#i think it counts as fluff

[kakushino]

Haganezuka's apprentice - Fem!Reader

You'd heard about his temper, or rather, you heard his temper, long before you first saw him. The need for new swordsmiths went beyond personal wants and so, you found yourself as one of the would-be apprentices under masters of their trade. Your master though? Haganezuka Hotaru

Since you would be entering the Swordsmiths' village proper, as a citizen and not a visitor, you had received your own hyottoko mask, as ugly as the rest of them, yet crucial for its anonymity. You were grateful to it though, because it hid your scowl during your first few weeks under Master Haganezuka's dubious tutelage.

"Not like that, you stupid shithead!"

"This is shoddy as hell. Again."

"Useless brat."

"If Kamado got a sword like this, he'd be coming back for another in a day."

It was all you could do to not blow up on him. As it was, you just shut your mouth and tried to keep up. You weren't even sure if he knew you weren't a man; after all, the masks did distort even voices.

You understood though, really. He was forbidden from touching the forge until he healed up and just tried to focus his energy on you, but he went about it completely wrong. 

Every insult and snide comment fueled your wrath. It was time to show him what you were made of, what you learned and what you could do. 

With bandage-covered hands from the blisters and rawness of overworking, you did what you did best as of late - forge.

The day you presented your first 'passable' wakizashi (passable for him, very good for others) was the day his comment felt less offensive and more… like a compliment?

"Hmpf, guess you aren't that incompetent, brat."

With time, the heat of his words went out of the window, his vulgarity dwindling as you improved in leaps and bounds. Despite his harshness and unpolished way of teaching, you'd become a swordsmith who could stand on her own two feet. Your apprenticeship would last for years more though, giving you plenty of time to really get to know your master.

"You didn't buy yourself any dango? Idiot. Here, take one. Don't tell a soul or you're dead."

"Here… What do you think it is? I didn't know you were so stupid you couldn't recognize tea. You like this type, don't you? So shut up and take it."

"Tsk. Brat. As if you could distract me from my- is that Gyomaru's dango? Hand it over."

Haganezuka Hotaru was just abrasive on the outside, but a big softie on the inside. 

A big softie who couldn't take care of himself properly at times. 

"Master Haganezuka, you need to eat. You've been in here for over a day." You cautiously touched his shoulder, hoping beyond hope he would snap out of the Zone. You'd brought dango and tea, hoping to entice him with the smell at first. It wasn't working, obviously.

He said nothing, just continued to hammer away at his latest work. 

“Master Haganezuka?” you shook his shoulder a little, making him pause for a moment before he continued. Your patience wore thin. You scowled. You’d be surprised if the ugly expression wasn’t permanently fixed into your face with how often you wore it when dealing with him. 

Maybe taking off his mask would make him pay attention to me?

Spoiler alert: It did not.

But it did make your face feel hot when you saw how handsome he was under it. A few shiny scars from the not-so-recent village attack still stood out against his pale skin, making him even more attractive.

Sweat made his dark hair stick to his skin, and suddenly, you were curious about the whole picture; you untied his scarf - it wasn’t like he was going to un-Zone anytime soon, you reasoned. You were not ready for the dark wavy tresses spilling over his shoulders. It was not fair how much of a looker he was. Was this man really single?

You continued to study him, memorizing his features for long lonely nights in your accommodation. Soon enough, you realized you were being a creep and should stop at once; you needed to finish what you started after all.

“Master Haganezuka!” you reached for his other shoulder to shake it. What you didn’t account for was the fact it was his blind side. Instead of an insult or even a scathing remark, you were nearly slashed with a red-hot blade in the face. You took a quick step back and it thankfully only knocked off your hyottoko mask to the ground, the wood smoking a little where the iron made contact with it. You stared at it with wide eyes, your heart in your throat and terror pulsing in your veins. “...”

“...you’re a woman?” 

Your eyes met his, both of you staring at each other in disbelief. “You didn’t know?” 

A flush rose to his cheeks, before his expression turned to white ash. “The old man is gonna kill me.”

"How did you not know I was a woman? The Chief told you when he was introducing me."

"I wasn't listening," he huffed, looking away. 

"More importantly, you just tried to kill me!" 

"Not my fault you were being stupid, brat!"

"You were being stupid. You didn't get out of here for over a day! You have to eat! And sleep!"

"Sleep is for the weak! I need to finish this project-" Haganezuka turned back to his bench, reaching for his hammer.

You snatched the tool before he could touch it. "No, you don't-" You high-tailed it out of his forge, clutching his favorite hammer as if your life depended on it.

"Wait-! You useless wench!"

Your master swore up a storm, hurling insults, screaming at you and chasing you with his half-finished blade. 

Kanamori even ran out into the street in his pajamas, mask askew, a katana of his own in hand, thinking there was an attack again. Seeing Haganezuka, he huffed and went back to sleep, too tired to deal with this right now.

A few days later, the Chief came to officially scold your master. You had a kick out of it, thankful your mask hid your smirk.

[mistress-riddle]

thinking about cuteness aggression but with james and sirius.

james adores cute things. he's the type to see a cute plushie and immediately buy it because he likes it and he likes having something soft and nice to hold. so surely it's no surprise that he takes a likeness to your cuteness except what you should've realised beforehand was that he was most definitely a squeezer. and with his toned arms from all his athleticism, it was sure to knock the breath out of you every time you succumbed to one of his attacks. luckily, there is a pattern, his cuteness aggression strikes when you're in oversized (his) clothes and if your cheeks are full of a sweet treat. he just thinks it's so cute how soft you look and before he knows it, he's captured you, mid speech, in his arms and giving you an affectionate squeeze as he rubs his cheek against your own, cooing softly about how you're the sweetest and most adorable person to ever exist. he doesn't release you until the next morning when you need to go to the washroom, although very reluctantly because he enjoys being cuddled up in bed.

sirius has a different way of displaying his cuteness aggression and you're quite sure it has everything to do with his spirit animal. he gets random urges to nip at you when he thinks you're looking extra cute. his favourite places to leave a little bite are on your cheeks and thighs, your most supple areas that he adores. he just can't resist it, and it surely doesn't help your case that when he's in one of his episodes of gently nipping at you, you let out the most adorable and delightful giggles he's ever heard that just spurs him on to continue his ticklish attacks. he's obsessed with you and just loves leaving little marks to show how you grab a hold of his heart. (although he's absolutely on board if you reverse it on him and start biting him instead)

