#im writing backwards because i started in the middle

[hhoneycloves]

And what if they were on a Swingset? What if they were Swinging? What if they? Swingset?

[mydearesthrry]

forever - h.s.

a/n: small blurbs are a majority of what im gonna be pushing out for the next few days as i try to write out the first few chapters of my new short series, the first chapter already has 4k+ and i havent even gotten to the meat of it. i hope you enjoy this!

🎀 warnings/cw: fluff :(, husband!harry which in my eyes is a warning of its own

🐇 pairing: newlywed!reader x newlywed!harry styles

💐 wc: 530

summary: harry and his wife’s first dance a married couple. (listen to forever by the beach boys while reading for full experience!!!)

“And now for the part of the night that our newest bride and groom have been waiting for, the first dance as husband and wife!” Gemma says into the microphone, gesturing for Y/N and Harry to stand in the middle of the dance floor. 

They walk to the middle hand in hand, Harry turning to walk backwards, hands in both of hers now as he leads her to the middle. He has the biggest, most lovesick smile on his face, bright enough to put the moon herself to shame. Y/N has an identical smile on her face, and Harry swears he could have a heart attack just by how beautiful she looks tonight. When they end up in the middle, they pull each other in for a soft embrace, Y/N resting her head on his shoulder as the music starts. 

If every word I said could make you laugh,

I’d talk forever (together my love)

I asked the sky just what we had, 

And it shone forever

They swayed side to side, tears filling both of their eyes. They slow danced to this song at their first formal as boyfriend and girlfriend, and since then it’s held the utmost significance to them. “Can y’believe that we’re married now?” Harry whispered into his wife’s ear. 

She smiled against his neck. “No, my love. I really can’t. It hasn’t kicked in yet, if I’m being honest. However, I can’t wait to get to the hotel and cuddle with you, my feet hurt so much.” 

Harry chuckled. “Well, as a part of my husbandly duties, I say we sit on the sofa and watch a romcom, if y’want me to I can rub y’feet.” 

“What? Oh my god, if I’d known that it would just take us being married for you to rub my feet I would’ve married you years ago.” She gasped, knowing the weird fear Harry had of feet. 

He snorted and rolled his eyes, knowing she would know what he did, and she was right. Smacking the back of his neck softly, she giggled, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, drama queen. We both know I wanted to marry you since you asked me to be your girlfriend.” 

“Yes I do, my love.”

Let the love I have for you

Live in your heart

And be forever

Forever, forever

I’ve been so happy loving you

“D’you remember at our formal, when we danced to this for the first time? M’hands we’re so sweaty, and I had Gems teach me how to slow dance with a girl. She stopped because she got annoyed that I kept stepping on her feet, but I tried!” He giggled into her ear, making her heart grow 5x bigger. 

“I didn’t, sweet boy. Thought that you just had the natural dancer gene.” She said honestly, but if she wasn’t embarrassed enough to say it, she would tell you that she could nearly cry because of how sweet that was. 

“Yep, bruised toes and all, but hey, it worked out, didn’t it?” Harry smiled. 

“Tremendously. I love you, Mr Styles.” 

“I love you forever, Mrs. Styles.” 

I’m gonna love you in your way

Forever

[xanderindisguis]

just started animating after procrastinating starting it for years and im already going insane, any tips?

Four things I feel is important to note

Analyze other animations, note things you like and why, slow it down and take in the frames

Go easy on yourself, permit mistakes, make it messy, if there's something you could've done better that you realize after you made the animation then use that knowledge for the future

Take care of yourself!!! Eating, staying hydrated, getting good sleep, all that is super important outside of animating and super important when animating

And. PLAN your animations, each scenario you want, write down how you want the characters to move, I don't normally do this (DON'T FOLLOW MY EXAMPLE 🙏) but it's super helpful when I do

For the animating part itself, I'm not sure how to word it, things I found help me when animating is

- Lower FPS (I usually go with 9-11)

- Playing with duplicated frames, a common thing I do is duplicate frames to avoid redrawing them so much

- Not caring if the outline is blurry, distorted, or messy because I used the lasso tool to correct something. As long as it looks smooth, you know what you're looking at, and it gets the job done

- What I call "fade ins/outs". For example, you have two keyframes (move hand from A to B), you redraw the first one but slightly different (Hand moves like 2 pixels or smth), you redraw it again (hand moves 7 pixels), middle frame (between A and B), and do the exact same process but backwards

BUT a things I want people to know because I see it a lot and it makes me itch in a bad way

- When lip syncing, unless the anatomy of the character is different, or you have a style that fits it, THE JAW ALWAYS GOES DOWN. Your focus should be on opening it downwards

- CONSISTENCY, while your sketches may be lazy, please keep them consistent to the original frame. Don't stray TOO far from the keyframe, like something's too big, or the size keeps changing, or even in cases of lip syncing where the way it moves is different each time (Up down up down up down left up, yk??). THIS ONLY EVER WORKS if the situation calls for it!!!

((I've done tgis before witg lip syncing....))

- PLEASE. Note how to use smear frames. In small movements, it's not necessary, someone raising their arm doesn't need a giant smear to do. Use them when there's exaggerated, quick motions, and make sure there's still form to it so it's not just a blob

(Completely off topic, but there was a trend on tiktok with a filter where they'd make a hand shift into another thing like 🤚 to ✌️, and it bothered me so much because EVRRYYY time there was a smear frame BUT IT WASN'T NECESSARY and sometimes even ruined it)

- Don't be afraid to skip middle frames, like when someone's shaking an item in their hand, as long as the two keyframes are there and a few extra frames after the action, it should be alright, or when someone's laughing

I think that's about all I can say

[v3nusxsky]

Hi! I have an idea for a fic about Larissa/psychic reader(she's a teacher) ! I hope you'll like it!☺

R has visions, they're not all meant to happen and she knows that, the thing is, she doesn't know how to control it and when she touch people or people touch her, she doesn't only have visions, she share them too and she doesn't know how to stop that from happenning. So she wears gloves so there's no skin contact with people. These days, she seems to have very explicit visions about a specific person, her boss (of all people). And even if she's very aware that her visions aren't always true, she can't stop thinking about it. Somehow one day, she took off her gloves for whatever reason she had and forgot to put them back on and her hand brushed Larissa's and they both fell in a very specific vision (you could describe the vision if you want😁). Larissa's cheeks were flushed, she's was chocked by what she just saw and she asked R to explain what happenned.....and they end up having sex, you can be creative and add every kinks you want! Please?☺

I hope you wanna write it!

-shy anon🦋

What’s foretold 18+

*Authors note~ oooo I love this idea for reader to be psychic so im so excited to write this. I’m sorry for only one fic tonight my faints have been playing me up*

Trigger warnings~ Dom l Sub L mommy kink oral strap on thigh riding praise degrading humiliation breeding kink semi public sex sharing submissive r (mentioned) corruption kink

Prompt~see ask^^^^

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

You always made sure to adorn your gloves, they were made of the softest silk and you had s variety of colours to fit with your outfits, but the burgundy pair are your favourites. Psychics weren't a rare kind of outcasts but the type of psychic you are was most definitely rather unheard of. Because of the gloves, most people assumed you had elemental powers or something similar. The truth was touch, giving or receiving, would result in violently graphic visions. Not only that but whoever touched you was also subjected to what you saw. Visions aren't said to be reliable all the time, sometimes you saw the most horrific things and sometimes you saw some amazing things. There was no middle ground here for you.

Having your ability basically control your life was hard. You couldn't touch anyone really without showing them what you saw and that you couldn't control what you saw was upsetting. For those reasons you were rather isolated and extremely uncomfortable around others, always making sure no skin was showing to prevent the sharing.

Recently, you were being plagued with rather explicit visions of your boss. Highly inappropriate, you knew that but were absolutely powerless to stop them. They'd been happening for the past two weeks, lots of different visions but none the less hotter than the previous one. Recently, the vision you had was repeating over and over again was causing some issues for you. Being around the woman in question became too difficult for you, you would end up blushing and unable to keep eye contact with her even going as far as to stumble over your words.

