#i love pastille

[pastille13]

[puffballwarrior-blog]

Hello, this is my first time seeing your blog.

I love the concept of Spectral Dreams and I'm glad to see another Yo-Kai Watch fan in 2024.

If I may ask, who or what inspired you to make this AU?

Hi! Thank you!!

It all started when I joined this small corner of the Kirby community called the Magoverse that made a Discord server that had all their alternate versions of Magolor interacting with one another. They let me in despite not having a version of Magolor myself at the time and I've made some really good friends in that small section of the community.

I was on a call with @pastille-pain and I believe he said something like "Does anyone remember Yo-Kai Watch?"

I, being a long-time fan of the series since 2015, immediately jumped at the topic and showed him and the other people in the call all of my old toys and games. Someone said that there should be a Magolor based on Yo-Kai Watch, and I was the one to do it as I was and still am the biggest fan of the series. So I made Magonyan!

I then decided that I should add more Yo-Kai based on Kirby characters to this AU and it all came together to make Spectral Dreams later on.

Honestly, I have Pastille to thank for a lot of the AU since he's made a handful of the characters and helped with a lot of story stuff I have planned already.

[hyunpic]

press photos of hyunjin at the airport

[rat-that-writes]

SNORFED IN THE SAND

[blackberry-mochi]

TODAY IS KAIMA'S ANNIVERSARY (I mean………. technically on itch it tells me it was released at 12:30AM on the 24th, but official sources claim it was released on the 23rd, and frankly 12:30AM is basically still the previous day) SO HERE'S AN IMAGE OF (true) SEARINA USING THE UNUSED SPECIAL CALLED "Hug!" ON ILLI!!! (It's there in the code I promise. I didn't look but it's gotta be there. You just don't see it because the game ends right as soon as SEARINA gets her soul back.)

Replayed KAIMA before drawing this and wowza……. I forgot how much swearing there was in it, pff. It's charming in a way though. ANYWAY KAIMA (the game) GOOD HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NEW KAIMA (the location)!!!!!

[puffballwarrior-blog]

Hiding me in the tags I see.

my friends all have such cool fucking OCs like waow…. blorbo from YOUR brain…….

[moodymakeshifter]

Watch "Syrup and the Ultimate Sweet - visual novel playthrough ENDING (no commentary)" on YouTube

[bettysupremacy]

Omg imagine james doing something stupid (not much imagination needed there) and r is telling him of (lovingly) and he’s just like “yes ma’am🫡” and the others are like side eyeing him I just NEED james to call me ma’am in an argument

i hope you are having a great december so far my love

(not much imagination needed there) LOL

i could kiss you this idea is so cute thank you lovely

“Oh, my boy.” You croon to the mess tumbling into your lap. Softly, you brush some hair from his fluttering eyes. “What‘ve the evil twins done to you.”

“Evil twins!” Sirius gasps.

Remus laughs. “That’s a new one.”

You don’t look up from the sickly boy careening for your touch. “What did they feed you?”

He moans into you, muttering something you can’t pick up. He’s gone all right, ten shades of flushed and warm to the touch. It’s already a warm night, but this is no warmth that came naturally.

“We didn’t do anything.” Remus denies impishly.

“Puking pastilles again?” You eye them. “Do you know how long we sat by the toilet?”

“That was not our fault.”

“And neither were the nosebleed nougats?” You sigh. “Seriously thought his brain was coming out his nose.”

Sirius nods in agreement nose scrunching. “Not his finest moment.”

“Because of you.”

“Don’t start with me, woman.” His finger points between your eyes.

James is malleable under you, nose pressing into your thigh coyly. You see the corner of a smile as you fuss, guilty pleasure at your roaming touch. The room is hot, warm bodies passing and going as they please through the small flat. You fear he may run a fever, though that’s uncommon. James immune system is a rock, solid at anything thrown to it.

You press your hand to his forehead. “Has he had to much?”

The boys eye each other suspiciously. “Too much?”

You scoff. “To drink?”

“Depends.” Sirius shrugs

“On what!”

Their dubious behavior alarms you. These boys are up to something, or rather, were up to something, and now they’re avoiding dealing with the consequence of you.

“The substance.”

“Substance?” You sit up straight, shuffling the boy under you. He grumbles in protest.

“Potion.” Remus gives.

You frown apprehensively. “You didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” Sirius starts.

“he did.” Remus finishes.

Felix Felicis. They’d been talking about it a couple weeks ago, getting their hands on some. You protested, begged them, to forget it. It’s too dangerous, your voice of reason lowered their spirits, James you’ll be sleeping on the couch if you risk yourself like that.

“No,” You whine, fretting over the intoxicated fool. “how much?”

“Ask loverboy.”

“The whole,” James takes a deep breath mid sentence. “bottle.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes wide at the older boys standing. “he’ll be puking all night.”

“Maybe not..”

Your face drops into your hands exhausted. “Puking Pastilles all over again.”

“M’sorry.” James moans under you. “M’so sorry, lovely.”

“That was so stupid.” You scold lightly, hand coming down to flatten over his collar bones. “So, so, so, stupid!”

You're ruffled, shaken at the thought of him downing such an expensive, easily tainted, potion.

“Do you listen to everything they tell you to do?”

“No,” he starts slowly.

“Seems like it.” You bristle, pulling him up to sit. You look into his eyes seriously and he shuffles, nervous under your gaze. “Get a mind of your own.”

His fingers twitch at the hem of the dress you’d picked out tonight, squeezing it in his grip, grounding himself in reality. “Yes ma’am.”

Sirius scoffs behind you, shaking his head at Remus who looks equally perturbed at James’ extra affection. Under them, you wrap your arms around his neck surely. Besides the soft sent of sickly sweet potion, he smells of pine and cologne. You let yourself recognize his body is continuing to function as it should. Untouched, mostly, by the yellow inebriant.

“I can’t stand you, do you feel well?”

“I’m feeling better.”

You stick your face in his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“No, I don’t feel well.”

You sigh into him, pressing a kiss into his freckled skin. He won’t sleep on the couch tonight, though you aught to teach him a lesson.

“We’re going home.”

“What?” James frowns. “We only just got here.”

“D’you have another pool to jump in?”

He cringes at the memory of his fireball spree. “Kay, coming.”

You collect your coat and purse as you stand, leaving James to fend for himself behind you. “Felix Felicis isn’t a joke, one wrong tincture of thyme and you’re in St Mungo’s- James, were are your shoes?”

