." (1.3k)

“you’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”

you don’t even look up from the churro you’re munching on, opting to ignore the ash-blonde sitting right next to your left.

“what,” he continues, and if you didn’t know any better, he’s starting to sound a little annoyed. “you’re not even gonna defend yourself?”

what you’re not about to do is tell him you’ve heard that taunt over and over again growing up, lest you end up seeming pitiful, which you aren’t.

so you merely shrug. “i don’t see the point. i know it’s not true.”

at that, you finally glance at the man, who’s looking nothing short of speechless under the dim light of the lounge that’s decked out with ‘spooky’ embellishments.

cute is the first thing that comes to mind.

he just fucking insulted you is the next.

still, you can’t help the smile that takes over your features. “you’re the weird one, anyway. why would you say that to your date?”

bakugou promptly breaks eye contact, choosing to stare at the human skeleton that’s conveniently parked at the corner of the room. you follow his line of vision, and you have to stop yourself from snorting at the sight.

the people manning this haunted house-themed attraction sure took budget decorating to the next level.

beside you, the pro-hero huffs. “i’m only saying that because this is your idea of a good first date,” he gestures vaguely to your surroundings, an incredulous expression on his face as he tosses you a pointed look. “a horror escape room? really?”

“what?” you say, trying to sound the slightest bit defensive for the sake of it. “it gives us plenty of excuses to get closer.”

whatever bakugou expected you to say in response, it surely wasn’t that.

the man only splutters, quickly diverting his gaze and plopping back against his seat with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest like a petulant child.

he then mutters something that you wouldn’t have caught for the life of you if it weren’t for the thing.

you grin.

“you wanted me to latch onto you for safety? you could’ve just said so.”

almost instantaneously, bakugou whips to stare at you, an absolutely horrified expression etched all over his face.

“what the fuck?”

you flash him the most innocent look you can muster. “what?”

he’s now glaring at you, but there’s no missing the redness that has crept up the high planes of his cheeks. he opens his mouth as if to say something but hesitates. he tries again, gaze fixated on you for a couple more seconds until he shakes his head in disbelief.

“…there’s no fucking way.”

you shrug again, but bakugou only stares at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “unless…”

and, in a blink of an eye you almost could’ve missed it if you weren’t staring at him yourself, you see profound realization dawn on his features.

you gulp despite yourself.

“you have a fucking quirk?”

the truth must have been written all over your exterior, because the man leans back in slow motion like the way one would when faced with a relatively shocking revelation.

you rub at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling too self-conscious. this was the part that always made you feel uncomfortable, no matter what the context.

but especially during a first date.

“i never said i was quirkless…”

“yeah, no shit,” he retorts, not missing a single bit. “what is it, superior hearing or something?”

you shake your head slowly, “no, but it does make me privy to things that i don’t perceive with my own senses.”

bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in what you think is confusion. “what else?”

“uh—” you pause, eyes drifting down to your fiddling fingers, “—i can also levitate, be invisible, and permeate through things.”

when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you finally chance a glance at the man, and he’s looking honest-to-god gagged.

pro-hero dynamight is fucking gagged and it’s because of you.

before he can get a word in, though, you quickly follow it up with: “but they make me so nauseous that i can barely pull them off. they’re useless, really.”

when you’re met with nothing but silence, you continue.

“i know,” you chuckle, although it comes out awkward and stilted. “it’s weird. you’re right, after all. i was just messing with you.”

more silence.

not knowing what else to do or say, you take a huge bite of your pastry, although you’re far from hungry, stomach now churning in embarrassment.

you’re in the middle of chewing the remnants of your last bite when bakugou finally speaks up.

now, you’ve heard about how the #9 pro-hero, despite his aggression and temper and generally unpleasant personality, is exceptionally intelligent, perceptive, and intuitive, but you never really thought much about it.

not even when you found out a few hours earlier that the blind date your friends set you up with was your distant superior dynamight himself.

and while you always had a thing for capable men, you didn’t want to fall early and hard lest you hurt yourself in the process. so you merely pushed back against the prejudices and expectations you had of him, and decided to just observe the person who was actually in front of you for the rest of your date.

but when he says the next thing, everything you’ve heard about him suddenly makes sense.

“…so it’s a ghost quirk.”

you don’t even get the opportunity to choke on your churro or gape at him because bakugou shakes his head so fervently, before: “that’s such a fucking waste.”

“e-excuse me?”

at your query, he locks eyes with you. “you have a strong-ass quirk, yet you’re working in admin for us. you could be doing more.”

a thousand questions fight to escape your lips, but what manages to emerge victorious is: “how’d you know i’m working admin for ground riot?”

bakugou scowls at you, but again, there’s that scarlet on his cheeks. he doesn’t answer your question, though, instead going for: “that’s your fucking takeaway?”

you shrug, not knowing what else to say. “i know my quirk is strong. but i was always made to feel like i was weird and creepy for it growing up—and until now, actually, which is why i don’t really talk about it—so i just learned not to use it.”

“well, most of it,” you add, and bakugou cocks his head to the side in question.

you take a shaky inhale.

“…ghosts still choose to talk to me.”

“that how you pick up on things beyond your five senses?”

you try not to gawk at him and at how fast he put two and two together. “…yeah.”

neither of you says anything for a few moments before bakugou finally shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back.

as he does so, he pipes up with: “well, i guess they’re not always accurate, though.”

you frown. although you rarely use your quirk, you still pride yourself in your capacity. “what do you mean?”

at that, bakugou turns to regard you, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “i did not want you to latch onto me.”

this time, you really can’t help it. you snort, and that grants you a glower from the pro-hero. you take it in stride, though, waving him off.

“sure, big guy.”

“don’t—” he sits up, “fucking—i’m serious—”

“yeah, but the ghosts—” he throws you a punch, which you dodge, “would disagree—” you dodge another, “ with you—” he barely misses you, “—though,” you finally finish.

and really, you don’t even need your trusty ghosts to know that—the blush that’s taken over the entirety of his face is all the proof you need.

[rosyhoneydew]

911 8x04 sneak peek coda with buddietommy because my brain wouldn't let this go until I wrote it.

"Okay," Tommy lifts his hands placatingly. "Well, if we're going to talk curses, I'll need to be way more caffeinated. You want anything, Eddie?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Right," Tommy says. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Eddie's been flipping through the hospital-provided magazines in Buck's room for the better part of an hour, but his eyes flick up to catch the movement of Tommy leaning toward Buck.

He doesn't mean to watch, it's instinct that has him looking on. Nonetheless, he catches the way Buck shifts just a little as Tommy moves in, and feels a sympathy pang for the way Tommy changes course to pat a hand on Buck's shoulder rather than the kiss it had initially looked like he was going for.

Eddie quickly flicks his eyes back to the magazine, not wanting to let on that he'd seen.

He hears Tommy head back out into the hallway and sits up, turning his attention on Buck.

"What was that about?"

"What?" Buck asks, fiddling with the top sheet on his bed.