[omi-boshi]

thinking of little omi wanting a dog but his parents tell him he has to earn it because it's a big responsibility for someone as young as he is. so, he sets up a piggy bank to save up for adoption fees. he doesn't tell his parents about it because he wants to show them when he's saved up enough money.

surely if he has the money that means he's responsible enough right?

in the following months, omi sets aside a fraction of his daily allowance to put into his piggy bank.

it's slow-going until his siblings find the piggy bank labeled with "dog savings" in omi's messy scrawl. they're so charmed by their baby brother's antics that they slip in their own spare change behind omi's back.

they never tell him of course because knowing their brother —their sweet and earnest little brother — he would want to do this on his own.

by the time omi's 10th birthday comes, his piggy bank is practically bursting at the seams. he holds it tightly in his little hands as his family sings him a happy birthday.

when it's time to blow out the candles and he has to make a wish, he lifts up the piggy bank and tells his parents how he's been saving up the past few months. that he has enough to pay for the adoption fees. that he's 10, and he's a big boy now, ready for big boy responsibilities.

"i'm responsible enough for a dog now, right?" he would then ask, eyes bright with earnest hope he tries so hard to tamp down just in case they say no. his parents would exchange surprised looks followed immediately by shaking heads and laughter. lots of laughter. omi is rightfully confused. he frowns.

are they laughing at him? the thought makes him flush in embarrassment. his dad leaves the room, still laughing. when he comes back, it's with a box that's almost a little too big for omi. the birthday cake lays forgotten, candles melted, as omi looks curiously at the box in front of him, then to his parents, and then his siblings, and then back to the box.

his older brother nudges him to open it and when he does, omi doesn't know what to do with himself. the akita puppy yipping at him in the box was too much for 10-year-old omi to bear that he starts bawling.

he's hugging the puppy to hide his tears, and in the background he hears cooing and more birthday wishes from his family.

see, his parents had always intended to give omi a dog the moment he asked. omi rarely asked for anything so whenever he did, his parents were always more than ready and excited to give it to him. however, this time, they waited until his birthday because, admittedly, they had a hard time thinking of what to get him.

it seems they made the right decision watching their son pet the akita in quiet awe. they're happy that their little boy loved his birthday present but when they see his dejected little pout a little while later followed by a sad, "i saved for nothing then..." they knew they had to make right with him (not really but what is omi if not their precious youngest).

and that's how omi ends up with not one but two puppies for his 10th birthday.

[into-fiction]

Fully optional, but I could use a bit of fluff in my life if you’d be so kind, my very best angst-fluff bestie:

Galinda getting so overly flustered over something simple (an assignment, her makeup, her friends, ect.) that she accidentally hurts herself. Elphaba takes that just as seriously as whatever Galinda was upset about and talks her down from the edge while caring for her.

Please 🥺 if you have time

sorry this is late! and questionably fluffy lol. but it's angstless and sweet at least?? also its way longer than i expected, whoops

///

Elphaba opens the door to a room in chaos, the cause of it a blur of pink and gold as the tiny tornado that is Galinda spins through the room. There are clothes tossed everywhere, half of Galinda’s trunks dumped out onto the floor and creating a minefield of obstacles for Elphaba to try and pick her way around just to get to her bed. 

“Uh, Galinda?” Elphaba calls, racking her brain for what might be the reason for such disaster. 

Galinda whirls around, blonde curls in disarray and eyes wide and wild. She’s holding two different dresses in her hands, one a sparkling pink and the other a tasteful cream. 

“Elphie!” Galinda cries. She surges forward, nearly tripping over an overturned trunk as she reaches to grab Elphaba’s hands. “You have to help me, this is a disaster!” 

Elphaba lifts a pointed eyebrow and looks around at the mess. “I can see that.”

“Not the room.” Galinda shakes her head violently, hair lashing her cheeks as she tries to yank Elphaba forward. “My wardrobe! I can’t find anything to wear!”

There are stacks of clothes nearly as tall as Elphaba’s knees on the floor, clearly having been tossed out of closets, trunks, and drawers. “Have you tried asking the floor if you can borrow something of hers?” Elphaba teases, voice a fond drawl. 

Galinda whines, though, high and long. She rocks from foot to foot, shaking her head again. And again, and again. “None of these are right!” she cries, pulling her hands out of Elphaba’s and falling to her butt on the edge of her bed, a pile of blouses sliding to the floor at the disturbance. 

There’s a faint level of true distress leaking through Galinda’s expression that makes Elphaba step forward, reaching for the blonde’s hands again so she stops pulling at her fingers. “Hey,” she says, as calm and gentle as she can. “Whatever the problem is, we can fix it. What are you getting dressed for, anyway? It’s almost dinner time.”

But the reminder just seems to make Galinda panic more, and she suddenly leaps from the bed, stumbling in her heels as she brushes past Elphaba. “Shit, I’m late!” she yells, aiming for the vanity in the center of the room. 

There’s a pile of her own shoes on the floor, however, that Galinda apparently doesn’t see, the awkward shapes sliding under her feet as she trips, falling to the ground with a yelp. A muted, fleshy thump sounds out as Galinda hits the floor, just barely catching herself on her hands and knees. 

“Galinda!” Elphaba cries, carefully navigating the perilous space as she crouches by the blonde. “Are you okay?”

But Galinda is already scrambling to her feet, blinking rapidly and shoving her fallen hair out of her face. “F-fine,” she stammers, wincing when she straightens her knees. That’s going to hurt later for sure, and they both know Galinda bruises easily. 

It’s in looking down at the matching spots on the girl’s legs that Elphaba notices it: the bright slash of red across Galinda’s hip, the fabric of her grey-striped skirt ripped open. Her eyes widen, breath catching, and she glances behind Galinda and spots the culprit immediately- the sharp metal corner of one of Galinda’s pink trunks.

“Galinda, your hip!” Elphaba reaches for it, stopping just inches away as her hands flutter uselessly, not wanting to touch the exposed skin and cause Galinda any pain. The cut is relatively shallow, but it’s bleeding steadily, about a hands-length of torn skin across Galinda’s right side.

Galinda looks down, gasping when she sees the wound, her face draining of color. Elphaba is sure it means the pain must’ve just hit, and she puts her hands under the girl’s elbows to steady her, worry rising and making her stomach twist. She starts to try and lead Galinda toward the bathroom, but--

“My skirt!” Galinda’s voice is high and horrified, her hands going to her side not to inspect the wound, but to grab at the torn scraps of cloth dangling from the side of it. She sounds so utterly heartbroken and scandalized by the sight, and Elphaba would be amused, usually, if it weren’t for the fact that Galinda is bleeding. 