Because of that reason you spent a lot of time in your classroom, alone and safe to let your skin breathe a little. You had some earphones in doing some marking which is how you missed her arrival. The beats distracting you from the world around you until you felt it. Your body violently thrown backward into a vision. Scanning the room to find the human who touched you, you were mortified to realise it was the headmistress. Her eyes transfixed onto the sight in front of you.

Larissa Weems hated meetings with the board, they were old and stuffy and often had outdated views. This meeting was rather interesting because before it started you and the headmistress had engaged in a extremely hot make out session where you began to rut against her toned thigh, until they knocked. Slight panic filled the blonde before she urged you under the desk and began the meeting. For the first few minutes you sat in shock, but hearing how stressed the older woman was, you felt compelled to help her out. And that's how she found herself trying to focus on those stuffy people while you licked, kissed and sucked over her long luscious legs and her clothed core. A subtle roll of the older woman's hips spurred you on to slide her underwear to the side and lick at her soaked folds.

You were forced out of the vision, jumping away as if the contact had burnt your skin and hurriedly shove your gloves on your hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" you whimpered over and over sounding like an afraid child. Larissa just seemed to be dazed, processing what she'd accidentally seen. You were spiralling, words flying from your mouth before you even had the chance to process what you were saying.

Larissa noticed how you were afraid of her reaction so she decided to take the risk, approaching you and slamming your lips together in a kiss. The kiss seemed to restart your failing brain as you pulled away gasping for air, "o god you kissed me? Did you want to oh-" you were shut up with another kiss. "Shush love, I don't mind what I saw, in fact it was nice to see it rather than just imagine it" she mumbled against your lips. "I uh um" you stuttered trying to process the woman's words but settled for another passionate kiss.

You relocated eagerly to Larissa's office as she wanted to discuss what she saw with you. But as things do, one thing led to the other and you now found yourself lip locked with your boss on her sofa. You straddling her thigh as she guided your hips into slow and steady movements of rutting against her. Your sex pulsing with the pleasure the movements caused. "Ris? " you panted resting your forehead to hers, "I uh im I never uh" you mumbled blushing embarrassed, almost as if you handing been dragging your clothed drenched cunt over her smooth milky white thighs.

"Oh pretty girl, mommys gonna take such good care of you, the visions showed you hmm?" She teased stroking your thigh and you couldn't help but flush bright red, remembering one vision that had Larissa  and a fiery redhead sharing you around as if you were nothing but a common whore, a mindless fuck toy for them to absolutely use and abuse all your holes. They worked in tandem until you were fucked dumb. "Mhm they did please" you whimpered, "want you to take me" was all the blonde needed to hear, for her to scoop you into her arms and your legs wrapped around her waist.

Truly you don't remember how or when but as soon as your back hit the bed, it was nothing but skin hitting the crisp sheets. Larissa stripped herself down to her underwear in a hope to make you feel less insecure, which completely worked because you were absolutely transfixed by the goddess in front of you. Larissa adored taking her time, exploring every inch of the virgin skin, what made you whine and whimper and what made you gasp. How if she sucked on your rosey pert bud your mouth would fall open ever so slightly and your hips buck upwards for her.

But truly something that she couldn't get enough of us your gasp as her tongue found your untouched folds. "Oh oh mommy" you whimpered enjoying the new yet strange but pleasant feeling of her tongue working on your slick folds. Because it was your first time, Larissa was extra careful but she can't deny when you came with an unexpected cry for her she couldn't help the need that doubled within her. "Oh fuck god was that" you tried and the blonde chucked. "You had an orgasm love." "More?" You mumbled with a satisfied yet lustful needy gaze. "Mommy can get her strap love? But it might hurt a little." You considered it for a thorough three seconds before pleading with her for that.

You couldn't take your eyes off the tall woman as she strapped the faux dick to her hips. "Mommy? Can't you just?" You trailed off not wanting to upset the shape shifter but curiosity was definitely killing you. "Oh sweetheart, I can and I will one day but I'm much bigger and thicker than my friend here", the smirk on her gorgeous lips said it all really. "Oh fuck me" you groaned and let your head meet the pillows. "Don't have to tell me twice" was the witty response you got before she approached your tired body once more.

You'd heard the horror stories of the first time, and truly it did hurt a tiny bit but if you could stick it out the pain would soon morph into something more enjoyable for you. Larissa made sure to comfort you as she slipped into your velvety walls. "Oh sweetheart I know, I know it hurts love, your doing so so well for me. Taking me so good. Almost all in love" she murmured pressing kisses to your neck or cheeks.

"Mommy" you whined, feeling her slip a hand to your aching clit, "please please" you whimpered. "Okay love, okay. We got to take things slowly otherwise you'll hurt sweetheart." The first few thrusts of her hips were slightly strange but you soon felt the pleasure become completely overwhelming for you. "Mommy! More more please" you mewled happily, causing the woman to pick her pace up and latching herself onto your pulse point. The feeling of your heart beating between her lips was truly something else. The moment her teeth scraped your pulse point you couldn't help but begin to beg and plead with her to make you cum for her.

Larissa moved your leg over her shoulder allowing her a deeper angle which was what threw you off the cliff into pools of blissful pleasure. "Mommy fuck no more please no more" you mumbled as you came back down from your high. "Okay sweetheart, kiss me?" The request has you doing a double take but happily obliging. Larissa used that opportunity to nibble on your lip, which caused you to moan happily and allowed her to slip from your drenched centre and distract you from any possible soreness there.

You were out of it, your first time being so magical and wonderful and truly but the visions you'd had to absolute shame. Larissa Weems is certainly one of a kind. You could tell that by how carful she was by cleaning the mess off your thighs. Even daring to get a cheeky extra taste before coming to hold you. "Are you okay sweetheart?" At first the mumbled reply was hard to hear so you repeated yourself, "mm so good better than visions so better" which caused the blonde to laugh and hold you close. "Okay sweetheart, you're exhausted. Get some rest."

Word count~ 1852

[definitelynotshouting]

Ask game #25?

mcytblr writer ask game

25.) What works and/or authors in the fandom do you recommend?

OH MAN..... GODS OKAY well this is about to become me gushing about my friends, but i think everyone and their mother should be reading @raichett, @droidofmay, @good-chimes, @sillyfairygarden, @sisyphean-writes, @renardroi's writing. Like holy shit i know some incredible authors. Grim in particular went and fully changed my brain chemistry with his fic Total Apogee of the Heart, which i do believe i described to him as "like reading an oil painting," and "like you've taken an axe to my chest and deftly split it down the middle to show me the inner workings of my heart," which is truly the palest of terms i can use to describe something that ended up feeling so soul-shocking to me /pos. The skillful way he twists words to layer these rich, saturated themes into his stories makes me INSAAAAAAANE, its pretty much the epitome of how i want to write when it comes to thematic elements and imbuing my narratives with symbolism. I genuinely dont know how to describe it, but the way he crafts sentences and weaves in references to other media is like reading a fairytale, and it leaves me feeling like ive just resurfaced from a dream every time.

And, ofc, my very good and dear friend Raichett with their ACP-verse-- oh my gods what an incredible read. Reincarnation fic with modern minecraft worldbuilding FUCKING SIGN ME UP..... i think this might be my favorite fic in the fandom because truly you can just feel the heart-wrench of how long Grian has been waiting, of all those words left unsaid during his and Scar's initial conversation that we the reader happen to be privy to. AND THE SEQUEL!!! THEE SEQUELLLLL THE ONGOING SEQUEL RAAAAAAAHH okay im normal im normal im normal <- lying. It just manages to hit every fucking trope i love all at once so i start frothing at the mouth whenever it gets updated or they send me snippets. I could read Raichett's writing for hours and hours and just feel so warm within it, truly beautiful prose and characterization :]

And ohhhh Sisyphean my beloved..... if you havent been reading their anonymous scarian fic series then please please do so, especially Bread and Butterflies, a fic they gifted me that made me simultaneously want to cry and also curl up into for the rest of my life. Something about the atmosphere in their fics, along with the juxtaposition of their unique form of humor, really just knocks it out of the park for me. And, of course, the gut-wrenching wing scene-- trust me, you need to read this fic. The reveal is so incredibly well done that it feels like a gauze being lifted from your eyes so you can finally see more than the lurking silhouette of what's been hinted at. Beautiful fic and evocative writing, i dont feel like i can do it justice you're just gonna have to go read it for yourself >:]