Eddie levels him with a look when Buck finally makes eye contact again. Really?

"It's nothing," Buck sighs eventually.

"Sorta felt like something," he counters.

Buck grimaces. "I don't know..." Then he finally caves. "I guess I just thought it might be weird."

"Weird? To... kiss your boyfriend?"

"Weird for you," he says, looking at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. You knew what I meant, goes unsaid.

"Buck," Eddie starts, uncrossing his legs and leaning closer to the bed so he's impossible to ignore. "I told you that you being with Tommy doesn't change anything, remember?"

"Yeah, I-I know but like it's different, knowing that we're dating and, like, seeing us make out or whatever."

A random, hot thrill strikes Eddie when the thought conjures up the image. He thinks of the way Tommy's hands must fit, sure and heavy, on Buck's jaw, his neck, as they kiss. He imagines the way Buck tilts his head back to let Tommy's tongue slide in deeper, moaning when the wet slide of it imitates something even dirtier.

"Make out, huh?" he manages weakly. "Didn't realize hospital beds got you going like that."

Buck flushes and rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Eddie says. "Look, Buck, it doesn't bother me, okay? You shouldn't do anything you're not comfortable with, but you don't have to hide this part of you for my sake. Not ever. Got it?"

Buck nods, looking relieved.

"Plus-" Eddie starts before he realizes what's about to pour out of his mouth. He snaps his mouth shut.

"Plus?" Buck prompts.

"Plus, I don't know... it's not like you guys are, like, hard on the eyes or anything." He's stammering. "I mean, it's not like a hardship, you know?"

Buck sits back wide-eyed. Shit. Eddie hadn't meant to make it weird, but it definitely was, right? That's probably not a normal thing to say to your best friend about him and your other best friend dating.

"You-?"

"Sorry." Buck cuts himself off at the sound of Tommy's voice, thank god.

"I had to wait for someone to track down the creamer, at least it's somewhat drinkable now." Tommy frowns at his coffee like it's insulted him just by existing.

Buck smiles at Tommy. He's shaken himself out of the state of shock he was in when Tommy walked back in, but he's got a glint in his eye that's making Eddie feel a little on edge.

"Can I have a taste?" he asks.

Tommy cocks a brow. "Sure."

But when he steps closer and holds out the paper cup, Buck bypasses it altogether. He grabs Tommy's hand, the free one, and pulls him down enough to get his other hand around the back of Tommy's neck.

Eddie couldn't look away if he tried. Tommy lets out a huff of surprise as their lips lock, a gasp as Buck deepens it immediately, licking in so fully that Eddie can see the movement from his chair. There's thick anticipation and intrigue simmering in his gut at the sight, but it's over all too quickly.

Tommy leans back, smiling and pecking Buck once more, before clearing his throat and looking over at Eddie a little sheepishly.

"Okay," he says, voice low, "what did I miss?"

[galwithalibrarycard]

I am so stressed about my NMTD fanzine contribution. How am I supposed to condense ten years of fandom, well over 40 fanfics written, dear friendships made, the way that the entire fandom seeing the possibility of Pedro being bisexual as an unambiguously good thing with zero “he should just be gay” caveats was instrumental to my own self-coming-out and then actual coming out as bi, AND the way clinging to Benedick Hobbes and his anxiety helped me process/feel okay about needing/getting help with my own anxiety, into 500 WORDS?!

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

Turned Night Into Day

summary:

There's no reason why Illya should want to talk to him. Really, there isn't. So why's he showing up at his hotel room with a bottle of Scotch and something like an apology on his lips? Or, most of Amor Magnus Doctor Est chapter 8 in Napoleon's POV!! <3

notes:

inspired by Amor Magnus Doctor Est by @cha-melodius

tags:

POV Napoleon Solo, Napoleon solo has no self confidence, insecure Napoleon solo, Reunions, the happy ending to just like me, Mild Sexual Content, inspired by another fic, Napoleon Solo Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors

excerpt:

“I’m sorry,” Illya whispers, the words ringing like a gunshot in the otherwise dead quiet of the room. Of all the things Napoleon was expecting, it was definitely not that. “I heard what you and Gaby were talking about,” and “Did you really get Victoria fired to try and win me back?” seemed the most obvious. He’s only able to stare at Illya as the words rattle around in his head. In the silence of the room it seems that Illya might want to take it back. He finds himself hoping he will, because while there’s nothing he wants more than Illya, he’s only good for being left behind. He hopes equally as much that he won’t, because even in the face of reality he still wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything else. “What for?” he asks, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed. Illya huffs out a sound that could be a laugh, but it’s too harsh, too bitter to be classified as such. It’s so sudden that Napoleon actually flinches from it. “Everything,” he answers, like it’s obvious. Like he’d done anything wrong. Leaving him may have been the best decision Illya’s ever made. He can’t imagine how that could be wrong. “For blaming you when it wasn’t really your fault. For shutting you out. For not—” Illya’s voice catches in his throat, and he takes another swallow of liquor. Napoleon shuts his eyes against Illya’s next words, “for not being there for you when I should have been.” A feeble sense of hope takes root in his heart, growing until it threatens to choke him.

read more on ao3

[kareofbears]

never been a natural

"Usually," Oikawa starts, shoving the wires in his pockets, and Hinata flinches for no good reason. It dawns on him that he's never had a one-on-one conversation with Oikawa before. "Reconnaissance is supposed to be a secret, chibi."

---

Or, Hinata gets lost and runs into an Oikawa he isn't quite familiar with.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Mondays are days of misery for Hinata.

It didn’t used to be. Mondays used to be filled with volleyball. Receives, spikes, sets, strategy. Bike up the hill, shower, pretend to study, then crash for the night. Rinse and repeat. It was his life, and he's fiercely protective of it.

Hinata’s pumped every minute he possibly can into cramming more volleyball. Every bubble of open air in his schedule is inflated with volleyball, body slick with sweat and eyes trained on the ball in front of him. More, more, more, until—

“From now on, Mondays are off.”

Silence rang across the gym, the incessant squeaking of shoes coming to a halt at once.

"...Of what?" Nishinoya tried, question bitten off short with a sharp laugh. A nervous tick, a dead giveaway of what everyone had hoped they misheard.

Coach Ukai looked each of them in the eye. Seeing him serious outside of a tense match has them all kept quiet. There isn't even a hint of a smile on his features. "I've decided that practice will only be on Tuesdays to Fridays." Hinata takes a sharp intake of breath, and Ukai's gaze flickers at him, eyes sharpening further. "Is that clear?"

It was probably the most unclear thing Hinata's ever heard in his entire life.

Obviously, they didn't take the news lying down. Immediately after that practice, Hinata and Kageyama locked eyes before nodding, no words needed. Monday rolls around and they walk up to the gym doors, bleary-eyed and geared-up, to find the door locked.