The sight of the brilliant ruby droplets pooling outside of Galinda’s body makes Elphaba’s heart do gymnastics in her chest, and not in a good way. Icy fear creeps down her spine even if, logically, she knows it’s a superficial wound. 

It’s just-

Galinda doesn’t even seem to care. She doesn’t even seem to notice, the pain not registering for either her torn side or her bruised knees. She’s more worried about her stupid clothes than her own body, and it’s an unfortunate pattern that Elphaba has come to see in the girl. One that frustrates her to no end. 

Galinda tries to pull out of Elphaba’s hold to turn back toward the closet by her bed--to get a new skirt, to grab her sewing kit, to continue searching for the perfect outfit, Elphaba isn’t sure--and Elphaba feels her patience snap. 

“Galinda,” she growls, tightening her hands and giving the blonde a light shake. “You’re bleeding.” 

“I know! It’s going to ruin the fabric, this skirt is custom and I only have a set amount because Shiz gives all new students the same set of--”

“I don’t care about your skirt!” Elphaba cuts off. “You’re hurt, Galinda!”

Galinda finally stills, blinking at Elphaba dumbly and then looking down at her side like she can’t process why Elphaba is so worked up. “Yes?” 

Biting back a groan, Elphaba once again tries to steer the blonde to the bathroom. “So we need to clean it and make sure it isn’t deep enough to need stitches. At the very least, you’ll likely need a bandage.”

“It doesn’t even hurt, Elphaba, I’m fine, and I don’t have time for--”

“Not negotiable.” 

Galinda pouts but lets herself be taken to the bathroom and shoved down to sit on the cold edge of the tub. Her hands find the porcelain edge, gripping tight enough to make her knuckles white as her knee bounces anxiously. Elphaba grabs the first aid kit from under the sink, using the moment with her back turned to take a deep breath and still the shakiness in her own hands. 

Galinda is fine. It’s just a tiny bit of blood, it’s no big deal. 

“You’ll have to take your skirt off,” Elphaba says as she turns back around. She digs through the kit while Galinda shifts her hips enough to do as she’s told, both girls too distracted to make a big deal about her state of undress. 

Elphaba’s mind is whirling slightly, thoughts and feelings tumbling over each other, so she keeps her lips pressed tightly together as she crouches to gently clean the scrape, washing it with clean water and dabbing at it with alcohol that makes Galinda wince and hiss. 

“Sorry,” Elphaba mutters. Galinda seems to have picked up on her mood and is staying quiet herself, staring at the sink instead of watching Elphaba. She sucks in a few more pained hisses but otherwise remains still and silent. 

It isn’t until Elphaba is carefully laying a soft bandage across the girl’s hip, securing it with a potentially-excessive amount of adhesive strips, that Galinda speaks up. “Are you mad at me?” she whispers. Her body tenses slightly as she awaits an answer. 

“I-- No,” Elphaba stutters. She takes a breath. “No, I’m not mad. I just…I wish you would care about yourself more. You were more worried about your clothes than your hip.”

“Sorry.” There’s something fragile and vulnerable to Galinda’s shaky voice that makes Elphaba realize that while she has been gathering herself and calming down, Galinda has been spiraling internally and only getting more worked up. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Elphaba says. She finishes securing the bandage and shifts so she can catch Galinda’s eyes. The other girl tries to duck away, so Elphaba reaches out to lift her chin. “I really am not upset, Galinda. I just care about you.”

She can see the moment Galinda gets a little overwhelmed, a spark of panic in her eyes matching the way her pulse jumps and her breath catches. “It’s okay,” Elphaba says immediately. “Just breathe.”

Galinda tries, her chest heaving slightly. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Elphaba calmly instructs. She places both of her hands on the blonde’s knees, rubbing her thumbs in steady circles as she makes her own breathing deep and loud. “What has you so worked up?”

Galinda shakes her head. “Y-you-- I’m-- You’re gonna think I’m s-stupid.”

“Never. I could never.” Elphaba takes another deep breath, coaxing Galinda into following along. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

“I-I have-- I’ve got--” Galinda breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as she takes several more quick, shallow breaths. 

“In your nose and out your mouth,” Elphaba reminds her. Galinda nods sharply, because they’ve done this before; she knows this trick. 

When she’s managed to get enough air to speak properly, she tries again. “Pfannee…and ShenShen…invited me to a-a dinner, tonight…in the city.”

“Okay. And you need something to wear?” Elphaba deduces.

Galinda nods rapidly. “Sh-ShenShen said not to, to look like a college kid.”

Elphaba keeps her face carefully neutral because she knows why Galinda was worried about her reaction. To Elphaba, this whole thing seems like an entirely inconsequential issue in the grand scheme of life. Galinda has lots of pretty clothes that make her look plenty mature, but the fact of the matter is that she is a college kid, and she shouldn’t take ShenShen’s words to heart. 

However, Elphaba knows that to Galinda, such issues and comments are a big deal, and she wouldn’t be a good friend or roommate if she laughed in the face of Galinda’s anxieties. The younger girl can’t help how she feels, and pointing out that it’s nothing to worry about has never gone over very well. 

“Well, first,” Elphaba starts. “Just take a second and breathe, okay? I am happy to help you find something to wear to dinner, and I have no doubt you’ll look amazing in it.”

“Bu-but what if--”

“Galinda, your wardrobe is the envy of the whole school, and you’re gorgeous, okay? There’s no way you’ll be anything less than stunning tonight.”

A delicate blush rises to Galinda’s cheeks, painting them a rosy pink. She ducks her head, and this time Elphaba lets her, sitting back on her heels with a soft grin. 

“Second,” she continues, her voice dropping into something more serious. “If and when you feel this overwhelmed, you know you can always come to me, right? I will never, ever think you’re stupid for your feelings.”

Galinda’s blush deepens, but she does raise her eyes again so soft chocolate meets rich emerald. She takes a deep, if a bit shaky, inhale. “Thank you,” she whispers. She removes her vice-like grip from the edge of the tub and lets them slide into Elphaba’s waiting hands. 