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Fred and George Weasley headcanon

What would they be like with the new employee at Weasley Wizard Wheezes?

A/N: until I get any ideas, I'm going to try writing shorts and headcanons. If you have any requests for shorts or requests for stuff they’d do with the reader etc, I’ll be more than happy to write them.

T/W: NSFW, Our favourite twins being pervy, maybe slightly dark (unknown ownership and the reader is innocent and unaware of the pervy twins’ antics), spanking, pinching, groping, nicknames, praise, drugging? (mentions of aphrodisiacs, sex pollen, and love potions), Smell kink? (like perfume and scent sniffing)

Both twins

- They’d be all over you, fact

-At first, they thought you didn't mind their attention, but then it dawned on them that you were innocent enough to not notice (that didn't stop them)

-One would ask you to bend down and get something or stand on the step ladder to reach higher stock, the other would be enjoying every glimpse of your underwear

-They would definitely get you a uniform, which would be a very short skirt and a top that shows a lot of skin (they just tell you that its standard uniform and that some of the products stain clothes)

-And if your uniform is ‘crooked’, they’ll happily adjust it for you

-You were so eager for the job that you barely even read your contract (luckily for them)

-In small print was a paragraph that stated that you belonged to them and that they could do anything they wanted to you, ANYTHING

-Making mistakes has its advantages

They won't dock your pay or give you a warning, they’ll just pinch your thighs or give your ass and pussy spanks until you learn your lesson (Fred started this punishment)

-If a customer takes a liking to you or tries to make a move, the twins will slip him some puking pastilles (they have their ways)

-If a customer is mean, they’ll let you sit on one of their laps whilst they comfort you (again, this customer will be getting some puking pastilles for making their favourite girl upset)

-Anything new they make, they try on you (or so they tell you. They only want you to test the new line of ‘potions’ that they have made *cough* aphrodisiac and a sex pollen potions *cough*)

-At first, they wanted to compete for you, but they realised that two heads are better than one

-If Ron comes in and tries to make a move, they bar him from entering (until Molly finds out and sends them a howler)

-They’re waiting for the right moment to spike you with a love potion

Fred Weasley

-Fred is more handsy

-If your thigh is showing, his hands are already there

-If you’re on the stepladder, he will definitely grope your ass and tell you that he's making sure you don't fall

-One of his sneaky tricks involves dropping a small box that has small pieces inside onto you, he's just hoping that some of those pieces will fall out between your tits and he’s more than happy to reach between them to get them out

-If its George’s day off and a customer makes you upset, you will have to hold him back because he will whip his wand out (his magic wand, you dirty minds)

-He’s more possessive of you, and more handsy, and meaner (he will make sure you make a mistake just to punish you)

-Fred has taken a liking to calling you Kitten

George Weasley

-George is sweeter

-He can be just as sneaky as Fred, but he’ll praise you more often than he’ll punish you

-If you get tired when you stand at the till, he won't let you use the chair. As far as he’s concerned, you’re only allowed to sit on his lap or not sit at all (so he’ll just sit down and make you sit on his lap)

-If a customer is mean to you, George will stroke your hair (whilst you’re on his lap) and press small kisses to your cheek, which you think he’s doing to make you smile but he’s doing it cause he loves how you smell

-There have been times where you pout to him about Fred’s punishments, but he just strokes your hair and pretends to feel sorry, saying something like “you should have been a good girl and then Fred won't pinch those pretty little thighs”

-If you come to work and it's raining outside, George will let you change into a shirt of his whilst your clothes dry (he won't wash that shirt, he’ll keep it and smell it whilst his hand works wonders *wink* *wink*)

-George has taken a liking to calling you bunny

[pastille13]

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi! I love your writings! I’m obsessed with jealous fred weasley so if you could write a one shot with whatever you’d like :)))

(If you hate just ignore pls lol)

Hi love! Thank you so much, this has been a lot of fun to write. I’ve been sat watching Goblet of Fire, took one look at Fred in this scene and knew it just had to be long hair Freddie because it makes me feral. Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: bit of swearing, mild sexual references. Fred gets jealous and a little possessive. Talks of marriage. Sorry McLaggen I needed a villain.

Word count: 1k

A cold heart and a warm jumper

Jealousy wasn't something Fred Weasley ever felt.

He knew his family weren't rich, that they'd never have the best of anything or anything new in abundance and so from a young age, he'd made peace with it and learned not to envy others. Being one of seven kids and most importantly a twin in a family that was already stretched both financially and emotionally, he'd had to learn to share, virtually from the day he was born. He'd shared clothes, toys, his room, practically his entire life with George, even a uterus and placenta, though he didn't care to think about that.

But now, watching Cormac McLaggen leering over the one thing in his life that he absolutely refused to share, he felt the unfamiliar rise of the green eyed monster throughout his entire body.

Godric he hated that slimy little prick. With his stupid blonde curls and the smug little smile that Fred really wanted to slap off his face right now, regardless of his rich daddy and any consequences that would inevitably follow.

The common room was a blaze with celebration, Harry’s victory in joint first place of the first task had been wildly celebrated by each and every Gryffindor and even Ron had joined in after being such a miserable git for a month. But even with the chaos and jubilant celebration around him, as well as a decent profit they’d made on taking the bets during the task, Fred was not in the mood for a party.

Despite it being the end of November, Fred’s striped jumper and beige overcoat suddenly felt like they were suffocating him as he stared at the corner where McLaggen leaned suggestively ogling his girlfriend, reaching out to touch her arm and shifting ever closer to where she stood. He was getting hotter by the second, burning up with anger and jealousy as he looked in disgust at the slimy sod. Who did he think he was to be stood so close to Fred’s girl? They’d been together years, it was hardly like nobody knew that she was his.

But then he heard your girlish giggle and his blood seemed to run cold. You were openly laughing with him, playing with a strand of your hair and making no move to shut down his advances.

He’d had enough and was just ready to march over and make Cormac choke down a puking pastille when he watched you take off your coat, throwing it over the chair behind you and taking a step back to avoid Cormac’s over familiar hands as they reached out for you again. Fred’s heart pounded as he looked at what you were wearing so proudly, his quidditch jumper with his surname displayed right across the back. He remembered now how you’d complained of being cold just before you left to view the task and he’d nipped up to his dorm to retrieve a warm jumper for you. He knew it wasn’t the nicest sweater, there was a hole in the left armpit that had been stitched back together with a completely different coloured thread and a great big pull in the fabric on the right sleeve but you’d worn it with pride. Your face had lit up when he held it out to you and you’d tried to sneakily smell it with a cute smile before you threw it over your head, tying up your hair so you could show off his surname now displayed across your back.