They expected this. Kageyama silently leans down and Hinata clambers onto his shoulders, movements steady and practiced. This isn't the first time they've broken into the gym to get extra practice time, and—Hinata sticks his tongue out in concentration, aggressively patting Kageyama's head when he needs more height, reaching up to shove his hand in the third broken light bulb where he knows Takeda-sensei keeps the spare key—he refuses to let it be the last.

When he pulls his hand out, what's in his fist isn't a dusty silver key, but a folded piece of paper:

Try it again and you're off the team.

He doesn't know what's more impressive—the foresight to do this or the fact that it was signed by Coach Ukai, Faculty Advisor Takeda, Captain Daichi, and Vice-Captain Sugawara.

Hinata lets out a frustrated yell and forces himself to run faster, early morning jog turning into a dead sprint. That was two weeks ago. Two entire Mondays of feeling like he's skipping practice, of having to endure that gnawing feeling that he's being left behind with every passing week. An entire day where other teams are combing through strategies to figure out how to improve and beat them out of the Nationals lineup.

His feet hit the pavement hard, throat tight and breath coming hard and fast. Running. At least they can't stop him from doing this. Even when he didn't have a team, he had this. He had himself. And they can't stop him from improving. There's a tight feeling in his chest, a bitterness that he hasn't felt since he lost that match in middle school. A tidal wave of emotion that comes from being face to face with the fact that the world isn't fair. That there's always going to be something in his way, something that prevents him from being where he wants to be. His only remedy against that was practice, and somehow, he lost that too.

Finally, he has to hunch over, skin covered in sweat as his lungs try to catch up with him. Idly, he looks up, relieved that the sun is barely up, soft rays of sunlight peeking out through the mountains in the distance. The last thing he wants is to go to school today, but he doesn't know how far he can push his luck before Daichi really brings the hammer down on him.

Turning around to head home, Hinata pauses. Turns around again. Swivels left. Then right. Then, out of desperation, up and down.

He smacks his hand over his face, scrubbing roughly.

He doesn't know where he is. Again.

A sigh comes from the deepest part of his gut as he resigns himself to his new fate. Slowly walking around, he counts himself lucky that he's somewhere that's pretty populated. Actually, he looks around, mildly curious, this entire neighborhood is...nice. Stores and their shopkeepers starting to open businesses with a yawn, a few keeners making their way to classes early. He glances around, starting to get excited at his new surroundings. There's a playground, empty but of a much higher quality than anything his neighborhood has, and a dirt patch that looks just big enough for a volleyball scrimmage if he was desperate.

He ups his pace to an easy jog, feeling good from the run despite the initial inconvenience. Maybe he can ask someone here how to get back home. His stomach grumbles, and he fights the urge to sigh again. A snack, too, would be pretty good right now.

Turning the corner, neck craning to see what awaits him. There's a cafe at the end of the street, mostly empty except for a few businessmen darting in and out for a quick coffee. Through the big glass windows of the cafe, there's a few booths visible to Hinata, predictably vacant, except for one right in the middle.

Then Hinata stops in his tracks. He takes a step backwards so that he’s hidden again. Rubs his eyes. Peeks around once more, just to make sure.

Oikawa Tooru glances—earphones visible even from here—in his direction and Hinata scrambles back, clambering behind the wall, jaw slacked.

His luck.

The only player that gives Kageyama Tobio—his best friend and nastiest guy alive—the heebie jeebies, is sitting in a cafe in some unknown neighborhood. Only unknown to you, his mind supplies unhelpfully. This is Seijoh's turf and you just strolled right into the Great King's throne room.

Slowly, Hinata backs away, carefully walking backwards into the opposite direction. It's fine. There's no way Oikawa saw him. All he needs to do is leave as quietly as possible and get back to Karasuno.

—

He's walked past the cafe six times before he admits defeat.

Hinata—properly sweaty again, not from the run but from the nerves—can't figure out which direction he even came from before. This bookstore looks familiar. That lamp post is one he's seen before, right? He swears that child is the same one he keeps running into. The only thing that’s changing is the sun’s position above him, mocking him for the time he’s wasted wandering around, directionless.

The whole time, Oikawa's still there, mug to his right, papers scattered across the table and pencil tapping on the wood to whatever undisclosed song is playing in his earphones. With each pass, Hinata expects someone to join him—he's never seen Oikawa without his team, or at least without the stern-looking Iwaizumi by his side. But nobody ever does.

Taking a deep breath, puffing his chest up as big as he can, and mustering all the bravery he can hold in his frame, Hinata meekly knocks on the window of the cafe.

Oikawa looks up at him, expression unsurprised and almost offensively disinterested, pencil still loosely gripped between his fingers.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Hinata raises a hand. "Hi," he mouths.

It's enough to pull a quirk of a brow from Oikawa. Setting down the pencil, Oikawa points to the seat across from him. An invitation.

WIth a gulp, Hinata enters the cafe, bell ringing above, the scent of coffee beans almost overwhelming. After a quick greeting to the barista, he warily makes his way to Oikawa, who'd taken out his earphones. Their eyes meet and for a split-second, he's back in the inter-high gym, his freak quick getting blocked, getting read. He blinks and suddenly he's back in the cafe, in direct line of Oikawa's gaze.

"Usually," Oikawa starts, shoving the wires in his pockets, and Hinata flinches for no good reason. It dawns on him that he's never had a one-on-one conversation with Oikawa before. "Reconnaissance is supposed to be a secret, chibi."

He hesitates, mind whirling at the implication. "What?"

“I’ve been seeing your little feet skittering around my block for the past twenty minutes.” Oikawa gives him a look. "I guess secret isn't really your style, though."

"What?" he repeats, before realization dawns on him. "Oh! No. I'm not here to spy, I just got lost on my run, and—" he cuts himself off as he takes in Oikawa's appearance. White blazer, sweater vest, red tie pressed immaculately against both. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Tilting his head to the side, his expression morphs into one of intrigue. "You got lost to the point that you accidentally made it to Seijoh?"

Hinata isn't listening. He glances around until his eyes land on the calendar against the far wall, just in case he's mistaken. "It's Monday," he states.

"So I've been told,” he waves off. “You accidentally ran 12 kilometers?”

"It's Monday," he insists, confusion coated thick in his words. And then, uneasily, he asks, "Are you skipping practice?"

Oikawa levels him with something that isn't quite disappointment, but close to it. "Think about it very hard before you accuse me of something, chibi." He starts collecting his scattered papers, and Hinata catches a glimpse of numbers across the pages. "We don't practice on Mondays."

Surprise runs through his body. "Your coach made you guys do that, too?"

"Coach?" It was Oikawa's turn to look surprised. "Coach doesn't make us do anything. I instated it."

This time, he can't keep his jaw from dropping. "What?" Any nerves about being in front of the Great King leaves his body. He flops into the booth, sitting across from Oikawa with his palms pressed against the table. Is he crazy? "Are you crazy?"

A snort gets pulled out of Oikawa. "Tobio-chan really did find his equal, didn't he?"