Sorry i told you this was gonna be me gushing so i am going to gush can we talk about Droid's fucking fics please. Can we talk about those. I've always been captivated by their writing, worldbuilding, and the way they so deftly weave implications into their prose to present a fic that feels so neatly-woven it practically breathes. Every work i've ever read from them, regardless of fandom, is some of the most engaging writing ive ever read before. Not to promo a fic inspired by hunger au, but im especially enamoured with their gift will the curse be reversed if you say it backwards. Reading that was like getting kicked in the chest a billion times until it ached, and the way they portrayed the two Grian's dynamics brought me perilously close to tears multiple times while reading, which is admittedly very hard to do. Also i think reading that fic is the closest ive ever gotten to what yall experience whenever i upload a new hunger au chapter-- i stg the dread i felt as the fic progressed had me HOLLERING in their dms like "IS THIS WHAT THATS LIKE. OH MY GODS" truly just a phenomenal fic all around

Thello, oh Thello, my beloved friend, her fic you are here to risk your heart had ME heartbroken in the best of ways when i first read it, and every reread since has only solidified it as a stunning cross-section into 3L!scarian's dynamic. Thello's writing in general is always so deeply elegant and refined-- reading it feels a lot like shoving the world's richest, gooiest, most delicately-layered cake into my mouth to melt on my tongue. She just gets intimacy in a way i rarely see done, highlighting the fragile way people can come together while straining to stay apart. Her writing is so deeply, utterly human in the details she chooses to focus on, and that level of groundedness paired with her fantastical prose makes me feel like what im reading is both very real and also the whisps of a beautiful, colourful dream.

And, last but very much not least, my wonderful friend Telk. Telk's writing is so utterly unique, bursting at the seams with both humor and a quiet rawness that punches me right in the ribs every single fucking time. They're also so deeply, insanely skilled at being able to say so so much in a story while dancing around the actual core of it, drawing you into understanding whats really going on below the surface like an event horizon. Their fic A Certain Je Ne Sais What is, in my mind, a particularly good example of the subtle and skillful way they weave implications into their work-- im perpetually in awe of how meticulously they poured Grian's cognitive dissonance between how he really feels about Scar, and how he wants to feel about Scar, into the narrative. That, and their characterization is genuinely flawless, im not sure ive ever read better character voices that capture the inherent humor of their owners than in Telk's writing.

Gods i have so much more to say about so many more of my friends and their fics but i'll stop here otherwise i will never shut up. Local guy loves his friends so fucking much i will shout it to the sky any chance i can take<3

And as a bonus, here's the hermit/trafficshipping collection i run on ao3, affectionately nicknamed The Body Count!! Its chock-full of incredible authors and writing, all of whom are my close friends, and its recently expanded to contain 60+ fics!! 60+!!!! INSANE. MY FRIENDS ARE INSANE AND I LOVE THEM PLEASE GO READ AND COMMENT ON THEIR WORKS BC THEY DESERVE THE ATTENTION :] THANKS FOR THE ASK AAAAAAAAAA OKAY BYE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[ttaibhse]

i need to start up running again i haven't been in ages and i feel shitty about it but i still just don't really want to. especially now it's getting colder lol i like running in cool weather but when it's actually cold not as much. i was getting so bored of it idrk why i guess because i was running out of new routes to do... i hate running along the road and the thought of adding more distance which basically would mean adding more time on the road or just mindless loops of the parks wasn't really motivating lol. and i felt like i stopped making progress. and then i got sick and the pain in my back/hips came back for a while. and to be honest i was/am just disappointed that i wasn't losing any weight at least not perceptibly and obviously i was lying when i said the goal of it wasn't to lose weight lol. like not the only goal i did/do also want to just be a fitter and more active person and not let my bones crumble into dust by middle age whatever but ultimately i want to lose weight and it just wasn't happening. even though i wasn't intentionally eating much more to make up for the extra activity but i probably was doing it without meaning to. like admittedly there were definitely times i would be like oh i can have a bit more i did a big run today. not all the time but enough i guess. i feel like shit i hate being this size & shape i miss being skinny and the more time passes with me not being skinny it gets harder to remember the negatives that came with it. like i look back now and i know i was always cold and exhausted and obsessed with food and my whole life revolved around it like i know all that but i looked so much better -_- my clothes looked nicer. if someone took a photo of me i only had to worry about hating my face not my body as well. or not as much at least lol i always hated it i guess. but omfg my face even looks worse now because its just doughy. i cant stand it. i cant believe how fucked up i look lol

i hate writing posts like this i sound so cookie cutter stereotypical ED girl. it's so so embarrassing i can't stop feeling like this at nearly 28. im 28 in like 10 days and the first time i remember consciously deciding to stop eating to lose weight i was 10 or 11. my mum still seems to have genuinely blocked out the memories of it like any of it even though we talked about it at several different points in time when i was a teenager and i said to her what was going on and she was so angry with me like furious with me. and then again when i was an adult and just said outright because i knew i had put on weight over lockdown and i knew she thought i had just lost control of myself because she said so to my sister

so i said to her like look i was only really thin in uni because i was in like a 1.5k calorie deficit every single day. there were days i would stand up at the end of a lecture and almost black out lol so i said all that maybe 3 or 4 years ago was the last time i brought it up icr but still if the topic of eating disorders or similar comes up she will say things like "i hope youve never felt that way" LMFAO like full sincerity i swear to fucking god i dont understand. but anyway its not a great feeling knowing she thinks im fat because i just dont take care of myself. even though it is true i suppose. and every time i see my granny she comments on my weight. so anyway all that to say that's how i know it's true and it's not just in my head

like i can acknowledge that back in the day when i was something like 55kg and still thought i was huge that was some kind of dysmorphia involved. but not any more and it's just kind of a blow because i had finally started accepting this idea that i wasn't as big as i thought and now i am it's like i don't know like going backwards. like a nightmare come true or something it's literally all the bad thoughts i would have about myself are true now. i am that fat or even worse because i think i've been deluding myself i think i'm actually now bigger than i think i am. and i am lazy and eat badly and it still feels like my options are total lack of control or the tightest rein possible. theres no good middle ground i dont know how people find a middle ground. how do you eat normally lol. ive only ever been thin when i was barely eating + walking miles and miles every day AND on testosterone. i tried to do eating normally and now im so huge and i dont know what to do like logically i know there are people out there who have got it right so why cant i get it right

[swordsmans]

i really enjoy all of your works and so i have to ask, how do you write such long fics???? or do you have any writing advice at all?? i have a lot of trouble focusing on writing cause i can't seem to find a flow to it- it's so impressive to me reading all of your stuff cause of how well the story progresses in such a neat way!

aaaa hello!!! first of all ahhh thank you so much!!! ahh!!!! i'm so happy you enjoy my fics!!! that means so much to me ahshlkdhjfsd !!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

as for writing advice... i dont know if i have anything specific, but some of the main things i do are 1) outline pretty much everything first before i start writing; i keep a big master doc with my outline + any ideas that may or may not make it into the story, and i dont start writing-writing until the outline part is complete. and...

2) i write out of order! i do something i call the spiderweb method, where i start with the climactic scene or somewhere in the middle and then work outward from there until i have the rough framework of a story, then i go back through and build on that skeleton... if that makes sense? someday ill sit down and explain properly how this works but basically!! yeah!! i never write in order! i just write what i feel like writing and then when my first draft is finished i go through from the beginning and clean everything up.

usually by the time i get back to the "first" scene i wrote, i change it entirely (its just a draft, after all), but ive always found it extremely helpful to know exactly where im going when i write things. if the "place i want to go" is already laid out, then working backwards through the "getting there" is much easier for me. even that isn't always in order--i tend to jump around a BUNCH!!! this is the main reason why i post stuff all at once instead of in chapters, heh. sometimes i write the very first scenes last!

i think struggling to find linear flow is a pretty common thing, especially when building mid-size or longer stories, which is why i tend to avoid it altogether during the writing process. its much easier for me (personally) to see the shape of a story when its in pieces, so i know exactly where to cut or where i need to fill in gaps!! and also... i think its just more fun in general to only write what you want when you feel like it, yknow? why torment myself trying to write X part because its "next" when today i really want to write Y part because im inspired, etc etc.

it doesnt work for everyone, obviously--and its definitely not a method you can do easily if you skip "step 1" (the outline part), but ive had good luck with it over the past few years and its made writing much more fun :3

[rambhakt-1]

Bhakti discoveries

One thing I'm learning everyday is that realigning yourself back with dharma is what I need to do every time I go off course.