Watching you now, he realised how wrong he’d been. You were inching away from McLaggen, body turned away and looking for any sign of escape, the fingers in your hair a simple mechanism to block him from reaching out to you.

Fred was on his feet in seconds, almost trampling a load of first years who were sat in the pathway as he stalked over to where you were standing, his eyes fixed upon the letters across your back.

“Weasley,” he whispers in your ear as a greeting, immediately stepping behind you and placing his hand on the curve of your bum. You jump slightly at the sudden intrusion but recover quickly as you realise it’s him behind you. Fred watched as a smirk blossomed across your face as you realised, pressing your hips back just slightly as a form of acknowledgment, backing up into his hand which he squeezed, getting a good grip of your bum.

“This looks very good on you,” he whispers again into your ear, bending down just enough so that only you could hear how deep and breathy his voice had become. He reaches out with his left hand to glide it over your hip to your waist, tugging on the fabric of the jumper just enough that you’d understand exactly what he meant.

“The jumper or the name?” You smirk, earning another squeeze of your bum for your cheekiness, both of you openly ignoring McLaggen who is still trying to talk to you.

“Both,” Fred smirks, the tip of his nose catching on your hair, his lips moving dangerously closely to the smooth skin of your neck.

“If you don’t mind McLaggen, me and the Mrs have business to attend to,” Fred says suddenly, not even looking at Cormac who briefly considers if he does mind or not, mouth opening as if he is about to protest.

Fred doesn’t even give him a chance and simply throws his right arm around your shoulders and pulls you away with a shit eating grin on his face. His hand slips back towards your bum as you’re walking away, his hand slipping into your jeans pocket as he pulls you close to him, asserting his place. He can’t help but smirk as he directs you towards the stairs to the dorms, knowing that Cormac is still watching the pair of you and he takes a sick pleasure in knowing the last thing McLaggen will see of you tonight is Fred’s hand in your jeans as he takes you to his dorm; with his surname plastered in large letters across your back. The same surname that will be yours in just a couple of years, if Fred gets his way.

Maybe he should invite Cormac to the wedding.

[heich0e]

choso/f!reader

The light from the signs that line the street around you makes a dull, irritating ache throb behind your eyes.

It’s a migraine. Or exhaustion maybe. Regardless of the cause, the pain carves its way through you like rot. You lower your eyes to the pavement, hoping that by averting your gaze from the fluorescents you may find some temporary reprieve.

It doesn’t help much.

You fish the little paper packet of cigarettes out from inside the small purse you wear over your arm. There are only three left in the pack, but you swear there should be more. You’d only bought them that morning—no, wait, yesterday morning, since you’d gone a night without sleep. You suck a little hiss of disappointed air in through your teeth, plucking out one of the last lonely cigarettes from inside the pack and then retrieving your lighter too. Though inadvisable by anyone medically qualified, you hope that maybe the hit of nicotine might help the headache while you wait.

Cigarette between your teeth, you lift your little yellow lighter to the end. Pressing down on the safety that covers the spark wheel you draw it quickly back, but the tiny flame that appears momentarily flickers out just as swiftly. You repeat the motion, pressing and dragging your thumb to light it, but you find no more success than you had upon your first attempt. Your lips pull into a tighter line, pressing into the spongey filter of the cigarette in frustration. You shake the lighter a few times, hoping that whatever meagre amount of fluid left in it might suddenly decide to make itself known.

You light it again.

Nothing.

“Here.”

You glance up.

Choso stands before you, his arm extended in your direction with a lighter in his hand. It’s green—a less neon shade than your own lighter—and has something scrawled across it in smudged ink that you can’t make out in the night. Your eyes meet, a momentary look passing between the two of you. Recognition. Greeting, maybe.

You don’t take the lighter from his hand. Instead, you steady the cigarette between your lips in the V of your fingers and lean towards him. He understands without it needing to be said, clicking his own lighter to life and holding it to the end until the cherry flares red on your inhale.

Your eyes meet again as you angle yourself into his space, closer now than before. The same street signs and their glowing lights that had been so irritating to you catch in his glassy brown eyes, framed by long lashes that flutter in a blink.

He looks tired. But he always looks tired, and you’re sure you’re not faring much better—so who are you to judge?

You pull away once your cigarette is lit, taking a drag and then blowing the smoke into the wind. 

“You’re late,” you say quietly. Not a hello, nor a thank you.

“Sorry,” he replies. “My little brother had cram school. I had to wait to make sure he got home safely.”

Itadori Yuuji—15, a high school student, not his brother by blood.

You nod a little bit, dismissive more than it is accepting, and take another long drag from your cigarette. 

Choso watches you raptly, his eyes following every movement. After some time passes, you hold the cigarette out to him in offering, though it’s mostly burned away.

“No, thank you,” he refuses you politely, dipping his head.

You finish the cigarette off, and then drop it to the ground and crush it under the pointed toe of your high-heeled shoe.

There’s a mint in your coat pocket, and you quickly pop it into your mouth to chase away the lingering taste of tobacco. You love the nicotine rush, but you still hate the bitter flavour that lingers on your tongue even after all these years. Choso watches that too—his eyes following your hand until the little white pastille slips behind your lips.

Your gazes meet.

You take a step towards him, wrapping your hands around his arm and tucking yourself against his side. It’s natural. Familiar. Easy. He smells like soap, and this close to him you can see the way his dark hair—down today, and tucked behind his ears, rather than in the two twists he often wears—is faintly wet, like he’s only just showered. 

“Let’s go.” 

Inside the shabby lobby, there’s only one person lingering—a man, standing behind the counter—who pastes on a small but notably insincere smile when you and Choso step through the door. 

“Good evening,” he greets you with a slight bow.

“A room, please,” Choso says to him, to the point but not unkind.

“For how long?”

You feel the man’s eyes on you then, and you know what he must be thinking. It’s not hard to tell, looking between you and Choso, what the two of you are doing—even less so at a love hotel on a seedy side of town where you can book rooms by the half-hour. The differences between Choso and yourself are many and obvious; what with your skimpy little dress and your heels in contrast to his jeans; raggedy, thick-soled combat boots; and windbreaker. And that’s to say nothing about the differences in your countenances: Choso looks stiff, uncomfortable even, under the scrutiny of the man at the front desk, but you’re largely unbothered by the judgement in his gaze. You lean a little more into Choso’s arm where you’re wrapped around it, tucking your face into his collar in a show of diffidence but you meet the man’s eyes with a flutter of your lashes. 