Hinata opens his mouth, dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, when Oikawa continues. "As much as I'd love for you to disappear off the face of the planet and get rid of that nasty quick of yours—" he points out the window, almost bored. "Go past that yellow house there. Three blocks down, there'll be a bus stop. It should take you back to your flock."

What? he almost says again, before realizing that it's directions to go back to Karasuno. Directions he isn't quite interested in anymore. "Oh, thank you," Hinata says distractedly, still unable to process that a top four school in the prefecture doesn't practice for an entire day every week. "Um—"

Oikawa’s eyes flicker to Hinata, taking in his sweat-slick forehead and running outfit still sticking to parts of his torso, and grimaces infinitesimally. Hinata stays quiet. There's something familiar about this, and it dawns on him that he feels this way before every Nekoma match. The intense feeling of being watched, of being studied, dissected.

After a moment, Oikawa shrugs, almost to himself. "Try not to get lost again," he tells Hinata instead of whatever he wanted to say. "Don't want your team to think I've kidnapped you or anything. Despite what Tobio thinks, I do fight fair."

He feels his eye twitch. There's something that deeply irked him about being left in the dark about himself. It reminds him of Tsukkishima. Or Kageyama, earlier on in their partnership. Or maybe, that run wasn't enough to wipe Hinata's frustrations clean from the world.

When he doesn't move, Oikawa claps his hands together twice. "Go on, now. Time for the crow to fly back home."

"Tell me," he says, voice coming out harder than he meant it to.

Oikawa pauses, hand still raised, a flicker of surprise in his features. "Tell you what?"

"You..." Hinata deflates, whatever bravery struck suddenly seeping out all at once. "It looks like you wanted to say something. Sorry."

Oikawa studies him for a long moment, enough that Hinata has to fight not to shift in his seat. Then, he sets the stack of papers down on the table, leaning back into the cushion of the booth. "I don't talk shop unless someone asks me to," he says finally. "Unsolicited advice is the worst."

Hinata doesn't know how to answer that. Most of the advice he gets is unsolicited—or maybe because everyone knows that Hinata soaks up volleyball like a sponge and would never see advice as unsolicited. "I'm asking."

"You're running on your team's rest day." It wasn't an accusation, but it wasn't a praise, either. "Running isn't resting."

Hinata clenches his fists under the table. "It's better than sitting around and doing nothing."

"Resting isn't nothing," he scoffs. "Especially you. Sprints in every match, decoying a real spike, jumping high enough to make it all look convincing. You think it’s magic that keeps you flying?" Oikawa leans forward, elbow on the table and chin resting on his palm. "It's muscles. Tendons. Flesh and bone. Physical stuff that breaks down if you let it. Don't make that mistake again."

Hinata bristles, the urge to argue equal to his urge to curl in on himself. "But—"

Oikawa crosses his arms and waits, and Hinata feels his words die in his throat. The usual exaggerated levity in his eyes was absent. He wonders for a moment if this is what Kunimi and Kindaichi feel when they're being scolded. The moment is long and tense, Oikawa's gaze surprisingly heavy and Hinata unwilling to relent.

Then Oikawa sighs, leaning back into his seat. Taking out a folder, he files his scattered papers away, stows them in his bag before throwing something at Hinata.

He catches it without thinking, bewilderedly taking in the banana in his hands.

"Potassium after runs, always," Oikawa slings his bag over his shoulders, scooting out the booth. "You look like you're going to fall over. Can't have you forfeiting the game because you're malnourished, of all things."

Hinata watches as Oikawa makes his way out, thank you stuck in his throat. He’s not sure what to make of this strange version of Oikawa.

The bell rings as he leaves, and Hinata eventually exits, banana peel in hand and deep in thought. At least the bus stop was easy to find this time.

—

Next Monday, Hinata slides into the booth with no hesitation. "I took the bus here," he says in lieu of a greeting. "So I'm still resting. Don’t yell at me."

Oikawa sighs, overexaggerated. He's wearing glasses today. Thick, black rims that he pushes up his nose as he continues writing. "This isn't exactly open practice," he says. "I'm not taking questions. Or giving free advice, for that matter."

Hinata lets his gaze settle on the paper's scattered once more around the booth, attempting to read upside down kanji. Half the papers, predictably, are volleyball tactics, success statistics, or general notes (Mad-dog —> low sets + flexible shoulders. Note: Iwa's presence non-negotiable). The other half is filled with—

"Is that math?" Hinata asks, nose scrunching.

"Calculus," Oikawa corrects, before finally looking up from his page. While Hinata isn't surprised that Oikawa is an early riser, it's one thing to get up early for volleyball; to get up early for homework is a different torture entirely. "Why are you here, chibi?"

It's a question he's prepared for, thinking about how to answer it on the entire bus ride here. "I hate rest days," he proclaims, unashamed in the slightest. "They suck and I hate them and I'd rather keep playing volleyball until all my bones break and I want to know why you—" he gestures wildly at Oikawa, "of all people are okay with it."

Hinata braces himself for the inevitable argument he's going to get into, but he has to know. The diagram in his head is simple—Oikawa taught Kageyama a lot about volleyball. Kageyama is crazy about volleyball. That means Oikawa taught Kageyama to be crazy, so Oikawa should also—

Oikawa bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Chibi," he smiles, mirth audible. "I bet I hate rest days more than you do."

Hinata brightens up at that. "Really?"

"Of course," he puts his pencil down, giving Hinata his full attention. "Why on earth would I rather be doing anything else if I could be on the court?"

"Right? I want to play!"

"I want to get better.”

"I want to spike."

"I want to set," Oikawa agrees, and there's a sparkle in his eye that Hinata's never seen on him before, or Hinata's just never seen it up close. A devout love for the sport. He knows exactly what it looks like, because he sees it in the mirror every single day. It dawns on him that he’s never had a practice match with Oikawa. Every interaction they had is a do-or-die, no room to breathe around each other. "I want to serve. I want to get better. I want to play tough teams and win hard games and touch the ball and play more volleyball until my fingertips are bleeding from setting."

Hinata’s grinning properly now, an idea forming in his head. "I saw a park nearby," he says excitedly, mind already whirling with possibilities. "I brought a ball in my bag, I think we can—"

"And, like I said before," Oikawa cuts in, tone still light. "I don't practice on rest days."

The grin on Hinata's face falters, his heart sinking. "But you just said—"

"Do you want to play volleyball forever?"

He can have his memory wiped and he's sure that his DNA strands can answer the question for him. "Of course."

"Past high school?"

Hinata bristles at the idea of doing anything else. “Yes.”

"And what are you willing to do to make that happen?" Oikawa asks, and he feels as if he's being tested in some way, but he's too excited to care. This is the closest thing to volleyball that he’s gotten on a Monday.

"Anything!" he exclaims. And then, quietly: "I'll do anything."

"Then, unfortunately for you," Oikawa's smile turns smug and haughty and Hinata realizes, belatedly, he's stuck in a web that's been spun specifically for him. Kageyama's voice echoes in the back of his mind: He's got a nasty personality. "That takes a lot of hard work."