Elphaba gives both their hands a squeeze. “Third,” she says, tipping her chin to Galinda’s bandaged side. “Please, please, Galinda. Promise me you’ll be more careful?”

“It’s just a scratch--”

“A scratch that was bleeding, and all you cared about was your skirt.” Elphaba sighs, shaking her head. She had told Galinda she wasn’t mad. “It worries me that you don’t see the issue here.”

Galinda pouts, her bottom lip quivering as tears gather in her big brown eyes. “Elphieee” she starts to whine, but Elphaba steels her heart and manages to resist the potent sight. 

“Galinda--” Elphaba takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and laying her cheek against the girls’ conjoined hands. When she opens them again, she hopes Galinda can’t see the depth of the emotions she’s trying to hide. “I care about you, Galinda. Not your clothes. I-I don’t want to see you hurt. Ever.”

Galinda’s performative pout shifts into something much more genuine. She slides off the tub, falling practically into Elphaba’s lap as the older girl lets herself sink to her butt on the cold tiled floor. Galinda is a warm weight across her thighs as the younger girl unclasps her hands so she can loop her arms around Elphaba’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Galinda mumbles, hiding her face in Elphaba’s neck as she speaks. She sighs, slumping further into Elphaba as the older girl carefully holds her in place, trying to ignore the feeling of Galinda’s bare legs draped over her lap. For a moment, they just breathe together, finding their balance after the previous whirlwind. 

They fit together like puzzle pieces, curling around each other as their heartbeats sync up and Elphaba’s legs grow numb. “Will you promise to be more careful?” Elphaba whispers once more. She runs her fingers up and down Galinda’s spine, feeling it stiffen slightly as Galinda works on her response. 

“I promise,” she eventually says. “I- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know.” Elphaba pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together. The weight of her feelings spreads out from the point of contact, a warm rush of honeyed love flowing through her veins. 

“You matter to me,” Elphaba says, eyes closed against the sight of Galinda’s earnest gaze so close to her. “A lot more than any clothes. I don’t want you to be so careless that you really hurt yourself one day.”

Galinda stifles a sound that could almost be a tiny whimper. Two soft palms come up to cradle Elphaba’s cheeks, thumbs brushing against freckled skin. “You don’t have to worry so much, Elphie. I’m a big girl.”

Galinda’s voice is barely a whisper, ghosting over Elphaba’s lips as the older girl swallows around the lump in her throat, and squeezes her eyes shut even tighter. How does she explain that she’s always going to worry about Galinda? That that’s just what you do for the people you love?

Not too many more words are said as the girls pry themselves off the floor and creep back into their messy bedroom. Elphaba takes Galinda by the hand to lead her through the maze, pushing piles of clothes and shoes and belts and bags aside to make space for them to walk. 

This time, when Elphaba’s foot catches the edge of a rug and she stumbles slightly, not quite a trip, it’s met with Galinda’s sweet giggles, the blonde tugging on their hands to steady Elphaba as a furious blush rises to green cheeks. Her clumsiness at least seems to have lifted the mood.

“Watch your step,” Galinda sing-songs, hopping forward to put herself right under Elphaba’s chin as she grins at her. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Elphaba rolls her eyes with a huff, but her glowing cheeks give her away as Galinda squeezes their hands once more and leans up to press the most fleeting of kisses to Elphaba’s cheek. “You matter to me, too, Elphie,” she whispers, almost like a secret.

They’re not quite the words either of them wants to say, deep in their heart of hearts, but Elphaba can feel it all the same. She lets it fill her, swelling under her ribs and making her cheeks glow for reasons beyond a touch of embarrassment. 

At some point, they’re going to have to pick everything up. At some point, Galinda will remember she still has a dinner to get to and all her clothes are wrinkled and spread across the floor. Elphaba knows that the anxiety is rooted too deep in the blonde’s brain to be swept away so easily.

But for right now, Elphaba will cherish this moment with Galinda so close she can count the golden flecks in her eyes and promise herself that, the next time Galinda trips, Elphaba will at least be there to catch her before she falls.

[cloversplace]

TW: Suicidal thoughts/self-harm, brief mentions of an eating disorder, very brief (and non-graphic) mentions of vomit

All of the Curtis brothers have attempted to kill themselves at least once.

Darry’s tried the most, at 13, 15, and then at 20, a few days after their parents died. If Pony and Soda had gotten sent away by the state, he would’ve gone through with it. When he was younger, his parents brought him to the hospital, and made up a story to tell the rest of the gang. None of them found out until years later, after their parents had died. Darry hides all the scars on his arms and wrists.

While Pony and Johnny were missing. Soda spiraled into depression, Steve had practically moved in with them. Soda could barely get out of bed in the mornings and almost collapsed several times on the job; he wasn’t allowed to work on the cars that week. Right after Sandy left, when everyone else had given up hope on finding the boys. When they had basically been pronounced dead, Soda tried to die the only way he knew how to. On the train tracks. He didn’t have a car, so he walked out onto them, standing there as the train grew closer. Steve stopped him before he could go through with it though. Soda now has to live with the eternal guilt that he was possibly the one to give Dally the idea of dying via train.

Ponyboy also tried multiple times. Right after Johnny and Dally died, he tried to hang himself, though Steve entered the house unknowingly just in the nick of time. Pony tried again a few months later, right before what would’ve been Johnny’s 17th birthday. Two-bit found him and managed to get Pony to spit the pills out before he swallowed too many. He still took him to the hospital just to be safe. After that, all the pill bottles (especially the Aspirin) were locked away in Darry’s room.

The brothers had a long talk with each other after that. They agreed they couldn’t afford to lose any one of them. Slowly, the self-harming stopped, no more cuts, no more attempts. They stuck together. It couldn’t erase the scars on Darry’s wrists, the ones on Pony’s fingers, from forcing himself to vomit. Or the thin lines on the back of Soda’s thighs. But they could make the mental image of them begin to fade.

[risingsunresistance]

i've fallen back into my high school gacha obsession, so i made him into a cookie. idk what he'd be called but he's strawberry flavored 🍓

[etoiile]

boys who are known as talkative and loud but go completely silent the minute a word falls out of your mouth. they hang onto every word you say and listen completely and carefully while his friends are just sitting there shocked at his quietness.

"huh? yeah, he's pretty quiet! he's a good listener."

"girl. NO HE'S NOT"

itadori, bachira, hinata, bokuto, and ur other energetic favs <3

©etoiile

[iphyslitterator]

Invasion

@118dailydrabble, day 79

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 13, "love declarations"

“You love me,” Buck says breathlessly.