He licks his lips a little, a flush appearing just above the collar of his rumpled dress shirt, and you resist the urge to sneer in disgust.

Once the two of you receive the key to your room, you quietly make your way there—still sticking close to Choso’s side as you depart from the lobby towards the elevator. You don’t cross paths with another soul as you travel to your room on the third floor, the only sound to be heard is the mechanical fwoosh of the elevator as it climbs, the hum of the vending machine selling variously erotic wares you have to pass to make it to your room, and the quiet beep as Choso unlocks the door. 

Just as the two of you are about to step in, a door at the other end of the hall opens, and Choso swiftly wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you in front of him to usher you across the threshold first—using his body to shield you from the eyes of the man who passes down the corridor behind him as the door swings shut. There’s something almost charmingly conscientious about the gesture, though it seems to have been more unconscious than anything.

The room is just what you expect it to be. Plain. Somewhat sterile. Not uncomfortable, but not particularly homey, either. There’s a bed, two bedside tables, a television mounted at the foot of the bed. There’s a door that leads into the tiny washroom, where the shower seems to take up most of the floorspace. The room is dim, likely intentionally, even once you flick the overhead lights on.

“That guy was creepy,” you sigh, stepping away from Choso and further into the room towards the bed. 

“Who?” he asks.

“The guy at the counter,” you sniff, flopping down at the edge of the bed. You throw one leg over the other, crossing them at the knee, and lean back on your elbows against the mattress. The linen is surprisingly soft considering the inexpensive rate. “You’d swear he’s never seen a call girl before.”

Choso is still standing by the door, looking as uncomfortable as ever. He reaches up and rubs his neck, peering around the room seemingly just as an excuse not to meet your eyes.

“So,” you call to him, beckoning his wandering attention back to you. You tilt your head to the side once his gaze connects with yours. “Did you bring it?”

Choso’s hand flutters to the pocket of his dark windbreaker, and part of you wonders if he even knows he did it. You always find that part of him so curious—his sincerity. How easy he is for you to read. You can’t help but question if he’s like this with everyone, or if there’s something about you that makes him this way.

He nods.

The mint you popped into your mouth before entering the hotel has melted away to nothing on your tongue now, but the lingering freshness remains. You feel the mentholated burn as you suck in a little breath, a pleasant tingle in your throat.

“Let’s see it, then,” you say, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitates a little but then he approaches, pulling a creased envelope out from his jacket pocket and handing it to you. It’s folded in half, and theres a grease stain at the corner of the white paper envelope—not uncommon for a mechanic, you suppose.

Choso’s hands are always so clean when he meets you, though.

Inside the envelope is exactly what you came here for.

“This is perfect,” you remark, thumbing through the papers as your eyes quickly scan across the pages to surmise their contents. 

Choso is very still as he stands in front of you, towering over where you sit perched at the edge of the love hotel bed and watching as you flick through the papers he’s just delivered into your hands. There’s something sort of expectant in the way he waits for you to speak again.

“And you’re sure this is all of it?” you ask him, glancing up from the pages in your grip.

He nods. “That’s everything.”

“Gojo’s gonna lose his shit when I slap this on his desk,” you remark to yourself with a snort. You can already picture the absolute dismay on Satoru’s face when he realizes that you beat him to the punch in securing the information that he’s been after for weeks now. You’re sure he’ll be whining about it to Geto for days.

Choso fidgets slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Nice work, kid,” you commend him, looking up at him with a smile.

There’s a shift in expression on Choso’s face then—not quite a pout, but a definite air of disappointment or displeasure. He says nothing in spite of the look, and you don’t ask anything, either. That’s not what you came here to talk about, after all. For all intents and purposes, your businesses began and ended with the stack of papers in your lap.

Contained within the pages Choso brought to you is every vehicle (make, model, VIN number and plate) that Choso’s garage has worked on or modified for the crime syndicate currently wreaking havoc in the city under Sukuna’s command. 

“I’ve got your payment here,” you say, fishing out an envelope of your own from inside your purse. There’s enough cash inside the crisp manila envelop that you produce to reimburse the cost of the room he’d paid for and to compensate him for the information. “The rest of it went to the cram school to cover your brother’s tuition, as usual.”

Choso takes it from your hands, his long fingers brushing gently against your own as it passes between your grips, and he doesn’t even bother checking the contents before he slips it into his pocket. 

“Thank you, Inspector,” he says quietly, dipping his head in a bow.

Your lips purse as Choso stares down at his feet, observing the way he seems to be avoiding your gaze.

Choso’s been working as an informant for the past few years. It started off just passing small pieces of information here and there, having established a rapport with your previous chief in his late teens following the murders of his two brothers thanks to the early days of the gang that would eventually grow into Sukuna’s organization now. Choso was born into that life—cursed by his own blood—but he’s made a conscious effort in his adulthood to keep on the straight and narrow, largely for Yuuji’s sake.

You’ve been meeting him like this for a little over a year now, building your own relationship with him now that the chief retired. Choso’s mechanic shop sees all kinds of people coming in and out, good and bad, and he gleans a lot of information in his neutrality. He’s useful to you.

You understand the risk that Choso takes by meeting with you. By working for you. It’s a truth you recognize as well as he does. But he’s never hesitated to get you the information you ask for. Has never denied you anything you seek. All he asks in return is a meagre compensation and the assured safety and education of his little brother. 

You wonder why he’s willing to go so far, and for whose sake he does it.

You flop back onto the hotel bed, one hand resting over the papers in your lap to keep them from slipping onto the floor.

“I’m beat,” you complain, throwing your other arm up over your eyes and hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

“You’re not sleeping?” the soft rumble of Choso’s low voice is strangely comforting like this.

You hum. “Haven’t been home in two days.”

“You need to rest,” he chides you, and there’s something funnily maternal in the way he says it. He’s suddenly every bit the big brother you know him to be. You shift your arm so you can peek up at him from where you’re sprawled across the bed. 

He’s inched closer to you since your eyes were covered, hesitating at the very edge of the mattress beside you. He’s staring down at you with a serious expression on his face, slightly pinched in reproach but softened at the edges with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snort, lifting your hand and waving it dismissively. “I’ll get there eventually, kid.”