Hinata tilts his chin upwards. "I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Yes,” Oikawa taps his pencil against the paper in front of them, calculus staring back mercilessly. “You are.”

An incredulous wave washes over him. “What does this—“ Hinata carefully pushes the paper away from him, afraid it’ll attack him somehow. "Have to do with anything?"

"Ever heard of university-level volleyball?" Oikawa asks, smile faux-pleasant as he takes in the blanched color of Hinata's face. "You think they'll let you in just because your vertical is impressive?"

Hinata blinks at him. "You think my vertical is impressive?"

Oikawa throws the pencil at his head. "Best in the prefecture, without a doubt," he sniffs as Hinata rubs his forehead with a pout. "But it's not enough. Good grades lead to good universities, and good universities have good volleyball teams."

His vision swims as he stares at the paper between them. Symbols he doesn't even recognize seem to mock him, numbers seemingly floating off the page as he gets dizzy just looking at these unknown equations. What even is calculus?

"Easy for you to say," Hinata mutters, toying with the pencil in his hand. It's short, almost sharpened down to the nub. He doesn't think he's ever had the same one long enough to get it to this length. "You're good at school."

A bark of laughter sounds like it came from Oikawa's soul and Hinata jumps at the sudden sound. "Oh, that's funny," he huffs, humor still sticky in his tone. "Say, chibi, tell that to Iwa-chan next time you run into him, will you?"

Hinata tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He peers down at the table once more, this time with a different perspective. The people in Karasuno who are natural academics (Tsukkishima, of all people, come to mind) are almost never surrounded by flashcards. Backpack never more than half-way full, never staying behind for extra studying lessons from the upperclassmen. Eyes drifting back to Oikawa, who's cheat sheets and notes are surrounded by eraser shavings, brightly colored sticky notes, and pale hands gray from where his skin slid across still-dusty pencil led.

"You're stupid?" Hinata blurts out. Something light flutters in his chest, and it pulls the corner of his lips upwards.

"I am no such thing!" Oikawa flares out, snatching his pencil back from Hinata. "And you're rude. I may not be your senpai, but I'm still older than you."

"No, it's okay!" he points at himself, proud and eager. "I'm stupid, too."

That only seems to rile him up more. "I'm fine in most subjects," he insists. "It's just calculus, and these damn—" he shoots a glare at nothing, face twisting. "Derivatives. I've been at it for weeks, and there's only so much Mattsu's willing to explain to me before he makes me buy him ramen for his time. I mean," he continues babbling, words pouring out of him like an unstoppable current, a build-up of pressure that's rushing to be let out. "I'm their captain, and they can't even spare me time to break down the rate of change. I'm sure Mr. Refreshing doesn't give your captain a second thought with homework, because that's what a team is for, isn't it? Argh!"

Oikawa looks the most frazzled he's ever seen him, matches included. To be honest, Hinata has no idea what he's even talking about anymore (is this still math? Maybe they moved onto chemistry without him realizing), but the more he talks, the more the thing in Hinata's chest is taking flight.

"Is…" he hesitates, not sure if now's a good time to bring the conversation back on track. Or if Oikawa would listen to him, still lost in the sea of his own rant. "That why you don't practice on Mondays? For… homework?"

Stopping suddenly, Oikawa visibly refocuses back on Hinata. "It's part of it. The other parts are physical—" he kicks Hinata's knee from under the table. "Mental—" he points the pencil at Hinata's head again, who rushes to block this time. "And emotional,” Oikawa taps two fingers over his own heart. “Take care of all three and you can play forever.”

Nursing over his freshly-bruised knee, Hinata grimaces. “Then when’s practice?” he grumbles. “There’s no way you have enough time for all that.”

The look in Oikawa’s eyes is unflinching. “You make time.”

It’s a slap in the face. Oikawa, third-year captain of a powerhouse team, telling him to make time.

What have you been doing for three years?

The fluttering feeling his chest wilts, and what gets resurrected is this ugly, now-familiar twist in his gut. Being locked out of his own gym just when he felt like he was making progress with himself. Height always, always, always a wall for him to overcome. Losing the preliminaries to the boy in front of him.

"I don't think it's fair of you to say that, Oikawa-san," he mutters, struggling to keep his tone level. But it’s as if his tongue was loosened from his building frustration, years of isolation and drowning in inadequacy crashing down on him all at once. "You have the talent. You have the confidence. People know who you are. You're the captain of Aoba Johsai. Everybody in this prefecture knows about your serves. You have no—" Hinata lets his eyes slip close, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I'm rude. It isn't fair to compare you to me. Not when our experiences are—are—basically opposites of each other. Not when it took everything I had to get this far."

It was probably too far. He's never been this upfront with someone from another team, even Ushijima. But Hinata doesn't regret saying it.

Opening his eyes, he meets Oikawa's stare dead-on. He doesn't seem angry, at least, but there’s something there that Hinata doesn’t can’t read. Somewhere behind them, the barista sneezes. A clock ticks. Morning rays pour into the cafe, and idly, he remembers when Mondays used to be simpler.

Then Oikawa huffs. Shoving a hand into his bag, he ruffles through its contents for a few moments, papers audibly crinkling, before sliding a notebook across the table. It's an old thing, the binding fraying in several places and the cover bent this way and that. Gingerly, Hinata picks it up, carefully spreading the pages—

Only to be met with a page of Xs. Dozens of tiny Xs, dutifully crossed across the Campus lines, written in with various pencils and pens, different colors and sizes.

He glances up at Oikawa, who crosses his arms, and Hinata takes that as an invitation to keep going. He flips to the next page, and it's the same thing. And the next. And the next. And the next, until he starts to get impatient and flips to the middle, where, finally, there's a highlighted yellow circle, followed by countless exclamation points.

Oikawa yawns, reaching for his mug. "Landed my first jump serve," he says lightly.

Hinata's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, before closing it shut, teeth clacking together.

Nonetheless, Oikawa smiles, a touch sardonic. Caught. "No, you can say it."

Even with permission, he hesitates. "That's a lot of Xs," he says carefully.

"Took a while." He takes a sip of coffee, placing the mug back down onto its saucer. "Do you want to guess how many times it took for our dear Tobio-chan to do the same thing?"

Hinata stays silent.

"Four," Oikawa's smile turns twisted. "Four times. I saw it happen, actually. I was in the gym with him when the ball flew over the net. Good for him, I suppose."

“Kageyama trains hard, too,” he points out quietly.

Oikawa's mouth twitches. “As hard as you?”

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks, desperately, anything to get Oikawa to stop talking. Anything to keep him from shattering the illusion of the Great King. Because if he's not the Great King, if he's not the third-year who serves bullets at Hinata's team, if he's not the figure that convinced Hinata that unstoppable monsters exist—

"Because, chibi, no matter how hard you train, someone out there will be able to do what took you months to master in the span of an afternoon."