“Mm. How do you know that?”

“I saw your calendar,” Buck sighs, squirming under Tommy's tongue on his sternum. “You're marrying me next month.”

“Blatant invasion of privacy.” Tommy stretches on top of him, skin to skin. “You'll be hearing from my lawyers, Mr. Buckley.”

“Kinard,” Buck says dreamily. “I'm taking my husband’s name.”

“That's sweet.” Tommy pets his hair. “What a good sweet boy you are. He must love you.”

It doesn't land right. But Tommy senses it almost before Buck does and turns sincere, scooping up Buck’s hand and kissing it.

“I love you, Evan,” he murmurs between tender kisses, and the future Mr. Evan Kinard happily says it back.

[southofsound]

G/T Fairytale

I'm currently writing this very elaborate g/t au fanfiction and I ended up making this as a sort of, fun exercise to get the plot down for the first act? Anyway, I turned it into a fairytale and it kinda works as a stand-alone thing, I like it a lot so I wanted to share it!

A Folktale for the Big and Small

Once, there was a young man in a world of giants. 

Eager to search the world for what little adventure it might offer, he left his small town in hopes of bigger stories. 

But in his search, rather than stories he found Massive, Vicious beasts. One such beast stole him away and locked him up in a tower so that he might never breathe free air again.

The young man, small as he was, passed many days and nights in the big bad man’s house, and feared that he was doomed to stay there forever. But, just when hope seemed at it’s lowest; The Big, Bad Giant’s sister helped the Young man escape. 

Go, she told him. And may my evil brother never find you, she said, before helping the Young man into the bag of another visiting giant.

The sister had promised the young man that this giant would be good to him, kind and honest. But the young man, too troubled by his imprisonment of the big bad man, did not take her heed. He hid himself from this new giant, even as they left the Vicious man’s tower together. 

Even as this new Giant brought them both to his home. 

The young man snuck out of this Giant's bag and hid, hoping for the perfect moment to escape. But to his horror, this new house seemed just as much a cruel, locked-up tower as that of the Big Bad Giant’s,. There was no way he could escape! 

Many days and nights he spent there, too, with no chance of escape. But in his stay here, this new Giant didn’t seem so bad. Not as bad as the Big Bad Man from before, at least.

He was clever, The young man could see when he watched the new giant talk to his giant friends. He was a talented cook, who loved to draw, and detested the rude. The young man rather liked this giant, he thought—brave and clever, never letting slip any discourtesy. Everything a gentleman should be.

As the young man stayed hidden in this new tower, over his many days and nights he began to grow attached to the place, to the New Giant. Eventually, he didn’t want to escape as much anymore, he even considered staying. 

 But the young man had grown complacent, clumsy even—leaving traces of his presence all over this new Giant’s house. And when the new giant finally realized what was going on, he was furious!

In a blind rage at such a discourtesy, at an unwelcome guest making a home in his house without so much as a word, he tore the tower apart to find this wrongdoer. 

But the young man was still clever as ever, especially after all his years living with the big, bad, giant. He managed to escape the new giant’s grasp, even if by no more than a hair. When The New Giant had looked in all the places he could think to, checked every cranny and opened every nook, he gave up. 

After all, he couldn’t continue to ruin his home all for one discourteous guest. Perhaps, with all this ruckus, the intruder had left and his search was fruitless after all..

But the young man had not left. He was frightened and reminded terribly of his old captor, but he could not leave even if he tried. 

 Still, the young man knew well that he had wronged this giant—-so he left him a note. Apologizing. Though he couldn’t leave his message without reprimanding the Giant for all of the hardship he had put the young man through—that was one dreadfully nasty fit of rage!

A little more sure in his ability, after evading the giant once, the young man grew more bold. He left traces behind, but in all the wrong places. He watched as the Giant tried and tried to find him—but he was always one step ahead. 

This young man had been watching for so long, that he could imagine anything the giant might do, and soon enough even the giant realized it. 

But the giant, the young man did not know, was lonely. Perhaps he had visitors, and perhaps he enjoyed their company, perhaps he had more people to converse with than he could ever wish for—but he was lonely.

His guests could never truly understand him. Could not see him. This young man, although it was hard to admit it, filled a hole in his heart that had been empty for many years. This trespasser, the young man, knew him. Saw him. 

And before long, where once the Giant had been filled with fury for the young man, he found love for him. 

He loved every clue. He loved every small, out-of-place book, every cup, pen or chess piece.

He loved it all. 

Without ever once seeing his face, this new giant loved the small young man as much as one could possibly love another. 

Eventually, the giant wondered if he stopped trying to hunt out the young man, if he would show himself. So he played along—He pulled the books open to his favorite parts, circled his favorite quotes. He filled the shifted cup with tea. Placed a blank sheet of paper beneath the discarded pen. Moved the next chess piece.

I am not angry, anymore, he tried so desperately to tell the young man. But he would not show himself.

Not after the big bad giant from before. 

The young man liked the giant, he enjoyed quotes and the tea, he drew for the giant and played chess with him. 

But he did not trust him. 

One night, their dance was interrupted. A giant, sent by the Big, Bad, man from the young man’s past had arrived. He was there to take the Young man back. 

He stormed their tower of books and tea and struck the young man’s giant, smashing in his legs and forcing him to the ground. 

The young man watched in horror, for he did not know what to do. But, he could not simply sit back and let this life he had so happily made for himself go. He would not let the big, bad giant take his drawings and his chess pieces from him. 

His giant lay on the floor, staring up at the intruder with wide, vicious eyes, fearful that these moments would be his last—but those eyes did not scare the young man. His viciousness did not faze him. They were his to protect.

With nothing more than a sewing needle, stolen from the Big Bad Giant a long, long time ago, the young man lept from the highest point in the tower he could find. With no small amount of strength or courage, the young man drove his blade into the back of the intruder’s neck, killing him instantly. 

He and the intruder crumbled to the ground, a great, booming crash flooding the tower at their fall—but the giant, his giant, heard none of it.

All he could hear was his heart, beating in loud in his ears. Still too hurt to walk, the giant could do nothing but watch as his beloved guest fell, killed, and crumbled.

You are beautiful, he managed to tell the young man, who was suddenly closer than he had ever been before—within arms reach.

You are so beautiful. It was all he could say, because he’d never beheld so much beauty in so small a thing, in nothing larger either though. 