Making mistakes is ok and you're not going to be able to get rid of every adhramic quality in you instantly.

I was trying to read the vedas in English but it's not having any effect, Im not understanding the depth of anything said in the scriptures so I'm gonna start relearning the Hindi script (yup I don't know how to read or write Hindi, I grew up in a middle east country) and then once I've learnt to read hindi without any issues I'm going to start learning Sanskrit.

I'm a bit scared because I feel very disappointed every time I go a step backwards but I can't dwell on that too long.

@ram-bhakt @rambhakt @magic-coffee @just-avi-youknow

[turtlestm]

headcanons for fem!ash lynx that i dont think i've shared here

just some headcanons i made for fun of ideas for a female version of ash :> these are all headcanons i made because i feel like ash being female would directly affect these factors of his character, but people who write fem!ash don't take them into account

just so you know, a couple of these may be a little upsetting but they will be tw'd appropriately ^__^

btw, i think her name would be Jade Aslan Callenreese since Aslan is used as a gender neutral middle name as well as a first name. i think the name she'd be known as would be Bobby Jay. since her male counterpart is named after a lynx, i thought it'd be nice to have her name changed to be after bobcats instead of lynxes because a) the name "jay lynx" doesn't flow as well as "ash lynx" and b) bobcats and lynxes are both wild cats under the genus Lynx. pretty neat :D

just thought i'd mention that first so no one gets confused by me calling her jay instead of something like "ash" or "ashe"

alr lets get started !

1.) TW: forced sterilization, past CSA

ok starting off with the most potentially triggering one but this is the worst it'll get i promise. anywho i havent seen anyone mention or consider this when writing her in fics but i hc that she was medically sterilized ever since she was brought in to be a child prostitute. its a kinda fucked thing up to headcanon but i feel like it'd kinda make sense and its another piece of herself that she was never given agency over. due to this, conversations about or mentioning pregnancy around her are a subject to avoid, regardless of whether or not she ever wanted or would have considered kids of her own

2.) TW: sexual assault

another thing i dont hear ppl talk about with making jay's story work out is the whole prison thing. i think garvey and his guys would, rather than being inmates, be guards planted by dino since jay would be placed in a women's prison and iirc women's prisons have some male guards (correct me if im wrong).

i also see the guard thing as making a bit more sense because of the immediate assumed authority in that role from other inmates and that i cant see the whole horniness and sexual assault parts of the prison arc being replicated with garvey as a woman. yes female rapists do exist irl but it'd be less believable in the banana fish universe considering all the powerful, primarily male connections that dino and his associates have at their disposal

3.) a bit less serious and upsetting one here :> i hc that jay would dress masc and that shes a total tomboy. not just as an act of teenage rebellion but as a true, deep-seeded facet of her personality. she'd be just as boyish as ash. she also wears baseball caps backwards because there's no way you don't also think she would.

she also does so not just to be a tomboy, but to hide her body. she has a smaller-than-average chest so it's easy to conceal but she really doesn't appreciate being looked at sexually, nor does she like any chance of it happening while she's minding her own. since so much attention drawn to her body is because of her nymphish appearance, she loathes wearing clothing that accentuates her body shape or makes her look delicate due to assumptions already made about her

4.) to ride off of the last one, she'd be exceptionally great at crossdressing. her voice has a natural rasp to it and she's quite tall and very capable of effortless androgyny. she could easily look like the opposite sex by doing as little as hiding her hair in her hat and changing her posture. she makes a damn good young man and her authentic toughness makes it even easier since she doesn't need to play up her personality to do so

5.) she carries her gun in her waistband in a conspicuous manner because as a woman, it's more dangerous walking alone out in the streets of NYC. so she makes sure everyone knows she's packing heat while also getting a little kick out of peoples' reactions when they see it on her

6.) although dino's wardrobe he allows her for whenever jay needs to dress up for meals or whatever is strictly feminine, her persistence in being boyish was enough to convince dino to humor her. she's now allowed to wear pants to meals, but he refuses her any wiggle room for formal events and will see to it that she wears a dress

7.) dino absolutely never lays off on her about her masculine personality and lets it be known to her that her attempts to "be a man" are futile because she "must always know that he will decide what happens to her body because he is her owner". even though she never considered herself a man, it hurt like hell whenever she would be punished by having all of her modes of expression stripped from her

8.) mild TW: dysphoria, self hatred, internalized misogyny

at times, she wishes at times that she were a boy because due to her circumstances, she believes what happened to her would never happen if she weren't a girl. she grew up loathing her own gender, unable to shower or see herself naked without being reminded of her body and feeling furious at the world for making her this way. even though she'd seen boys her age who were in her same position, she still feels as though she might have had a chance at normalcy in her life if she never had been born a girl or even born at all. she knows it is an irrational thought and that none of it is her fault, yet she has internalized her rage for the world towards herself and her own sex

those are all the headcanons i have so far for her :D let me know your thoughts on these little brain worms i randomly had late at night one time

hope all my fellow ash lynx kinnies and likers resonate with these lil thoughts i had ^_^ have a good night

[thisismeracing]

I was at uni yesterday and when i got to the classroom there was a boy whose side profile looked exactly like Mick's. He also had a white cap on and a hoodie, the way my heart skipped a beat was insane, even tho i knew it wasn't Mick. The resemblance was crazy 😂😂😂

But all i could think about since yesterday is a very cocky Mick, with a sprinkle of arrogance and, my favourite, ✨touch her and I'll kill u✨ stare. Oh and having him in the uni square when it's a break or something and his eyes just following u until u meet ur friends or until u get inside the building

OH MY GOSH HOW I NEED COLLEGE MICK. He'd be hot as hell. And the most intelligent one among the other guys

HE’S IN YOUR CLASS??! Bestie, I’m already writing this story for you ✍🏾✍🏾✍🏾 ahahahah but all jokes aside I would be thinking about it non stop for a bit

MICK TAKING YOU TO CLASS CKWMJCJWJDJS IM GONNA RIOT!!!!!!

Can you imagine?! His backpack on one shoulder, his other arm around you or carrying your books, and he has this blank expression that makes people part ways if theyre in the middle of the corridor. You used to be a bit shy about it, but nowadays you just hold to him and enjoy walking around without the weight of tons of books and dozens of mean uni students not giving you space to walk.

He’d be botter and def smarter indeed, and he would do it so easily everyone would be like how?????? He’s got at maths, aces chemistry, and his only weak subject would be your strongers which meant tons of extra studying together with lots of encouraging from you 👁️👁️ hehe

I think he’d be part of a frat, but not really into it too. Just… there. Goes to a party every once in a while, but hates how loud and messy it gets sometimes.

also dont get me started on tipsy!college!mick skdjsjjdjs the first time he gets tipsy around you you fall even harder because he will smile and laugh a lot more and push his cap backwards!

[forlorn-crows]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

im not usually good with these, but i can share some of the ones ive really enjoyed writing:

Learning to Swim

my first in depth gill fic; just something about rain being obsessed with himself and mountain being so loving, attentive, and zoned in on rain's pleasure . . . it was after a period of writing where nothing felt "right," and i think this fic helped me tap back in to my writing voice. i wanted to showcase the emotions of teaching moments; i dont think we get to see that too often, let alone the 'clumsiness' and hesitation of them.

2. this ficlet featuring transmasc cirrus & aether

i dont think very many people read this one. but i love the idea of a magick strap where the user can feel everything while in a hot, gender affirming scene. i dont see very often that we 'trans' any of the ghoulettes, and i love the dynamic cirrus and aether have, so i thought they'd fit well here. something about he/him cirrus feels right to me, and nice to explore.

3. tough love

void's [@divine-misfortune's] fault (affectionate). we have so many discussions about quintosis and hypno kink that i love, and this was borne from one of them. omega's backwards way of showing his love, while also getting to Fuck with zephyr. going against their will to do something for their benefit, even though you know they'll wake up later and curse out omega for doing it.