—Then he has to come to terms with the fact that Oikawa Tooru is just as human as the rest of them.

Oikawa points a finger. "But that doesn't give you the right to give up. That doesn't give you an excuse to let up, or to drown in despair. You'll get there. Even if it takes," he falters infinitesimally, before rallying himself with a bright smile. "Even if it takes a little while."

Stamina monsters, Ukai calls them sometimes. Hinata had reveled in it, shone with pride. But sitting in a cafe in front of Oikawa dutifully doing homework while the world is still deep in its slumber, Hinata pales in comparison. Because his approach to volleyball is a sprint, Oikawa's is a marathon, and he’s ready to play the long-game in a way that Hinata can't possibly imagine.

“Well!” Oikawa declares, arms stretched high into the air, breaking the atmosphere between them. “You've ruined my Monday routine more than anyone else has in the past few months." He points an accusatory finger at Hinata. "If this was Karasuno's plan to take me down, I'm not letting you have this victory. You know where the bus is. Shoo, shoo."

"I understand," Hinata says quickly, syllables bumping into each other clumsily in his haste to get the words out. "I understand rest days now."

Oikawa raises a brow, doubtful. "Do you?"

"I..." He knows what it is now, that thing in his chest, ballooning in him until he feels like he can float from it. Hope. Because it’s possible. Someone as incredible as Oikawa, a seemingly unsurpassable mountain on court, is somehow sitting at the same table as Hinata. The curtain fell away to reveal that there were never any super powers, no magic wand that made those serves. It’s grit. It’s diligence. It’s enduring Monday after Monday with nothing but an unwavering focus on what’s in front of him. The only thing that can bring them to the level of a genius is hard work, and hard work doesn't always take place on the court. “I think I’m starting to.”

"Humph," Oikawa shoves his earphone back in his ear, turning his attention back to his worksheets. "As if I care."

Disappointment rises in him, slow and heavy. There's still so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask. When did you start learning jump serves? Why did you start learning jump serves? Did people look down at you, too? What’s Ushijima’s spikes like? Why is Kageyama so scared of you?

Sliding off of the faux-leather of the booth, he fights not to let the dismay too obviously on his already-readable face when Oikawa speaks again. "Did you find the bus stop last time?"

He pauses. “Yeah?”

"Good." Fingers finding his phone, Oikawa turns up his music, enough that even Hinata can hear the muffled sound from here. "Then see you next week.”

It takes a moment for him to understand what he’s saying, convincing himself he misheard. When it hits him, Hinata can't repress the garbled noise that spills from his mouth, words slurring together to make one long, string of excited noise. He all but runs out of the cafe, bell ringing shrill behind him, before Oikawa can change his mind. Hinata can't wipe the grin off his face, inspiration thrumming through his veins as he skips to the bus stop.

Mondays. He can’t wait for Mondays.

[juminies]

pinky promises

a gesture jumin doesn't see the need for

jumin x reader, 779 words, fluff

♡

“I promise I’ll be home on time tonight, my love,” Jumin says. It’s just past 7:30 a.m.; you lazily stand in front of him in your pajamas as he quickly fastens his coat, getting ready to leave for work. Elizabeth 3rd hovers around your feet, occasionally alternating between whose attention she’s attempting to get hold of. “I know I’ve been taking on a lot of overtime recently—things have been particularly busy while we've been attempting to secure a new deal with a large company overseas. However, it’s almost complete now, so,” he stops mid sentence as he’s distracted by you suddenly holding your hand out towards him, pinky finger extended.

“Hm?” he muses, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. His hands slow down in their actions, coming to linger on his metal coat buttons.

“Pinky promise,” you clarify, not quite a question. "So I know you're serious."

He chuckles warmly. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, stepping closer to you and moving his hands to rest gently on your waist. “But did I not already tell you that I promise?”

“Well, you did… but there’s no harm in making sure…” you retaliate, a slight aura of mischief to your tone.

Jumin quizzically raises an eyebrow at you, a small smirk appearing on his face as he catches on. You press your knuckles against the layers covering his chest, pinky still outstretched. His smirk drops to a playful pout as he murmurs, “You mean to say that my darling wife doesn’t trust me?”

You respond with a huff, but won’t be defeated so easily, you decide. “And what if I don’t?” you say. You flatten your hand finally, bringing your other one up to his chest too. He simultaneously moves to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and afterwards subtly manoeuvres both of his cold hands beneath your pajama top to rest on your lower back.

You shiver under his touch, and his smirk returns.

“If you didn’t… Then I’d be ever so hurt.” He emphasizes his words as he speaks; blinks down at you and sniffles quietly to rein in the (albeit fake) emotion.

“You’ve never lied to me before, but I just never thought that such a loyal man would be so hesitant to commit to a pinky promise,” you continue to tease.

“I heard somewhere that upon its origin in Japan, the idea of the pinky promise was that they cut off your finger if you broke your word. They called it yubikiri, and there was a saying that went alongside it. Something like, whoever lies should swallow a thousand needles. Are you planning on doing that to me?”

“Now that you’ve suggested it, I might take it into consideration. Especially if you’re planning on breaking your word, as it seems you just implied.”

He laughs again at that, properly now, and you feel his chest shake under your hands. You couldn’t explain his laugh if you tried—it’s like honey, a blanket on a rainy day, a fresh bouquet of flowers. And so, even trying to keep a straight face, you can’t help but beam at the sound.

He leans down to softly kiss you as his laughter subsides. “I really have to leave if I want to be back on time,” he whispers against your lips.

“Hm… Let’s see,” you whisper back before kissing him again. You put intention into it now; it’s longer, deeper. And when you pull away,

“Not without pinky promising.”

This time he doesn’t hesitate as he takes a small step back and holds his hand out to you, pinky finger outstretched just as yours had been before. You link yours into it and he smiles softly. He continues to focus on your hands as he speaks.

“I never understood the point of this. As far as I’m concerned, a promise is a promise. I might have turned down every pinky promise ever offered to me, though I could probably count on one hand just how many times that is. Considering it now, would that have made me look like an untrustworthy man? Perhaps. Nonetheless, for you, my angel”—he tightens the grip between your hands and looks up from where your fingers are interlocked, his eyes warm as always—“I promise.”

You press your thumbs together to seal his words, and he smugly insists on also sealing them with another kiss on his way out.

You text him after he leaves, just for clarity’s sake.

For the record, you’re the most trustworthy man I’ve ever met

I love you. Have a nice day ♡

He responds immediately.

I love you too. Pinky promise.

[oatflatwhite]

curtbucky for you all

[etinorcadiaego]

i am going to make the most of this 500-700 word essay on sir gawain and the green knight if it's the last thing i do

[non-un-topo]

Kind of obsessed with this nickname actually

[rowarn]

anyway i'm goin to be continuing my next simon fic (-: i plan to double my wc today !!!