The young man, after defending his giant with his life, finally came closer. Approached his host and wished to beg for forgiveness, but could not force the words out of himself. 

Because he himself was too busy thinking about how beautiful the giant was. They met halfway, the Young man taking hold of the giant’s fingers and then realizing something very, very special indeed.

He loved the giant too, even if it would take a long, long time, before he could ever tell him.

~The End~

[jadewritesficshere]

Bathroom

Eddie Munson x female!reader

An unserious moment becomes serious talking about love.

Warnings: peeing (NOT watersports, you quite literally just pee in front of each other), fluff

The trailer door slams open as you rush inside. You and Eddie had been stuck in traffic- thanks construction. What normally would have been an hour drive back from Indy took three.

And you had to pee. There was no place to stop after the last city, and you didn't have to go then. The usually empty roads to Hawkins were flooded with people going on detours. You couldn't even pull over and just go in the country due to the amount of people.

You rushed to the bathroom and shut the door. Your bladder was screaming at you. The chill of the toilet seat didn't even bother you as you sat down.

You were about to go when the door popped open and Eddie strolled in. "Move your legs i gotta go too," Eddie said unzipping his jeans. Your mouth dropped in shock for a second," What? No!" Eddie scoffed," I won't pee on you. I've got great aim."

You crossed your arms," Eddie, my thighs are too big. This bathroom is so tiny, I wouldn't even be able to spread my legs enough."

Eddie opens his mouth to argue but you speak again," Just go in the shower." Eddie gasps and throws a hand against his chest," Weren't you the one who said not to go in the shower? The hypocrisy!"

You roll your eyes," We aren't currently showering Eds, the shower is to get clean-" "You can pee and then get clean! You're in the shower and cleaning already!"

Your bladder screams in protest again," Eddie just wait for me to pee and then you can. Or you can use the shower."

Eddie grumbles but turns towards the shower. Theres a moment of silence between you both before you both start going. Eddie is the only person you would feel comfortable going in front of.

The relief your bladder feels is immediate. You hang your head for a second as you sigh, your hands clasped in front of you. The feeling of a hand on your head causes you to glance up. Eddie's eyes lock with yours as you both continue to go.

"What?" You narrow your eyes at him. "Just was thinking," Eddie starts but you cut him off," Eyes on the stream!" Eddie's vision darts back to where his stream had inched closer to the edge of the tub. "Whoops." "Great aim huh?" You chuckle, grabbing his hand off your head and holding it in yours.

Eddie smiled slightly," You thought i had good aim last night." You both chuckle as he squeezes your hand slightly," Nah I was just thinking. For better or worse yeah? Sickness and in health? We should add those who pee together stay together or something."

Both of your streams come to an end as you stare at Eddie. Your heart beats faster suddenly. Eddie tucks himself back in his jeans as you clear your throat. "You wanna marry me?" You ask quietly. You had hoped but...

Eddie's head snaps over to you," You didn't know?" You shrug as you grab toilet paper. "Hold on- shit!" Eddie stubs his toe against the sink as he quickly turns it on to wash his hands. You clean up as he scrubs soap quickly over his hands. He rinses it off as you stand back up, pulling your pants up. He haphazardly dries his hands on a towel and grabs your face in his hands.

You can still feel some water and soap on his hands drip down your cheeks. "Baby," Eddie's brown eyes stare into yours, " I love you. So much. I thought I made that clear, but if you have a single doubt then I havent done my job well. I. Love. You."

Eddie nods once before kissing your forehead," I would do anything. Even the gross things. Like letting you pop my pimples. Or rubbing your back as you throw up. Or holding your hand while you poop."

You wrinkle your nose," Ew. You've never held my hand while I pooped before." Eddie nods gravely," I would be willing to suffer thro-" you slap his arm in mock offense as he breaks down in laughter, causing you to join in.

Eddie grins at you," Yeah, no seriously. I would do anything for you. I would fight Vecna again- which was probably the worst thing I've been through. But I would do it again, willingly, for you. In the worst of times to the best of times, I want to be with you. You already own my heart and I would carve it out of my chest and hand it to you. My heart beats for you."

You smile at Eddie and pull him in for a hug," And I love you. I love you with my whole heart, mind, and soul. Every fiber of my being screams my love for you. "

You lean into his hold, swaying slightly as he hugs you. "I love you so much," Eddie mumbles. You pull back to look at him," Did we just say our vows in a bathroom?" Eddie barks out a laugh," I think we did."

Eddie grins at you and removes a ring from his hand," I'll get you a real one later, but uh since we already said our vows. Figure i should ask if ya wanna marry me." "Yeah, I guess I'll marry you," you feign nonchalance as you excitedly grab the ring and slide it on your hand.

You both laugh slightly, the love radiating from you two. You shake your head and grin, because only Eddie Munson would propose in a bathroom. And only you would say yes.

[kokostarbits]

🌼🔮Stuck with the Soggy Cat🔮🌼

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

Part 4:

🌟💕The Realization💕🌟

Meta Knight had fought gods.

He had flown into warzones, faced ancient beasts, stood toe-to-toe with nightmares made real, but NOTHING could have prepared him for the absolute disarray one reformed cat wizard could bring into his home.

Magolor was currently upside down on the couch.

"Why are you like this?" Meta Knight asked, arms crossed.

"I read somewhere that increasing blood flow to the head boosts creativity." Magolor said, voice muffled by the blanket he'd tangled himself in. "I'm brainstorming soup recipes."

Meta Knight stared at him for a long moment.

"I'm going to make tea."

"Don't forget the one I like!"

"You like every tea."

"Exactly, don't forget it!"

Meta Knight disappeared into the kitchen, and as the kettle began to boil, he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes.

It had been a quiet day. No strange mushrooms. No cosmic mishaps. Just Magolor... being Magolor. Lounging around the house, and humming while he cleaned up the mess he made five minutes earlier. Laughing. Talking.

And something about it all (about him) had started to take up more and more space in Meta Knight's chest.

The way he smiled now softer than it used to be. The way he still rambled, but with less bravado and more honesty. The way he never hesitated to plop down beside Meta Knight on the couch like he belonged there.

Like he'd always belonged there.

Meta Knight poured the tea slowly.

When he returned to the living room, Magolor had shifted. He was no longer upside down. He was curled up under the blanket, ears twitching gently, fast asleep with his head on a pillow and his fingers loosely holding a crumpled recipe note.