Choso catches your wrist in his hand before you can let it drop again, suddenly kneeling against the mattress so he’s looming over you. You’re surprised by the gesture, a sudden falter in the steady thumping of your heart as he stares down at you.

“I’m older than you,” he says quietly, somewhat sullen but simultaneously sheepish. His eyes bore down into yours. “Please stop calling me 'kid'.”

You know he’s right. You know just about everything there is to know about Kamo Choso on paper, having researched him and his background extensively before you got involved with him like this. You suppose you picked up the habit thanks to the chief, since that’s how he always used to refer to him. As Choso hovers over you, his big hand still wrapped around your wrist and his broad frame blocking the rest of the hotel room behind him from view, the truth of his remark rings palpably true.

You suddenly aren’t sure how to respond, your lips parting but no words slipping out.

Choso lets your hand drop after a moment, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. There’s no other seats in the small hotel room, so it’s not particularly unexpected, but you’re strangely conscious of him now in ways you don’t like.

“You should sleep here for a bit,” he says, his eyes glancing over to the clock on the bedside table. “We have the room for another hour.”

You don’t ever leave the hotel room before a realistically inconspicuous amount of time has passed, but suddenly the prospect of spending another hour with him makes your stomach twist.

“I’m fine,” you try to brush him off, sitting up and neatly stacking the papers so that you can slip them back into their envelope and tuck them safely into your purse. Your face feels hot, and that ache between your temples is back again. You contemplate another cigarette.

A gentle touch against your elbow makes you freeze.

You glance over at Choso from the corner of your eye, and find his dark gaze on you. His eyes are imploring, soft, and seemingly fathomless.

“Rest,” he insists again. “I’ll wake you before we need to leave.”

Your eyes scan his face. Your headache throbs.

There are a hundred reasons to deny him. A thousand reasons you shouldn’t listen to what he says.

But there’s one—a distant, whispered reason, that you don’t want to acknowledge—that tells you differently.

“Move over,” you grumble, letting your purse fall to the floor with a dull thud!

Choso obeys immediately, shifting so you can crawl into the bed beside him and rest against the pillows. You squeeze your eyes shut the minute your head hits them.

“You should at least take your shoes off,” Choso remarks. You flinch a little as you feel the warmth of his hand on your ankle, holding it steady as he gently slips your shoe from your foot. He repeats the same motion for the other. 

Your eyes remain shut. 

After a moment of stillness, you feel the mattress shift slightly and the warmth of his body recede. When you crack one eye open to survey what changed, you see that Choso’s slipped down to the floor, resting with his back against the side of the bed and his legs crossed underneath him. His eyes are shut now too, and you watch his profile for a moment as he breathes.

You close your eyes again.

“Wake me up in thirty minutes,” you mumble, and Choso hums in response. “I’ll leave first."

But even in the stillness of that little hotel room, even in your exhaustion, neither of you manages to fall asleep.

[rat-that-writes]

Thoughts, comments, questions, or concerns?

vessy on his first day of school with a fuck ass bob

[giantchasm]

OWO what's this?

Just an animatic for the @kirbyoctournament that's a propaganda piece for my OC Peony featuring not one, not two, not three... but 54 other contestants!

I'll put a list of all featured OCs under the cut. I'm sorry if I didn't manage to fit yours in! There are so many OCs in this tourney I absolutely adore. Maybe if Peony makes it through to Round 5 I'll do another propaganda animatic featuring even more OCs.

But for now... vote Peony when her poll goes up tomorrow! And enjoy the wonderful cast of this little project.

EDIT: Peony’s poll is up! Give her a vote, if you’d like! It’d mean the world 💖

Every OC featured in the animatic, in order, from left to right:

@george228732's Fylass @a-stardusted-sky's Dazor @zombiecicada's Wolfbell

@karmapigeons' Ant-Hony Bellerose @shippyo's Life

@hadopelagicpsi's Aphelion @nautical-nova's Dawn @starlightintermezzo's Hyper Knight

@staring-at-a-blank-pagee's Starry Dee @pastille-pain's Qiri @springbreezes-and-peonies' Peony

@ivynajspyder's Techie @rosiegardenlove's Shade Knight

@kamalemons's Pink Lemonade Driblee @expy-ceri's Ceri @jaspermythic-8's Cryst

@taranzas-biggest-fan's Zerpy @kirbart90's Astro @shibuyatoastedcursor's Periwinkle

@poppybros-jr's Cosmo @c0ffee-7's Star @boa35's Anti

@m0x1ez's Moonstone @clairetimes' Moroshi @isaackkkbunn's Artemis

@cauliarty's Dotty @eliastheownerof0axolotls' Flower Waddle Dee @ceragolor's Lorelia

@maybeher0's Chiffon @sacrificecage's Mapobas @starmagnets' Vic

@waddledoodledee's Reclusa @unleashedsonic's Atlas @ceoofmetagala's Flora @moonsharkss' Whisp @starrygoober's Daisy Waddle Dee @dizzy-dudd's Rifty

@moonverc3x's J @aseuki's Parhelion Knight @starflungwaddledee's Starstruck Dee

@quanblovk's Sir Uther @desultory-novice's Noir Fontaine

@absolutely-zero-regrets's Clark @tailsdollr's Vulcan @galapathy's Guinevere @azzie-tangerine's Era Knight @kosmic-autokrat's Aife @windstriker427's Nighty Knight

(As well as musescfmusic's Storm Knight, pinkestmenace's Olympea, gethoce's Valfrey, and scrorchrend's Sorile, however I'm not tagging the owners of those OCs as I'd feel bad tagging them just for a shadowed back view of their characters. I ought to draw all of them properly eventually!)

And... of course, finally: @justalilstar's Night Terror and @what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me's Sir Meteor: Peony's opponents in this upcoming round! Two truly fantastic characters, and I'm wishing them both the best of luck.

It was a blast getting to draw so many people's OCs! I'd love to do something similar again in the future. There are seriously so many awesome characters featured in the tourney that this is barely even scratching the surface. I hope everyone enjoyed their little cameos!

[morinuu]

LISTWN TO ME I JUST READ YOUR TAMAKI ANGST AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO FICKING GOOD??