4. mushy may 2024 day 5: animals

hank the raccoon and juniper the cat, two of my beloved animal OCs. theyre just fun to write about, and have a simple, yet fun love for each other. mountain, of course, is always caught in the middle.

5. Yours In The End

a fic meant really to channel negative feelings into. im still feeling a lot of the emotions that went into writing this. but also the dynamic of dew and mountain and aether's relationship after Everything Happened is meaningful in so many ways to me. the way they have to navigate a scary new world, and all they have is each other.

6. this big boy quintosis sandwich ficlet

to be honest its one of my own fics i go back and re-read all the time. i just like mountain zonked and helpless between two beefy, daddy quint ghouls, okay?

7. mushy may 2023 day 8: first time

another one of my own fics i go back to. the pause they have before falling into one another; you just know theyve danced around each other for a hot minute. but they're both new, freshly summoned. they have to figure out their own bodies, let alone who and how they want to share them with. but its just . . . easy for them to make that jump. and i do enjoy little dick mountain from time to time.

8. this terzomega ficlet

the one and only time ive written these two, though i dont know why that is. but this one i had fun with the scene setting and action descriptions, i felt like i had a clear image in my mind's eye and really put it down on paper. i really love omega and terzo's dynamic too, so that made it an enjoyable writing session. this was shortly after JHKM came out, so i snuck a reference to the line "get on your knees and start prayin'" in there.

you'll notice Lady of the Lake is not on this list, because all i did was cry about it for months, and then beat myself up to finish it for the first day of kinktober '23. it was not necessarily fun to write, but the concept itself i enjoyed, lmao

xx

@iamthecomet, @waywardsamaritan, @askingforthesun, @wrathofrats, and @ghoul-slime id be interested to know some of the fics you'd put on your own lists!

[hisuiofthegreen]

snippet of my bokuaka fic wip to motivate me to write more

i have been working on this fic since 2020... im 20k words in and not even halfway done yet...

Obvious Blasé

Blasé [blä-ˈzā] adjective; indifferent to or bored with life; unimpressed, as or as if from an excess of worldly pleasures. "Can we start over? Akaashi Keiji, pleased to meet you." Tokyo feels a world and a half away, especially when Koutarou is punching Keiji's phone number into the keypad of a hospital payphone. The whole island of Honshu may as well be spinning out of the Milky Way, his husband with it, when he's met with a full voicemail box and another wet flower petal. "I'd love to. Miya Osamu, at your service."

8808 words (just the beginning) ; bokuaka / osuaka ; tw : drinking + cheating

Keiji loved few things; one was gardening. He spent hours upon hours in the summer with dirt on his knees and under his nails, weeding and digging and planting. Koutarou bought him expensive gardening gloves as a one-year anniversary gift years ago, but Keiji loved using his bare hands, feeling life at his fingertips. Keiji always had the window boxes full, filled with vibrant colors and lush green leaves, even in the dead of winter. Whenever they had guests over, there was always at least one conversation about just how Keiji keeps his begonias coming back every year and keeps them so lush (apparently the neighbors’ begonias are really kicking their asses).

Koutarou learned that Keiji loved gardening by accident. It was summer break—June, to be specific—during Keiji’s second year at Fukurodani. Koutarou had gotten bored at home with nothing to do and attempted to call his friend to ask if they could hang out; when he got a voicemail message in response, he decided to head to Keiji’s home anyway. He knew the way there by heart and could walk it backward and blindfolded.

Outside, Keiji was knee-deep in fertilizer, a bucket of ripped up weeds beside him, as he pruned his camellias. He nearly knocked the bucket over into an adjacent fern when Koutarou yelled his name from behind—he was not expecting any interruptions, not in the middle of summer vacation, and certainly not from a boy in a different year.

Keiji sat back on his haunches and tossed his head over his shoulder to look at his upperclassman. Koutarou stood in the middle of the street, holding his volleyball high above his head and smiling like a fool. Keiji couldn’t help it when a small smile began to tug at his lips; he sighed in defeat and stood up and began to walk towards his friend.

“Akaashi!” Koutarou exclaimed again, bouncing from foot to foot as the other grew closer. “I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up!”

“That’s because I was out here,” Keiji replied, a quarter of Koutarou’s volume. It always struck him how the two were as different as night and day, even down to the way they talked.

“I got bored at home all alone,” Koutarou continued. “I wanted to see if you would hang out with me today!”

“Bokuto-san, I’m very busy,” Keiji sighed, and gestured back to his abandoned gardening tools. “I just bought some—”

“Please, ‘Kaashi? Pretty please?”

Keiji still didn’t know, to this day, if Koutarou was aware of how powerless he was to his pleas. A simple puppy dog look from the third year was enough to melt Keiji’s resolve. A pout would be enough to force Keiji’s hand, no prodding words necessary.

“Fine.”

The local park was only a few blocks away from Keiji’s house, so they set off down the road. It wasn’t a vocal decision; once Keiji agreed to entertain Koutarou for the day, they both just began walking.

“So… what were you so busy with?” Koutarou asked, giving Keiji a lopsided grin as he tilted his head. He was currently tossing the ball back and forth between his hands, catching it with the pads of his fingers.

“Gardening.”

“I didn’t know you were into that!”

A smile cracked across Keiji’s lips. “I was pruning my camellias, actually.” He held up his hand to show Koutarou the dirt on it, stuck in every little wrinkle and crevice. “And weeding, before that.”

“I can’t quite explain it…” Koutarou laughed in his pause, returning his eyes to the road ahead. “It’s very suiting of you, I think. Being a gardener.”

Keiji just looked down, smiling to himself.

“Are camellias your favorite?”

“Yes, I think so. I like the bright color.” Keiji threaded his fingers together behind his back, rubbing at his knuckles. “What’s yours, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou hummed in thought. He had now taken to tossing the ball in the air to himself, catching it flat in his palms before tossing it high overhead. “Probably hydrangeas.”

And Keiji never forgot it. He learned later on that the man was particular to the blue hydrangeas—another opposite, this time to Keiji’s blush pink camellias.

Because of this fact, Keiji made sure to have hydrangeas included in the centerpieces at the wedding. Neither of them would have a bouquet, and the flower was too big for boutonnieres, so he had the florist put deep sea blue hydrangeas as the central flower on the tables at the reception. It was a little splash of color that only meant something to the newlyweds, a secret only they were in on.

Koutarou didn’t know about the special centerpieces until they arrived at the banquet hall. He spotted the petals amongst the bursts of baby’s breath and ranunculi and delphiniums, encased in glittering silver vases, which all seemed to deepen the color of the hydrangeas. He immediately shot Keiji a look, both accusing and amused, and the raven head held a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter.

“What’s the matter, Bokuto-san?” he asked, trying to stay level, but the words stumbled out of his mouth like a baby deer around his laughter.

“Hey, you can’t call me that now,” Koutarou cooed, hand curling around Keiji’s thin waist. “It’s Akaashi-san, now.”

Keiji’s cheeks burned, accompanied by a warm feeling in his gut, which reappeared at every mention of ‘Akaashi Koutarou.’ While the blush fell out of practice over time, he still felt that rush of giddiness whenever he heard the name, even all these six months later. It felt like yesterday that Koutarou’s name in Keiji’s phone was ‘Bokuto-san.’

The best music to Keiji’s ears, though, was hearing ‘the Akaashi’s.’

And he felt that warmth again at the florist checkout counter, when the lady handed Koutarou back his card with a chipper, “Enjoy your day, Akaashi-san!”

Keiji held an orchid in one hand and a pothos plant in the other, while Koutarou hefted a bag of fertilizer over his shoulder. The plants were for their bedroom, since the snake plant Koutarou had picked out months ago finally kicked the bucket after a week-long vacation. Keiji gently set his plants on the floorboard of the truck, waiting until after the bed stopped shaking from the toss of the fertilizer into it. Soon after, Koutarou slid in behind the wheel and stuffed the key in the ignition, listening as the engine roared to life. They sped out of the parking lot, Koutarou’s hand settling onto Keiji’s thigh after reaching a straight stretch of road.

“I’m pretty hungry,” Koutarou mumbled, rubbing circles into Keiji’s knee as they slowly came to a stop at a red light. “Want to grab something before we head home?”