Meta Knight stood there for a moment, tea in hand, completely still.

His heart did something weird.

He set the tea down.

Walked over.

Sat on the couch beside him.

The warmth from Magolor's small, curled-up form radiated softly. The room was quiet.

Safe.

Meta Knight told himself he was just going to sit for a minute. Just long enough to rest.

Then Magolor stirred, blinked up at him sleepily, and mumbled, "Mmmh... you smell nice..."

Meta Knight froze.

Magolor didn't even open his eyes. He just scooted closer and (without a hint of hesitation) rested his head against Meta Knight's side, and stayed there.

Meta Knight's entire brain stopped working.

This was fine. This was completely fine. There was a tiny creature nuzzling into his cape and making the softest purring sound imaginable and calling him nice-smelling and why was this suddenly more terrifying than fighting galactic horrors!?

He went to move.

Magolor let out a soft sigh and whispered, "Stay..."

Meta Knight didn't move.

He stared straight ahead at the wall for a solid ten minutes while his heart beat loud enough to summon a small army.

Eventually he let himself relax... Just a little.

His wing shifted to drape over Magolor, light and protective, and he rested a gloved hand gently on top of the little wizard's sleeping form.

"...You're trouble..." he murmured.

Magolor, still half-asleep, smiled against his side.

But Meta Knight didn't pull away.

Not this time.

Magolor shifted again eventually.

Still curled up against Meta Knight, he mumbled something incomprehensible and reached out blindly with one hand.

Meta Knight glanced down just as Magolor’s fingers brushed against his glove—then curled around it.

Gently. Loosely. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Meta Knight’s breath caught.

He didn’t move.

He COULDN'T move.

Magolor’s hand was small, warm even through the fabric, and now very, very firmly holding his.

Meta Knight stared at the tiny intertwined fingers like they were some kind of ancient riddle he hadn’t trained for. The last boss in a game he didn’t know he was playing. His brain was looping one sound on repeat: he’s holding my hand he’s holding my hand he’s holding my—

It was fine. It was perfectly, completely fine. It was just—Magolor was asleep, probably not even conscious of what he was doing. The hand-holding didn’t mean anything... RIGHT???

Except that Magolor’s fingers gave the tiniest little squeeze.

Meta Knight's soul launched itself into the sun.

His wings twitched. His mask felt too warm. His entire body felt like it had been plugged into some high-voltage embarrassment circuit.

And yet… he didn’t let go.

For several long minutes, they stayed like that: one fast asleep, one staring at absolutely nothing with the intensity of someone experiencing an emotional hurricane in complete silence.

Then, finally, Magolor stirred again.

He blinked slowly, sleep-mussed and bleary-eyed, and looked up at their joined hands.

There was a beat.

His eyes widened.

Meta Knight, already on the brink of combustion, immediately looked away.

"I—uh—you—" Magolor's voice cracked. His ears went pink. "Did I—?"

"You were asleep." Meta Knight said quickly, voice a little too even.

"O-oh." Magolor looked back down at their hands.

He didn’t let go.

Meta Knight didn’t either.

"...Is this okay?" Magolor asked softly.

Meta Knight hesitated. Just a breath. Then:

"...Yes."

And for once, Magolor didn’t make a joke.

He just smiled—small and real—and rested his head back against Meta Knight’s side.

"...I... um... actually can't believe you still stayed..." he said, a little surprised.

Meta Knight looked down at him. “You asked me to.”

Magolor paused, then grinned sleepily. “Yeah, but usually you grumble about it and try to pretend you’re not secretly a huge softie.”

“I’m NOT a huge softie.” Meta Knight said immediately.

Magolor raised an eyebrow.

“You’re literally holding my hand.”

Meta Knight looked away, flustered. “You’re the one who grabbed mine.”

“And you haven’t let go.”

“Hush.”

Magolor snorted. A real bright little laugh. His fingers gave another squeeze—playful this time, not sleepy.
It was such a simple gesture, but Meta Knight felt it like a spell.

Magolor tilted his head slightly, studying him.

There was a flicker of something thoughtful behind his gaze.

“Y’know…” he said slowly. “You don’t have to keep pretending you don’t like me.”

Meta Knight froze.
Time stopped. The world stopped. The galaxy stopped.

Magolor blinked, suddenly realizing what he’d just said.

“I-I mean—!!” he flailed, ears flapping, voice jumping an octave. “Not like like like! I meant—like, tolerate! Or, y’know, not hate! Like—friendly-like!!”

Meta Knight turned to look at him. Slowly. Calmly.
Internally screaming.

“…Do you always ramble this much when you're nervous?” he asked, voice low but not unkind.

Magolor immediately buried his face in the pillow.
“I’m going back to sleep...” he mumbled. “This is too embarrassing. Leave me to perish.”

Meta Knight was quiet for a long moment.

Then—

“...For the record...” he said softly, “I do like you.”

Magolor peeked out from the pillow, eyes wide and ears very pink. “…What kind of like are we talking here?”

Meta Knight didn’t answer.

He just squeezed Magolor’s hand, gentle and certain.

And Magolor’s smile bloomed like spring.🌷💕✨

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

Ahem! May I interest you in some more... METALOR!?!? 💕🌷

Part 4 is here!!!!! I CAN'T wait to show you what part 5 is about! I actually enjoy making stories! After this one is done I wouldn't mind making more every now and then. (Along with art of course) 🥹🌷 Sorry part 4 was kind of long 😅 ...anyways - LETS GOOOOOO!!!!

🌷💕🪐🌟✨🌏

[dapandapod]

Rough day

Hello there my dears! It's been a minute! This little thing was … literally written 5 minutes ago on discord, then slapped to Ao3 because there are like 7 minutes left of today and it's Valentines day, oh yeah, happy valentines! And I wanted it. So yeah, please enjoy! <3 On Ao3 here

It had been a rough day. As rough days usually go, it wasn't too bad, no mortal wounds to worry about, just a light stabbing and a bit of slicing.

It stills hurts like all seven hells. Not that Geralt would willingly admit that, but staggering back to camp with a knife in the thigh and a cut along his ribs, it just sucks.

Now with the knife placed elsewhere, some Swallow swallowed down, as Jaskier so elegantly put it, and a nice bandadge around his chest, Geralt is feeling somewhat better. The stabs and cuts will heal within a day or two, the bruising tends to fade away, but the ache likes to linger.