A she falls but he falls harder

Reader finally gets over it and stops coming, moving on and focusing on herself, and he notices and starts realizing how he took her for granted

And then its him that's loosing his mind and shit like that. Dude. Dude. I'm loosing my MIND you write so well

first of all ty for the compliment >< so glad u liked it im blushing and giggling!! secondly im not sure abt the reader completely abandoning tamaki's side (i love being delulu), but i do have smth else in mind that's kinda similiar n i hope its satisfactory :3 i changed only a minor part from the og :P i wanna make this a small series..... maybe like 3-4 parts.. anw this is pt 1

☀︎｜tamaki x female reader. almost 4k words. continuation of this. ure sick, yamada hinata & aoko r just some ppl i made up for the plot, tamaki's pretty stupid n emotionally unintelligent, lots of feelings and background information, y'all r childhood friends, there's like one 4th wall break but i thought it was kinda funny so i kept it

you weren't a fan of february.

allergy season was your absolute worst, the wheezing and coughing sucking the life out of you as you struggled to change out of your clothes to get the day started. you didn't sleep much, interrupted constantly by your sore throat aching and squeezing.

sure, it's just hay fever to everyone else, but for a young woman who carried around an inhaler, it's hell. well, almost hell.

what was truly hellish wasn't the fatigue or the sneezing, but your mum dragging you back in the house and forbidding you from going to school until you're well enough to study again. how were you supposed to keep up with chemistry class if you skip?

not that your parents cared for your grades; they knew you could just enter whatever field you wanted with the connections your family held, but it felt nice to be awarded for working hard.

after your personal maid let out a small "pardon me, miss" and carried you back to bed, you realised that the feeling your soft quilt hugging your cold limbs would never be beaten by the jacket you desperately clung on to warm yourself in p.e - which just so happened to be your first period that day and you were dreading it.

"i'll be making you some tea, miss. would you like to breakfast now?" your maid's quiet voice addressed you, hoping you'd just sleep the illness off as you usually did so she could rest too.

to be fair, you weren't a very easy master to please, so could you blame her?

"i'll breakfast la-" a cough and some wheezing "-i'll breakfast later, bring some english breakfast with a slice of lemon." you said nothing else, instead focusing on calming your throat that seemed to intensify in soreness. "a pastille too."

"understood my lady, i'll be right back." she bowed and excused herself from your room, ignoring your groans of annoyance as you buried your face into the pillow.

"damn it." you muttered and extended your hand to grab your phone from your bedside table. unlocking it with the passcode (because you weren't in the mood to lift your head and let your phone scan your face) you squinted as the light mode of a social media app hit your eyes harshly, forcing you to use muscle memory to lower the brightness to its minimum.

you scrolled through, liking your friends' private posts and decided to message one of them.

yn.spam: gm dude, i cant come to school today cus im sick. can u do me a favour n tell aoko to give me her notes? she never looks at her messages.

with your phone back on the table to wait for a response, you lied back comfortably and closed your eyes, because as much as you wanted to watch something on netflix or play a video game, you didn't want to make things worse for yourself.

you grew impatient for the cup of tea your maid was brewing, rotating between wheezing, checking your phone and staring at the ceiling. it seemed like the seconds weren't passing by at all.

soon enough, your maid comes back with some fancy tray carrying a kettle, your favourite mug (the one your daddy drank from when you were a little girl before your parents divorced), a tiny plate with some lemon slices and a small box of pastilles as throat medicine.

you didn't thank the woman when she helped you sit up, nor when she stayed by your side to make sure you didn't choke between coughs and burnt yourself with the hot liquid. just as you took your first sip, your phone lit up to show your friend's response.

thatguyhinata: Ayooo gppd morning. Sry to hear tht. Sure if I see her I'll telm her.

the irises in your eyes rolled upwards at the boy's typos that irked you every time, completely ignoring how he didn't wish for your recovery.

yn.spam: thanks yamada

you never used any of your circle's first names, which your mum always found weird.

'you sure these are your friends, darling?' she would ask often, and your response would always be the same:

'yeah mum. leave me be.'

only tamaki had ever felt close enough to be called by his first name.

after swallowing your medicine, you dismissed the older woman standing over you and pulled your quilt over your quivering form again.

"gods, please let this be over soon."

...

well.

...turns out, you gotta be much more specific with what you ask of gods, because they might not have the same understanding of the word 'soon'.

here you are, three days later, with your allergy having been combined with a virus that'd been going around, intensifying your asthma symptoms and raising a high fever, making your mother and doctor ban you from walking into ouran.

halfway throughout the day, you realise what had been completely slipping your mind while your lungs were occupied inhaling abnormally.

"i have an appointment today!" you exclaimed with wide eyes, raising from the bed like lazarus from his grave.

"...?" the new maid next to you didn't say anything, she was clearly concerned. after some seconds of you overthinking something, she spoke up. "you have no other doctor's appointment today, my lady. he just left 10 minutes ago."

you shook your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness brought by your fever "bring me my phone," the girl was puzzled "now!"

bowing a quick apology, she rushed to your desk and handed you your phone with both hands, not daring to look up. you disliked new maids; they were inexperienced and annoying, but scolding her would have to wait.

"damn it, damn it, damn it!" you murmured under your breath and tapped furiously on your phone, trying to find where the hell you'd written kyouya's business e-mail address.

you had it saved as every other client of the host club had, but you had never actually used it, not once.

you never missed an appointment, and always booked the next one tete-a-tete with the black-haired manager. if you became a no-show without prior notice, wouldn't that look bad? would it annoy kyouya and he wouldn't accept you in the club again?

well no, but you had the habit of overthinki-

'would it annoy tamaki?'

you groaned and murmured to yourself - had you deleted it? maybe it was in your notes app and you erased it? was it on your old phone from a month ago?

"find an e-mail for me." you ordered the maid who looked up at you perplexed, but carried out the order nonetheless.

the girl was embarrassed when she found out her master was asking for a host's email, wanting the earth to swallow her when she dialed the ouran academy's number. 'the stuff i do for money..' she thought and prayed her family never found out.

it wasn't a long process to retrieve the address, but what was, was the rant hitting the maid's ears when your overthinking about what to write left your mouth at incredible speeds.

"should i say i'm sick? but he already knows that- he's in my class! maybe tell him to give my time to another girl? no wait, he would do that anyway... or after i apologise, i'll say that, like, something came up- but that's not believable enough... ugh!" you buried your face in your pillow and, unbeknownst to you, your new maid's eye was twitching in annoyance.

she understood now why your personal maid took the week off just when you got sick - not that she understood how and why your mum allowed it though.

(it's because you can be insufferable and she gets it.)