“Sure, what’s the harm?”

The light flicked to green, and Koutarou lifted his hand away to spin the wheel as he turned left onto a side road. The truck jumped and rattled with the potholes and pebbles, but after only a short moment, they appeared behind a string of small shops. He parked the truck next to a small compact car and flashed a smile at his husband, then turned to hop out.

The gravel crunched under Keiji’s shoes as they rounded the building, coming face to face with a glowing storefront lighting up the dark street. A glowing neon sign depicted an onigiri jumping side to side, with “welcome!” written out below it. A bell chimed over their heads as they walked in, and a capped head popped out from the kitchen at the sound.

“Oi, Bokuto-san!” the man called with a smile, dusting his hands off as he walked up behind the counter. “Back again?”

“You keep forgetting,” Koutarou chided as he held up his left hand, “that it’s Akaashi-san now.” He spared a glance at Keiji, who was studying his hands to try and hide the cherry red blush that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Right, right.” The storekeeper tossed his hand back and forth in the air. He looked over to Keiji, who was now rereading the specials on a blackboard instead of looking at either of the two men.

“Oh, right! You still haven’t met Keiji, have you?” Koutarou wrapped his arm around Keiji’s shoulders and tugged him into his side, smiling when Keiji’s glasses were knocked sideways. “This beauty here is Keiji. Keiji, this is Miya Osamu.”

Keiji raised his hand in a simple greeting, and Osamu did the same. Keiji looked up at his husband with fake annoyance, chiding him with, “It’s rude to introduce me like that, Koutarou.” Koutarou just laughed, and squeezed Keiji closer to his side, knocking the latter’s glasses askew again.

“Well,” Osamu said, clapping his gloved hands together, “what can I getcha?”

“Whatever it is that your brother always gets,” Koutarou beamed, staring down into the glass case of onigiris. Every day before practice, Atsumu brought onigiri from his twin brother’s shop to eat. Koutarou bugged him for weeks to let him try it (“Just a little piece!”) until eventually Atsumu broke the rice ball in half and handed part of it to Koutarou in defeat. Koutarou made Atsumu give him the address to the infamous ‘Onigiri Miya,’ and he found himself passing by it on the way to practice almost every week. It eventually became a little tradition: before games, Koutarou would accompany Atsumu and Kiyoomi to the store and eat there to calm their pre-match nerves.

The game that weekend was no different. This time, though, Keiji accompanied Koutarou to the stop.

Osamu was busy wiping down the counter when the four entered. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya,” he called in his monotone voice, eyes stuck to the tabletop as he made one more wipe across the epoxy. He tossed the rag into a bucket in the corner and looked up, the corner of his mouth poking upward when he saw the ragtag bunch in the doorway.

“I almost forgot that it was game day,” he chuckled, eyelids staying low in amusement, as if he was truly emotionless to the whole ordeal. Osamu was the opposite of Koutarou and Keiji, down to the way they dealt comedy. In ways unlike his husband, though, Keiji felt very similar to Osamu, so when he spotted the cook in the crowd of MSBY fans, it was natural to squirm through the hoard of people to his side.

“Miya-san, was it?” Keiji asked from behind, leveling his glasses to busy his hands.

Osamu looked over his shoulder and was met with sharp blue eyes. His mouth twitched with a half-smile like earlier that day, and he stuck his hands deep in his pockets as he turned to face Keiji.

“Hey, hey,” Osamu replied. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“My husband is playing, after all.”

“As is my idiot brother.”

Keiji didn’t respond, and instead looked out over the crowd. “The seats are probably filling up fast…” he mumbled, looking up at the televisions on the walls that displayed the court just beyond the few sets of double doors. Currently, the teams were warming up on their respective sides. Keiji’s face softened when he saw Koutarou’s stark white hair among the black uniforms, presently chatting with a little redhead near the wall.

Keiji excused himself and wound his way through the throngs of fans, making his way to the front of the stands above his husband. “Ko!” he called, cupping his hand around his mouth in an attempt not to draw too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to be put on the big screen and become the topic of mindless banter of strangers.

Star MSBY Ace Visited By… Husband? Yep, the last thing he wanted.

Koutarou looked up, instantly beaming when he saw Keiji. He waved up at Keiji, arm swinging so wildly that his whole body shook. Keiji folded his hands into a heart and Koutarou mimicked him (although Koutarou’s was much larger), and Keiji mouthed the words “Win for me.”

It was his way of motivating the lump of mood swings since he was no longer by his side on the court to do so. He was used to being very serious and aloof with his teammate in high school, but the years of living together made him like putty in Koutarou’s hands, soft and pliable to his every (usually unconscious) whim. The idea for the hand hearts came to him after Koutarou had enough meltdown at a scrimmage and thought of the words at the training camp in his second year.

“I kept getting shut out!” Koutarou whined, pouting at himself in the mirror. Keiji tried his hardest to ignore him, instead focusing on scrubbing his hands in the sink.

“Everyone gets blocked sometimes, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, but it’s still irritating!”

“Please just dry off and go to bed.”

“I’m not tired!”

“You need to keep up your strength. We still have three days of camp left.”

Koutarou whined, swiveling his head to watch Keiji shut off the water and reach for the roll of paper towels. “How do you stay so calm all the time?” he asked, taking a step closer to his kohai. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be any more emotional than a small smile or cheering me on for morale.”

Keiji swung his head around, gaping at Koutarou. “I have emotions!” He waded up the paper towel in his hand and stuffed it into an overflowing trash can. “I’m just not as vocal as you are.”

When Keiji turned around, his nose nearly collided with Koutarou’s. He hadn’t realized how close his captain had gotten, and now Keiji stood incredibly too close to him, closer than a school trip warranted. He stared into Koutarou’s gold eyes, which were wide and bright, accentuated by the pink that lit up the bridge of his nose until it resembled camellias.

Keiji licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. “Bokuto-san—”

The door squeaked open, and Koutarou jumped halfway across the room, spinning on his heels to face the open door instead of Keiji’s wide eyes.

“Hey, Konoha!” Koutarou greeted, grinning as if he wasn’t in Keiji’s bubble not even thirty seconds earlier.

“There you guys are!” their teammate said, sounding exasperated. “We’ve been looking for you two everywhere. Do you know what time it is? We have a match at the crack of dawn!”

Keiji and Koutarou were quickly ushered back to Fukurodani’s quarters, where they slept on opposite sides of the room. When he woke up, Keiji was still reeling from having his spiker so close he could almost smell the sweat Koutarou tried to scrub off in the shower.

When the team was stretching to prepare for the beginning of day three, a game against Ubugawa, Keiji approached Koutarou. His back was to the second year, stretching his arms high overhead to pop his back. Keiji lightly tapped him on the shoulder, accompanying it with a small “Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi!” Koutarou replied as he turned around, eyebrows shooting up like exclamation points.

“Are you still worried about getting past the blockers?” Keiji had noticed the uncharacteristic stiffness of Koutarou’s muscles, his short sentences, and, most notably, his solitary warmup. Keiji knew all too well that what others dubbed Koutarou’s “emo mode” was more than flopped hair and a pout during a game.

Koutarou looked down, then began to crack his knuckles one by one. “Yeah,” he nearly whispered, “I guess I am.”

Keiji felt his heart pang but kept his face stoic. “That was yesterday, this is a whole new game.”

“What’s an ace that can’t power through?” he sighed. He had cracked each of his knuckles and his wrists, then finally looked Keiji in the eyes. His normal puppy dog face was taut and drooped, more so than during a mood swing. It was a look of pure emotionality that he only showed to his vice-captain. “Isn’t rule two to break through any wall?”

Keiji’s face dropped in annoyance. “Are you quoting your t-shirt?”

Koutarou ghosted a smile. “Maybe,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Keiji continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I came over here to cheer you up.” He peered up at Koutarou through the fingers on his face. “Just one thing, and then I’ll leave you be.”

Taken aback, Koutarou quickly dropped his smile and stared intently.

“Win today. Win for me.”

Koutarou’s ears reddened. He coughed into his fist a few times and rapidly blinked his eyes, like Keiji had dumped a bucket of dust on his head.

“What?” Koutarou coughed out, voice scratched and squeaky.

Keiji squared his shoulders, looking at his elder down the length of his nose. “You heard me.”