The fire is cracking merrily in the middle of their little camp, the little firepit jut big enough to fit a pot on top of it, but it's doing its best to lighten the mood. Jaskier is not.

There is a tilt to his mouth that Geralt doesn't like, something that isn't a smile.

He is still kneeling in front of Geralt, helping with the awkward reach of the bandages behind his back. It's a bit worrying that he isn't saying anything, and the way Jaskier is looking at him makes Geralt want to squirm. Witchers doesn't squirm, though, so he doesn't.

"What?" Geralt asks when the silence drags on too long.

"I was just thinking..." Jaskier trails off, and Geralt has to bite his tongue not to snark, it doesn't seem like the right time. So he waits, somewhat patiently.

He is not used being watched like this. Or rather, he is not used to Jaskier watching him like this. Like he is being studied, as if Jaskier is looking for something, and Geralt is suddenly strangely worried of lacking.

"Do you know how hard it is to stay behind?" Jaskier asks, rising to stand on his knees so their faces is at level. Something in Geralt's chest clenches and unclenches at the same time.

"Yes, you want to see."

"No. Well, yes, but no."

Instead of responding, how do you even respond to that, Geralt lifts his eyebrows at Jaskier, and the bard makes the strangest expression. Fond but sad, tilting his head in that very puppy like way that always makes Geralt give in to what ever nonsense Jaskier is pitching next.

There is still blood on Jaskier's hands when he lifts it, fingers just brushing Geralt's chin, hesitating to see if he will be rebuffed.

Geralt is too taken aback to push him away, yes, that is what this feeling is.

"The worst part is never knowing if this is the time you won't come back. Or how hurt you will be when you do."

Geralt frowns at that, as Jaskier's finger carefully brush upward another inch. Jaskier's eyes are on the movement, there is something wistful in it that makes Geralt ache in a new way entirely.

"I know it's a hazard of the job for you, but... for me? I'm scared."

Jaskier's other hand lands on Geralt's knee to support himself, the touch a warm comfort on his uninjured leg.

"The day you don't come back, I honestly don't know what to do."

Jaskier's wandering finger reaches Geralt's cheekbone, traces along the scar that travels up and through his eyebrow, and Geralt has to close his eyes to the sensation.

It's so gentle it's more of a tickle as it traces down his temple, where it's joined by Jaskier's thumb.

"And I know this is what I signed up for when I... When we started this," the way he says 'this' makes Geralt open his eyes and watch Jaskier, and just.. lean in to the touch, just a little. "but it doesn't make it any easier," Jaskier finishes.

On impulse, Geralt grabs the hand on his knees and brings it up to his face, resting it along his cheek.

"I never minded leaving before," Geralt admits quietly. "To have someone who cared outside their own safety if I came back. It helps."

Jaskier smiles, but it looks sad, and Geralt doesn't like it, not at all. He turns his head just enough to nuzzle into Jaskier's palm, his nose brushing against a pale wrist. He can smell his own blood on Jaskier, something that the bard never should have to deal with.

"Geralt," Jaskier says quietly, and their eyes meet. The air is cooling, with Jaskier blocking the firelight and his sweaty, torn tunic somewhere next to them, Geralt's skin prickles. In the tree line to the side he can hear Roach grazing, a soft rustle among the branches above.

Not another word is spoken aloud when Jaskier's fingers takes up the path anew, along Geralt's cheek, under his jaw, over the bridge of his nose.

For a moment, Jaskier's gaze flickers to Geralt's, before looking back down, to where his thumb finally rests on Geralt's chin, index finger finding the corner of his mouth.

If there was a tickling sensation before, it's nothing to what he feels now. It's like his entire focus is on that finger, how it hesitates before tracing the outline of Geralt's upper lip to his cupids bow and back.

Geralt can't help the sigh that escapes him, nor how he holds Jaskier's hand a bit tighter to his face. His breath catches on Jaskier's fingers, especially when they once more travel along his lips.

Geralt has never wanted to be kissed more in his entire life.

"Don't let me do anything stupid," Jaskier murmurs, pausing to trace a finger back and forth along the seam of Geralt's mouth.

The distance between them has shrunk without the witcher noticing, but it still feels too far.

With his free hand, Geralt reach between them and catching Jaskier's chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling him closer. Jaskier has just about time shift his hand before he is being guided into a kiss, soft and dry and lingering.

They pull back with a soft sound, lips reluctant to part, eyes still closed.

"Was this stupid?" Geralt asks in a murmur, rubbing little circles to the back of Jaskier's hand still pushed to his cheek.

"Immensely. How am I supposed to stop now?" Jaskier's thumb is resting in the corner of Geralt's mouth now, just a little in the way when the bard kisses him again.

"Hmm, maybe you shouldn't," Geralt says between kisses, then hums again when the bard is perssing closer and he finds himself reaching for Jaskier's hip, along his back, to hold him closer.

As rough days goes, this wasn't all too bad. Jaskier is soft and pliant in his arms, much more so than he expected of the stubborn bard. After a while they settle into their bedrolls, and Geralt's closing wound stings something fierce as he lies down.

Next to him, Jaskier has his bed roll just close enough for him to capture Geralt's hand. They fall asleep like that, hands twined together in a dance that hopefulle will last past morning.

No, for a rough day, this wasn't too bad at all.

[cassiefisherdrake]

My sweet little cowgirl who purrs so, so much when I fluff her bean bag for her bedtime.

[fishhateme]

okay fine let's address the elephant in the room i've abandoned this blog BUT i needed to cope after singapore yall after a good two months of no contact with any media of my pookie danny and the subsequent exposure to THE maxiel paddel date (ft. temporarily adopted paddel prodigy??) i'm ready to be back on my bullshit

this time? angsty introspective danny and max comforting him, aka ao3 hasn't been hitting and im in crisis

if it sucks it's because i haven't written fanfic in ages (started uni and it kicked me in the teeth, the only reason i can justify spending time on this is because at this point it's a Coping Mechanism™)

also i know the whole part things is a pain in the ass but tumblr wont let me write posts as long as i want them to idk i hate technology i was born in the wrong century (id rather die of the black death at 20 than have to deal with hyperlinks again thanks for asking)

read it here

[spiderin-space]

Next chapter up!! And sketches down below!!

[hiphopcherrrypop]

Would you draw some Jabashiri x Hagure fluff? Idk, just something where they are softies for each other ❤️

The brainrot is brainrotting

meoww