"my lady, may i help?" the girl let out, clearing her throat when you lifted your head from the pillow. "i can write the e-mail myself, please focus on resting."

after some convincing, you gave in.

and so 10 minutes later, back at ouran, kyouya's phone let out a ting! with your full name on the notification. he'd already guessed you wouldn't show up to your appointment considering you hadn't come to school in three days, and already had someone to fill your place but left it for the last moment in case you did show up.

why? well you were ln yn, and it was painfully obvious you were smitten with his best friend, though he could say it was a bit different from the rest of the clientele.

probably due to the fact that you'd known tamaki for much longer than kyouya had. and yet tamaki didn't seem to have the same fascination with you.

he remembers when he first met you, when he'd heard that you were spoiled rotten and weren't even planning to enroll in ouran until tamaki did. you simply transferred to be with the boy.

literally everyone knew of ln yn's almost freakish obsession with suoh tamaki, except for the victim himself.

so imagine his surprise at the strictly professional e-mail he'd received from you, where not a single mention of your host was included. weird.

after glancing at the french boy in the seat next to him eating his bowl of some-sort-of-commoner-convenience-store lunch, kyouya quickly typed a response and informed the next girl in line that a spot was open 'for tamaki's hosting services at 15:35'.

"one of your appointments cancelled due to a personal issue. we'll have someone else fill it." kyouya told tamaki, just as stated in the e-mail, even though it was pretty clear you were sick, and he couldn't figure out why you'd lie.

"hm? oh, okay!" the brunet smiled and went back to devouring his meal, not thinking much of kyouya's words.

kyouya pondered if he should tell him the client was his loyal friend yn, who would never skip out on seeing tamaki, but he stopped himself, curious as to how it would all play out.

eh, if the twins could have fun, so could he.

"oh! haruhii! daddy's here!"

the hours passed so slow you were almost convinced time was frozen when you weren't glancing at the clock on your laptop.

the drama you'd been watching started to lose its interest after presenting the third plot twist in a row, annoying you with all the plot holes it left gaping.

sipping on your green tea (you'd been drinking tamaki's recommendation, pomegranate, only to throw all of it in the trash when you heard he gave the same advice to haruhi), you paused the show and sighed in absolute, tyrannical boredom.

by now you'd normally have finished your classes and walked to music room #3, your favourite among them all.

you'd be welcomed by a host and walked to a sofa to wait for your appointment, ignoring any other girl in the waiting area trying to pick a conversation with the middle child of the ln family.

and soon enough you'd be approached by your one and only taking your hand in his and kissing it to greet you, with his blue eyes staring up at you innocently like a man in love; a look he gave to any woman nowadays, it was second nature to him.

you got lost in them so often, he sometimes dared to ask you if you didn't enjoy his company and that's why you spaced out so much.

preposterous.

you? disliking tamaki? how could he think that after all these years you spent playing together, with you transferring to his school for his sake, swallowing your pride and becoming the client of a host for him?

truly an absurd notion.

currently, however, you weren't in the host club. you were just a girl with a bunch of germs crawling everywhere around her room, unable to go out and see the man of her dreams kiss her cheek and tell her to 'get well soon'.

speaking of, your mum grew increasingly concerned when she noticed the lack of communication between you and tamaki. you were always attached to his hip like some sort of koala, and the fact that you hadn't reached out to him to inform him of your illness personally so he could visit you made her worry.

but it was only natural that you'd suspect you were being an annoyance to tamaki once you began to notice his eyes shift from you to the newest host a couple of months prior. he'd been a petit brunet boy. a first year who was friendly and of lowly origin. you didn't think much of it.

at least not until the day hikaru asked if you could fetch something he forgot in the back room, completely ignorant to the fact that haruhi had come to the club early that day to ask for another uniform because she'd been accidentally thrown water at by two classmates of hers being stupid.

so when you opened the curtain and saw a small-sized girl with only her panties on desperately trying to hide herself from you, it didn't take more than a couple of seconds to put two and two together.

tamaki wasn't fascinated by the commoner errand 'boy' turnt host.

he wanted her.

you closed the curtain, giving the girl her privacy back and muttering an curt apology, "sorry." before deciding that hikaru would have to get his things himself.

neither haruhi nor you spoke about it again, and she never snitched to the host club about your discovery of her sex.

you liked to pretend it never happened, and that it never changed anything. but just like with tamaki, pretending doesn't go anywhere. the hints were there. his furiously blushed face when he stared at her, his protection of her when the twins teased her, his demands for kyouya to do things for haruhi because she'd like it, not even because she'd asked - well, the stage of denial didn't last long.

shortly after came anger. pure, unexplainable rage and envy. the fourth of the deadly sins was soon rushing through your veins like a drug you couldn't get clean from. 'why her?' you would ask in your rampages.

you couldn't figure it out, and you couldn't ask anyone either, because as infuriated as you were, hurting haruhi by revealing her identity wasn't on your to-do list.

not because you were a good person, god no.

rather, if tamaki knew you hurt his precious daughter - you barfed - like that, who knows if you'd see him again?

and so came the bargaining stage, with your rage never leaving your blood stream, of course. being petty was always one of your main personality traits, one that tamaki would often point out.

what did fujioka haruhi have that ln yn didn't?

'nothing.' you muttered to yourself.

nothing.

nothing?

could you be absolutely sure?

you didn't see her much outside of the club, and there were a couple of times you'd heard the hosts hung out together.

maybe they had a moment? or two, three?

perhaps it was high time you stopped bothering him. perhaps then he'd realise you were the one.

that's why your texts to him had much lessened, coming to a complete stop after roughly two months of your self-doubt and insecurities getting the best of you. so did your occasional visits to his house for studying. you'd even stopped wearing the perfume he got you as a birthday present last year, even though you couldn't find another scent that fit your tastes the same way.

despite your attempts at catching his attention, the bubbling fury in your chest rose once again when you realised that maybe tamaki didn't care about you at all.

he texted you as much as you texted him, he hung out with you only when you asked, and when he came closer to you and noticed the change in your scent, he went: "different perfume, princess?"

and while normally you'd be ecstatic at him noticing, your happiness was immediately destroyed when "the other one was a little old fashioned, good thing you moved to something more fresh."

why couldn't he say what he would have said had he been in an otome game, something among the lines of: 'did you wish to match mine?' or something cheesy like that? ...was your scent not to his tastes?