Koutarou, clad in his all-black MSBY uniform, mouthed back the words “I will.” As Keiji began to lower his hands, the redhead from earlier shook his husband’s shoulder and they walked towards the rest of the team, who was huddled together by the coach’s bench.

“A pre-game ritual, I see?”

Keiji spun around in surprise, eyes landing on Osamu’s smirking face. “Oh, it’s only you,” Keiji mumbled, then turned to walk towards the seats.

He heard the slapping of shoes against the wooden floor, then Osamu’s face appeared next to him in his peripheral. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I don’t care what you do.”

Osamu fell back, following Keiji up towards the top of the stands. Keiji didn’t like being bumped into by the other fans, and the top let him see more of the court at once. Shoes squeaked on the floorboards as the players shuffled towards the net, captains leaving the group to shake. Keiji wrung his hands, the all-too-familiar feel of having to shake hands creeping along his nerve endings; he had hated being captain, and he hated it even more after watching Koutarou be captain. The worst hand to shake was Kenma’s, after all the conversations they had about hating succeeding their eccentric best friends as captain of powerhouses.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji waited patiently outside of the locker room, watching the fans slowly make their way out the doors and to their cars. He mindlessly fiddled with his hands as he quickly became one of only a handful of people left in the lobby. It was dark outside, the sun having set during the tournament, and he could see a couple of stars through the large glass doors. Taking a glance at the locker room door and deciding that Koutarou wasn’t coming out any time soon, Keiji hesitantly walked towards the doors. The light from the building spilled onto the pavement outside, lighting up the concrete while fireflies took to the air like wild Christmas lights. The stars twinkled above, but all the pollution made it hard to see their light. On the far right, the moon peaked out from behind a dark cloud, like a toddler behind its blanket, ready to sleep.

“Pretty night.”

Keiji looked up to see none other than Miya Osamu, staring at him. The right half of his face, nearly pressed to the glass door, was darkened and reminded Keiji of the moon. His nose sat almost directly on the line between light and dark, like a spaceman wandering a little too close to the dead zone that was the shadow of the moon.

“Hello again, Miya-san.”

“Everyone calls my brother that,” he whined. “Just call me Osamu.”

Keiji looked back outside, eyes fixated on the twinkling fireflies. “Alright then, Osamu-san.”

“Are you waiting for Boku- I mean, Koutarou?”

Keiji nodded. “We rode here together, after all.” Keiji spared a glance at Osamu, who was now gazing at the stars above. “Are you waiting for your brother?”

Osamu snorted. “Hell, no,” he laughed. “That idiot can drive his own ass home, or even walk, for all I care.”

“Then what are you still here for?”

Keiji turned to look at Osamu once more and found him looking back again.

“Well,” he started, voice low, “I’m currently talking with you.”

Keiji quickly looked away. His hand reached for his opposite wrist out of pure habit, massaging the skin there like it may fall off if he let go. “I should start the truck,” Keiji mumbled, beginning to push the door open with his shoulder. “It’s getting cold, and there’s nothing worse than cold leather.”

“I’ll come with,” Osamu chirped, slipping outside in Keiji’s wake. “Keep you company.”

The last thing I want is your company, Keiji thought to himself, but all that came out of his mouth was “okay.” Dear God, he thought, where is Koutarou when you need him?

The truck was towards the back of the lot, alone and away from most of the cars. A single streetlight flickered overhead, with mayflies and moths and other miscellaneous creatures flying around it, as if it wouldn’t burn them when they touched. As if the light was a real, tangible thing, rather than something they could only dream of, something they could never have.

Keiji fumbled with the keys, trying to grab that one with the ugly Toyota symbol on it, and he almost had it, almost, almost, almost… then the keyring slipped between his fingers like ice and dropped onto the cement with a clang.

“God fucking hell,” Keiji mumbled, stooping to pick it up. As his fingers reached out to pick up his mess, another hand appeared by his, bumping against his fingertips, only millimeters above the glinting metal.

Keiji shot his eyes forward, meeting with a dark grey set. His nose nearly collided with the sharp end of Osamu’s, utterly oblivious to the body so close to him. So incredibly close, closer than waiting for his husband warranted. Keiji couldn’t help but think that, under that child-like moon, Osamu's eyes looked as deep blue as hydrangeas.

Keiji shot himself backward, feet flying out from under him. He landed on his hands and butt, rocks digging into the soft skin of his palms, as he used his feet to kick himself away from Osamu—who, for the record, was staring at Keiji like he had spoken to him in Latin.

Osamu blinked, then looped his index finger through the keyring and held it out to Keiji. The gold key with the ugly Toyota symbol swung back and forth, glinting in the starlight, right next to his owl keychain that matched the one on Koutarou’s keyring. Osamu offered a small smile, as if to say something simple like “sorry I bumped into you.”

Keiji reached forward and wrapped his fingers around that smiling plastic owl and yanked the keyring off of Osamu’s hand, and with it, his smile. Keiji pulled himself to his feet, back to the driver’s door, and stuffed his keys into his jacket pocket. “It’s cold,” Keiji said, breaking the silence that felt like a thousand years, although it had only been five minutes at most. “You should head back inside before you get sick.”

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Osamu mumbled. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Keiji didn’t respond. He watched Osamu walk away, peering over the bed of the truck. The head of grey hair bounced down the aisle, almost out of Keiji’s sight. He screwed his mouth up, internally begging Osamu to walk a little faster, get in his car, and hopefully drive far, far, far away. He had Koutarou—Osamu knew that—and he was happy. He certainly did not need this man trying to make a move on him. What if one day, Koutarou saw it? What would Keiji do then?

A hand landed on Keiji’s arm, and he jumped almost high enough to climb into the truck bed. His head whipped around to see that familiar, sharp face of his husband, staring at him in wild confusion.

“Koutarou!” Keiji nearly moaned and threw his arms around the athlete’s neck. “I thought you’d never come out.”

Koutarou hesitantly wrapped his arms around Keiji’s waist. “Why are you out here?” he chuckled. “It’s freezing.”

“I was going to warm up the truck for you,” Keiji mumbled into Koutarou’s shirt. “I didn’t want you climbing into a frigid car after your game.”

Koutarou’s whole body rattled and grumbled as he laughed, deep and low, squeezing Keiji in the ribs. “The truck doesn’t look very warmed up to me.”

“Doesn’t matter now. You’re warmer than the truck would ever be, anyway.” Keiji nuzzled his face into Koutarou’s neck, inhaling the scent of sport deodorant and that distinct smell of Koutarou that Keiji could never place. It was almost like pinecones, like a dry autumn forest. He’d gotten much better at scrubbing out the scent of sweat.

Koutarou laid a hand on Keiji’s cheek and pulled him back, far enough away he could see the black glasses frames but close enough their noses touched. He planted a light kiss on Keiji’s forehead, pushing away the tousled hair with the tip of his nose. Keiji closed his eyes at the innocent touch, leaning into Koutarou’s soft lips.