[poisonedfate]

"Don't you dare look him in the eye" is SO merwaine

hello!!! is it just me or are these getting longer and longer (the answers, i mean). either way! so very fun to write, not as much action as i had essentially wanted, but there's gwaine wooing merlin so. hope that balances out.

send me prompts

It was unusually quiet around him, even with the annoying ringing in his ears. He remembers most of the men being held up by the rest of the knights as Gwaine pulled him in the opposite direction. He remembers two of the men noticing, chasing after them. He remembers seeing the crystal in their hands. He remembers losing them. He remembers suddenly feeling the cold dirt under his cheek.  The men were mere soldiers of the sorceress whose name he couldn't place as he lay on the ground. She had given them a crystal that, if what they said was true, should help them figure out who Emrys was. He could feel the crystal, the pulse of it, when they were close, so he was inclined to believe it worked in its intended way. They talked of glowing eyes guiding them, so Merlin had averted his from their gaze. Maybe that's how they figured it out, maybe that's what tipped them off, maybe that's why they were chasing them.

Suddenly, there were two hands grabbing at the front of him, pulling him upwards, pushing his back against the tree. Merlin kept his eyes closed, both because he couldn't quite manage to open them yet and because it just seemed like the better option, all things considered. Gwaine was yelling his name, somewhere, in the distance.  He must've fallen unconscious because next thing he knew there was a splash of cold water on his face. It knocked a gasp out of him, eyes flying open. So much for better options.  "Come on, you've had enough rest, get up," the man growled, pulling at him again, this time upwards. He stumbled just so before finally finding his footing.  They must be waiting for the other man, he thought since this one hadn't reached for the crystal already. Merlin was right, as the other soldier soon approached: "Is it him?"  "I don't know, you had the crystal." "No, I- wait, yeah, there it is," the man laughed roughly. Were they playing some sort of game, or were they just plain stupid? Stupid, Merlin quickly decided. He's seen enough of those to know by now.  Merlin didn't think that the crystal had any other effects on his magic, though, in a perfect world, he wouldn't have to use his powers - he didn't know what had happened to the rest of their group, and though he trusted the knights, though he was quite sure he could deal with them as well if needed, he preferred not to risk it.  Before he could even think any further, he heard more footsteps coming in their direction. The first man was holding his head slightly upwards, the second was only about three steps away from him now. His odds weren't great, but as soon as he recognised Gwaine, he knew those odds were about to change.  The men barely had time to react before the knight was already right next to them, calm, sword drawn, eyes steady and dark: "Merlin," he said, almost like a greeting, more like a question. He could only muster up a small smile in response. Gwaine had come from the right, closer to Merlin and the man holding his face, clearly marking him as the first target. As the two fought, the second man took his chance to approach Merlin, committed.  "Don't you dare look him in the eye," Gwaine spat, as serious as ever, sword to the man's throat.  Merlin's head was still spinning slightly, everything moving both a little too slow and a little too fast, so he hadn't noticed how quickly Gwaine had taken care of the first soldier. Though if he was to judge by his second battle, the knight certainly wasn't wasting any time.  Merlin exhaled heavily, shoulders finally relaxing, as Gwaine came to hold him up, arm around his waist.  "Where did you even come from?" he questioned, trying to put the pieces back together.  "Can't get rid of me that easily, Merls," Gwaine laughed in response.  "You know, I could've taken care of them too," he continued, holding on to Gwaine for dear life, which did not help his case at all.  "Oh, I know, but saving you is such a rewarding quest, pretty one."

[aria0fgold]

A spell for warmth, a spell for comfort, a blanket for silence.

Morgana paced about the room, he's all alone again. Well, that's to be expected when Ren is now going about his usual schedule of hanging out with other people after school, it's always a good thing to deepen his bond with others. And quite frankly, Morgana prefers that right now, to be alone. It helps, the silence, allowing his thoughts to be loud enough for him to think everything through properly. Though now'd he think about it, even with Ren around the silence still lingers, considering how he isn't much of a talker, yet despite that, it was warm. Silence blanketing him in a warmth just by the presence of someone else he trusts and care for as a friend. One of the first friends that Morgana even had ever since he woke up in… this form. A cat… How useless.

They defeated Okumura, accomplished their mission and now all they have to do is wait, like always. But the feelings of self-doubt doesn't vanish just as easily as that, the feelings of uselessness that lingers even though a day or two had passed. He mostly had been pushing such feelings at the back of his mind the past couple of days, the air around them is still somewhat tense, with the public believing in the Phantom Thieves more and more. It isn't just them waiting on Okumura's change of heart now, but the majority of the public too. Not to mention having a new addition to the team means some readjustments in strategies and training so that Haru could get used to it all. There just hasn't been time for Morgana to focus on his feelings at all. Was there even a reason to?

He'll get over this in the future anyway. Right, he can prove to everyone just how helpful and useful he can be in the future! There will be more opportunities then! So there's really no need to linger on it… Really…

Morgana huffed, in the end, he still feels a bit heavy.

He then heard the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs, that might be Ren, so Morgana stood still, shaking his head and took a deep breath to compose himself. It'll be fine, he shouldn't worry Ren about this.

“You're bac—”

Ah. It's just Kaito.

Kaito laughed, “Whoa, I never thought I'd see a cat quickly shift expressions from excited to disappointed in seconds!”

Morgana sighed, though it only came out as a huff. Well, at least this time he didn't mimic Ren's voice.

“Heeey~ Cat got your tongue?” Kaito teased.

Ugh, Morgana doesn't have the time nor the energy to deal with this. Kaito can't even understand him so what's the point in speaking? It'll only come out as meows so Morgana can't even just tell him to shut up or leave him alone. This is the worst, he'd rather talk to Ryuji instead.

With another huff, Morgana tried his best to glare at Kaito before turning around to lay on the cough, curling his body into a ball and putting a paw on his ears, he knows it's useless with how sensitive cat's ears are but muffling even just some of Kaito's voice is enough for him and maybe, just maybe, it'll come off as a clear message that Morgana doesn't wanna listen to him at all.

Seconds pass in silence.

A moment, and then another. And yet… Morgana can still feel someone's gaze on him.

UGH! SERIOUSLY JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!

Morgana stood and quickly turned to face Kaito with the intent to hiss and bare his teeth, much like an annoyed cat would, it'd be obvious then, right?

But… he stopped midway.

Kaito still stood by the stairs, a serious expression on his face, it was rare for him to have such an expression when he's always smiles and tricks. His eyes were focused on Morgana, scanning his body from top to bottom, what is he looking for exactly?

“You—” Though Morgana knew only a meow would reach Kaito's ears, he couldn't help but try to speak anyway.

“Are you upset about something?” An attempt that was cut-off by Kaito's sudden question.

What… What is he—

Kaito's lips curled into a small smile, one that strangely feels genuine, not unlike the others he had which only felt like… a mask, “Eheheh, I don't know. It just feels like it. You're a smart kitty so I thought that maybe… … Say, can I sit next to you?”

. . .