'did he forget his skills from hosting or what?' you whined.

consequently, now that you were sitting around doing nothing to reach out to tamaki or any of your 'friends', your mum couldn't help but take her phone in her hands to call her friend hitachiin yuzuha.

back in the pink room that is the host club, today's rendezvouses seemed to be going by awfully quickly for tamaki.

in the couple of minutes of break he had between the end of this rendezvous and next the one to come, he quickly found his phone from his back pocket and went over his schedule sent by kyouya.

your name had been crossed out and replaced with another one he recognised, another regular guest of his. he raised his eyebrow at that.

he lifted his head and looked for the shadow king.

"hey, kyouya?"

"hm?" kyouya didn't bother to look up from his laptop, furiously typing god-knows-what.

"why's yn's time gone?" he asked innocently in a curious voice that had you heard, you'd be swooning over.

"i told you, she cancelled due to personal business," his answer was straight-forward "although it's probably because she's ill."

ah, that makes sense, you were the one that cancelled.

wait, huh?

"what do you mean she's ill?" his eyebrows furrow a bit and he cocks his head to the side like a cute dog who doesn't understand anything its owner says.

"what do you mean, 'what do i mean'? she's been absent since monday because she's not feeling well, and she won't come today either. pretty simple." kyouya finally looked up at tamaki with a strange expression on his face. "has she not told you?"

tamaki shook his head a bit, "uhm.. no, not really." and tapped his phone again to check his messages on multiple social media apps to make sure he wasn't missing anything. his emails were empty too, only some spam from a newsletter page that he never bothered to cancel his subscription from.

"how do you know?" he questioned kyouya, but before he could answer, "no wait, don't answer that, you creep. of course you know." he sighed.

after some seconds of quiet thinking, "why didn't you tell me?" tamaki continued his questioning.

"everyone already knows, my lord." an awfully familiar voice butt in making the french boy turn his head around, resting his hand on his waist.

the voice belonged to kaoru, who had his arm wrapped around his twin's shoulders. seems like they also just finished with an appointment.

"what does that mean? who's 'everyone' and why am i not included?" tamaki crossed his arms, feeling kind of left out.

"that guy hayato or whatever who hangs out with yn and her friends was telling someone and we overheard." hikaru shrugged in unison with his doppelganger.

honey's soft voice entered the chat. "you mean hinata-kun? yn-chan's friend? yeah, he told me when i asked where yn-chan is because i thought she forgot to bring the candy she promised." he quickly grabbed a piece of cake from the fridge near where kyouya had been sitting and left the room swiftly.

huh, how convenient for him to enter for the plot.

"and why's it that you two evil bastards didn't bother to tell me?" tamaki exclaimed in disbelief, pointing a finger at the both of them. how could they? his precious childhood friend was sick at home and he didn't know?!

"sorry milord-" kaoru announced with his shoulders still raised, "-but you're always talking to yn-" hikaru joined, "-how were we supposed to know you're not asking her about her well-being?" they delivered the finishing blow together.

what were these lame jerks insinuating? 'not asking about her well-being'? what did they know? just as he went to respond with his usual barking, he stopped himself to instead text you on his own for the first time in a while. not that he noticed.

the twins looked at their king with a confused and weirded-out expression on both their faces, before glancing at each other and shrugging again, already disinterested. kyouya had long gone back to his work and so the twins walked to an empty sofa in an almost isolated area of the club, lying on top of one another to give a nice view to whichever client was into it.

about six minutes of pure silence passed between the two before kaoru's phone buzzed; a text from his mum.

the twins read the text simultaneously, with hikaru raising an eyebrow at its contents. they looked back at the slender boy texting you on his phone at the other end of the club, confused about his behaviour.

"seriously...?" hikaru quietly asked kaoru, referring to the text, only to be met with the other's puzzled expression.

as for the half-and-half boy, his fingers were anxiously tapping kyouya's table and awaiting your response to his message.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: Hey darling! Is everything alright? I heard you didn't come to school because you're sick. I thought you just didn't feel like coming. Why didn't you tell me?

he didn't know you let out a deep sigh at his text, even if it was three days late. it gave you hope - false hope. that he'd started to pay attention to you again. maybe being distant worked-

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: want me to come over?

the question felt natural to him, you always visited his home but seldom did he ever visit yours. since you were sick, it made sense that you wouldn't come over this time.

yn>.&lt; : arent u busy rn tho lol

your name on his phone had obviously been put there by you, his choice of emoji had been party hat for some reason.

"be serious, what does that even mean, tamaki?" you'd asked him one day during a break from your studying in his room.

"you don't like it..?" he pouted like usual and you rolled your eyes.

"here. that's better." you handed him his phone back with a new 'yn >.<' as your contact name.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I can just come after club activities.

wait, he was actually coming? after two months of your only contact being through your rendezvous? it worked?! it actually worked?!

you thought of how to answer him.

at your lack of fast response, tamaki thought of ways to help you feel better through your illness.

'aha! eureka!' tamaki's head echoed.

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: I'll bring some commoner snacks we can enjoy too! Commoners have incredible food to help alleviate illness!

tamakiii ♥♥♥♥: What are you even sick with, anyway?

of course.

commoner food, of course.

haruhi's food.

yn>.&lt; : lol no its fine i dont want u to get sick. ill just c u at sxhool yn>.&lt; : school* yn>.< : doc said its just a cold but yk w my asthma n shit

tamaki was thoroughly disappointed with your response, what did you mean 'you didn't want him to get sick'? you'd never cared if you caught his cold.

his heart raced with worry, and he decided he would stop by anyway. knowing his next appointment was approaching, he speed walked over to the newest host.

"haaaaruuhiiiiii!" he waved his hand to her and her two clients, smiling widely with all of them smiling back at him.

"yeah? what is it, senpai?" haruhi looked up at him from her armchair.

"sorry to intrude-" he runs his hair through his locks - an action that you told him the ladies would swoon over, "-but i was wondering, do you have any recommendations for commoner food that sick people can eat?"

"...are you serious?"

[opal-owl-flight]

Neo3, known for gagging whenever she sees any of the other agents going all soft and mushy for each other, hilariously meets a certain octoling around the time of Grand Run and is head over heels for her. Does she know what this feeling is called? no. it scares and confuses her and she does NOT want 3 knowing abt it lmao

*the lil guys in the last pic are from some of the rescued eggs! Theyre doing some babysitting duty while the salmonids work on rebuilding structural damages to their homes and healing those who can be healed.

the Octoling belongs to @pastille-pain, SHES SO CUTE I LOVE HER