Morgana doesn't really know what's happening anymore. Kaito is enshrouded in one too many mysteries, possibly even more than that Detective Prince. How can he figure that out when he can't even understand what Morgana's saying in the first place? Just from body language? Of a CAT? …Aren't all cats supposed to be easily irritated and annoyed?

. . .

Morgana huffed, he moved over to the other end of the couch, allowing space for Kaito to sit down on.

“Thanks!” Kaito sat down, seemingly making sure to leave out enough space between them.

“So… Hmm…” Kaito put a hand on his chin, deep in thought, most likely figuring out on how to cheer up a cat.

Morgana can't help but feel slightly moved by that.

“Uhh… I don't really know how to cheer up a cat. I don't even know what you're upset about.” He chuckled, “I doubt I can even figure that one out!”

A beat of silence pass, though strangely it wasn't as cold as before.

“How about…” He grinned, flicking his hand, a red rose appeared seemingly out of thin air, “some magic tricks?”

Morgana huffed, in his head he wore a smirk, such an expression not quite easily done on a cat's face, “What other magic tricks are there anyway?”

After all, Kaito has done at least a number of it already whenever he's around them. He seems to really enjoy doing it.

“Oh? Is that possibly doubt towards the many tricks up my sleeves?” Kaito wagged his finger while clicking his tongue, “Never doubt a magician's tricks, smart feline!”

And with a toothy grin, Kaito stood up, opening his arms wide as he announced, “Welcome to Kaito's special magic show! I'll be sure to make you smile, my furry friend.”

Morgana huffed, in a friendly mocking tone, as a means to take up Kaito's challenge, and another as a way to say “Cat's can't smile, dumbass.”

“Ehehehe! Keep your eyes peeled now! You don't wanna miss a second of this after all!”

Frankly, Morgana's problems still lingers, something he'd have to deal with in the future. But despite that, he didn't feel as heavy as before. In the comfort of the couch, Morgana watched a magician weaved spells in the form of tricks, all to cheer up a mere cat. And maybe, that's all Morgana needed today.

[mapleleavesart]

Prob not gonna be super active this next week or two, finals and AP tests are coming up and I'm already super stressed so that's FUN

I'll. I'll be back once I stop feeling like imma bout to snap from the tension. I'll work on something cool once I'm out of school I prommie

[the-insouciant-scientist]

@fallenlondonficswap @house-of-mirrors

For the general swap! You said you'd like to read about Irem, and my brain just went... a little nuts with this concept. Hopes this makes sense, and uh. Sorry in advance about the tenses.

Will You Greet The Daylight Looming

Unnamed zee captain character, General Rating, 732 words. Slight spoilers for Irem.

You will arrive at Irem. You will always arrive at Irem. You will leap from your ship onto her shores and you will reach out both hands and you will be welcomed like a stranger, like a friend, like a lost part of a whole. Your crew will not come with you, not here, you will assume. 

You were given a heavy robe and lead along gold-garlanded paths and you watched as people parted before you like the sea, like the zee, like reeds. Some of them whispered to themselves as you walked past. The silk veil you wore fluttered in the faint breeze.

A young man stands before you. He has something to say. You nod, and he speaks.

 “ What is time but string and Fate, 

     A key-to-heart, a broken crate, 

 Pandora’s Box has caused such grief,

   But time heals all and brings relief.       

        So what is it we can’t abide

That causes us to run and hide?

 Clocks will turn and things will change,

Does that make your soul feel strange? “

You will have stepped back, clutched at your robe, and turned away. When you will have looked back, he will have left. His words will be ringing in your ears.

Hands have been guiding yours, gloves smooth against yours. They have been soothing you to the best of their abilities. You have wiped a tear away from a shrouded eye, and you have been walking. You did not know how long you have been walking for.

The people of Irem will have spoken in riddles. They will always have done this, and you will always have known this about them, even before you disembarked. You will not have expected this riddle to cut you to the bone like it has.

You found your future in a tapestry. You weave your future yourself. You will discover your future.

Why did this hurt so much?

The warp and weft have shown you a warmth you had forgotten. Beams of sunlight have kissed your skin and you have squinted, up into the light. Up into the law. You have instinctively flinched, because you have died many times over, and light has no mercy. It had something to say. You have closed your curtains and covered your ears and huddled on the floor.

“COME BACK.” It will demand. You will shake your head. You will feel like a child being scolded.

“THINGS CAN NEVER RETURN TO THE WAY THEY ARE.” It said. You pulled your veil down further, buried your face in the lace. Was this a Judgement speaking, or just your own psyche? 

“I want them back.” You tell it. Your voice is small, and cracks when you speak. You do not know if it can hear you. You do not care.

“MY LIGHT WILL NOT ABIDE IT.” It will have stated. You will have clenched a fist and stood, robes heavy on your shoulders.

“Then I will not abide your light.”

You had broken your shuttle, cracked it down the middle. Your weaving had been ruined. You had a bitter smile on your lips. Your crew had found you, even though you had told them to remain on the ship. You had been crying. 

You will leave Irem. You will stride alongside your crew, your family, back to your ship. You will leave this city of roses and serpents and go home. 

—

A knock sounds at the door to your cabin. You wince, because you have a massive migraine from Irem’s whole past-present-future tense thing. Your first officer comes in with tea, and you could nearly forgive her for that alone.

“Sorry for barging in, Cap’n. Just wanted to check on you after… All that.” She says. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

“...What did you see?” She asks, softly. 

“The Sun,” You reply. You hear her breathe in sharply. “I saw sunlight.”

“Were they… I mean…”

You close your eyes. Your veil shifts against your cheeks. “They couldn’t be. Light is Law.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Whatever it takes.” You say simply. Your first officer gives you a long, sideways look, before going back to her tea.

“Never much minded the dark myself, you know. Eh, Captain?” she says, elbowing you gently.

You rub your thumb across their compass, where it hangs around your neck. Pointing you home. Pointing you back to them.

You smile.

[starryeyedjanai]

Make Me Write

thanks for the tag @stobinesque @eriquin @inairbinad @steves-strapcollection and @scarcrossdlvrs💕💕💕

Rules

Set a Word Count Goal for the week

Create a 24-hour poll with all the projects you would like to work on for the week

People can send asks or messages about things they'd like to see snippets of [I will tag you in the snippets I post at the end of this challenge]

Once the poll closes, divvy the word count based on the percentage of votes each option got! Start tracking your word count from when the poll closes.

Optional: By the end of your 7-day period writing period, post a snippet for each option. Match the snippet length to the sentence or word count length to the number of votes that option received.

This means there is no winner or loser. All the fics below will be worked on! This is just deciding the percentage of the word count!!

Goal

Minimum WC goal: 7,500 words Stretch WC goal: 15,000 words Completion date/time: Sunday, July 23, 10pm EST

Tags

No pressure! Either to do this too or just to boost and/or enable me!

@sidekick-hero @legitcookie @patchworkgargoyle @starrystevie @scoops-stevie @matchingbatbites @kkpwnall @judasofsuburbia @thefreakandthehair @artaxlivs