“Let’s go home,” Koutarou hummed against Keiji’s skin. So Keiji let Koutarou unwrap their arms and he settled into the passenger seat, watching the lights of the city blink and flash overhead as Koutarou drove them home. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, soothed by the constant sounds of the city and Koutarou’s hand, intertwined with his on top of the shifter, lightly squeezing Keiji’s fingers.

~~~~~~~~~

Keiji awoke to the smell of bacon, fruit, and… eggs Benedict.

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand as he sat up, comforter stuck on his shoulder and draping across him like a toga. He picked up his glasses with a yawn, settling them on his ears as the smell grew thicker and thicker. His stomach grumbled under Koutarou’s old shirt, awoken by the smell of breakfast that was definitely not made by Koutarou.

Koutarou was a terrible cook. When he had moved into his apartment in the city for college, Keiji had come to visit, as all good boyfriends do. He hadn’t even stepped into the genkan when the smell of burnt food assaulted his nose.

“Koutarou, what is that stench?” Keiji called as he bent to take off his shoes, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose in a poor attempt to save his nose hairs.

“Breakfast!” Koutarou popped his head around the corner, a smile plastered across his face as if he wasn’t balancing brown eggs on a spatula. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“I’m certainly surprised,” Keiji mumbled as he stepped into the apartment.

He followed Koutarou into the small kitchen, hand flying to his nose when his eyes landed on the plate of crisped eggs and watery oatmeal. Koutarou stood beside them, mouth scrunched to the side from Keiji’s reaction.

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?”

“How long did you cook those eggs for?” Keiji asked, words muffled from the hand on his mouth. “Are you eating like this every day?”

When Koutarou gave a slow nod, Keiji nearly fell over with how hard he rolled his eyes back. He took a step forward and snatched the spatula from Koutarou’s hand, giving a muffled “Let me show you how to make edible food.”

Keiji stepped out of their shared bedroom and into the living room, bracing his nose for a similar smell of burnt food. Instead, he was greeted by Koutarou’s always overly enthusiastic good morning.

“You’re finally awake!” Koutarou bounced over to where Keiji stood in the doorway, nearly spilling coffee out of the takeout cup in his hand. He planted a kiss against Keiji’s temple, simultaneously wrapping his arm around the raven’s slim waist.

“Good morning to you too, Ko,” Keiji mumbled with a smile, pinching the other’s arm. “What’s that smell—”

A head popped into his view, a golden-haired undercut framed by the collar of a MSBY jacket. A second and third head appeared soon after, a smiling redhead and an emotionless twin.

“We got takeout from that egg place you like!” Shouyou sang, holding up his omelet. “You were still asleep, or we would’ve taken you with.”

Koutarou placed a takeout box in Keiji’s hands. “I know your order, don’t worry,” he chuckled. “You only ever get the same thing.”

Keiji lightly bumped Koutarou’s shoulder with his own, a small bit of PDA that Koutarou always reveled in. “You should have told me you were bringing people over,” he chided. “I’m wearing your ratty shirt.”

"At least you’re wearing some pants this morning,” Koutarou laughed. “You know, usually you just wear my bo—”

“Koutarou!” Keiji hissed and reached up and pinched Koutarou again. Unlike before, this pinch was hard, cutting Koutarou off before he embarrassed both of them. No one else needed to know that Keiji could never tell whose briefs were whose.

They all communed in the kitchen, Shouyou sitting on the counter with Atsumu seated on the floor below him while the other three sat at the cramped table. Keiji decided to make coffee, but the only taker was Osamu, so now, as the three airheads chowed down on various egg dishes, Keiji and Osamu blew at the steam from their mugs. Osamu liked his coffee black. Keiji thought that was gross but said nothing.

“So, why did everyone come over all of a sudden?” Keiji asked once the conversation lulled.

“Your big tool of a husband didn’t know the way to the cafe,” Atsumu laughed. “He called me and asked if I would drive him over.”

“I was already at Atsumu’s place, so I made them take me,” Shouyou added.

“I was trying to have a peaceful breakfast at that godforsaken cafe,” Osamu groaned from beside Keiji. “They saw me and begged me to come along.”

“The more, the merrier!” Koutarou boasted, and Atsumu and Shouyou agreed with him from behind.

“Koutarou was practically crying on the phone,” Atsumu laughed again, tapping on Shouyou’s shoe by his head. “He was blubbering, ‘I can’t cook, ‘Tsumu, I can’t cook! I gotta get Keiji take-out! Where’s that egg place he likes?’”

“Don’t be so mean, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered, but the only person who heard was Keiji.

“Shut up!” Koutarou exclaimed. “I did not!” He attempted to look angry, but the blush that engulfed his whole face betrayed him.

“You did!” Shouyou cackled.

“Oh, oh, and,” Atsumu continued, “when I got here, to pick him up, he was tiptoeing around like he’d accidentally wake you up!”

“Aw,” Keiji whispered to his husband, setting his feet on top of Koutarou’s. “You’re so cute.”

“I just want to spend as much time as possible together before I leave,” Koutarou admitted. He looked up at Keiji with his trademark kicked puppy look.

“We’ll take care of Koutarou for you,” Atsumu said with a smile, clapping a hand onto the aforementioned’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, man.”

“He should definitely worry if you’re gonna be around,” Osamu interjected. “You’re the walking personification of trouble.” Atsumu smacked the back of Osamu’s head, but the latter only smirked.

“Hey, isn’t that drama you like airing soon?” Shouyou asked, looking down at his watch.

“Oh my God, yeah!” Koutarou jumped out of his seat and planted a haste kiss on Keiji’s lips. “I’ll be back soon, Kei! I’m gonna watch it at Atsumu’s!”

Keiji wrapped his hand behind Koutarou’s neck and pulled him back down for a proper goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course!” Koutarou exclaimed, grabbing his track jacket off the back of a chair as he ran to the door, where Shouyou was hanging off Atsumu’s shoulders as they waited for their friend.

“Hey, wait for—”

Koutarou waved at Keiji before walking out, adding a quick, “Don’t miss me too much!” before he was gone.

“—me.”

Keiji looked over to see Osamu with his head in his hand, mouth screwed up to the side. He spared a glance at Keiji.

“He was my ride home.”

“Oh, uh,” Keiji stuttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I could drive you home, of course. Your brother drove, right?”

Osamu’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh, right, the old Toyota. That you were trying to warm up, unsuccessfully.”

Keiji shot him a glare and Osamu backed down. He walked over to the door, snatching his keys off the counter and grabbing a jacket off the coat rack. “Let’s go, then.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Turn here.”

“You live on the same street as your shop?” Keiji spun the wheel to make a sharp right turn, speeding past Onigiri Miya. “Why didn’t you say so? There’s a much shorter way.”

“I enjoy being navigator, I guess,” Osamu chuckled, staring out at the houses. Without warning, he pointed at an apartment building barely a hundred feet ahead. “There.”

Keiji irritatingly slammed on the brakes, trying to contain his smile as Osamu threw his hands onto the dash to keep from bashing his forehead against it.

The apartment building was right on the street front. He and Koutarou considered renting from a complex like this, but ended up going with a skyscraper in the city. Osamu’s building looked like the ones in movies, where the bad boy love interest lived. And probably did heroin, on the couch. He pulled into the lot behind the building, right next to a little compact car.

Keiji pressed the unlock button, and the pin in the door sank down with a click. He gave Osamu an expectant look, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Why can’t this guy get out of the car, Keiji thought, and hopefully out of my life altogether?

“Do you want to come in?” Osamu asked, flashing a bright eye towards Keiji. “Koutarou will be gone all afternoon, knowing ‘Tsumu… you’ll be bored, Keiji-kun.”

Keiji prickled at the name. “I can entertain myself just fine, thank you.”

“Naw, come on,” Osamu prodded. “Don’t you believe in a little fate? Obviously, I was meant to entertain you while he’s gone.”

“What are you even talking about?” Keiji mumbled, but found himself pulling the keys out of the ignition anyway. He slid out of the truck and followed Osamu to the back door, with a sun-bleached sign that said, “Tenants Only.”

He lived on the ground floor, number 012. It had an almost maroon look; the carpet was off white, but the light coming through the dark red curtains made it appear pink. The tiles in the genkan were white, but the steps into the apartment were painted the same dark blush from the colored light. The walls were paneled like it was built in the seventies, but it only reminded Keiji of the soundproof rooms from crime shows.

“Want something to drink?” Osamu asked, peeking his head around the corner at Keiji, who was just beginning to step into the apartment, holding his hands tightly to his chest.

“What do you have?”

Osamu turned around and stuck his head in the fridge. “Orange juice, some soda, half a bottle of white wine—”

“That,” Keiji interrupted, pulling a surprised look from Osamu. “Please,” he added softly.

Keiji set his jacket over the back of an armchair, folding it neatly against the cushion, then took a seat at the island. He watched as Osamu pulled a crystal glass from the cupboard for the wine, a simple glass that had a dull gleam to it, like it was used often. After he slid the alcohol to his guest, he opened a can of cherry Pepsi for himself.

“I wouldn’t have thought you a soda fan,” Keiji chuckled. “Wasn’t that trained out of you at Inarizaki?”

“Kita would love to think so,” Osamu laughed. “He really shaped us up.” Osamu chuckled, smiling into his drink.

They sat in silence, Keiji taking frequent sips of his wine. He wasn’t a big fan of alcohol but did tend to overdrink when provided. Koutarou was always there for him, though, even at his first sip, ready to pull the glass away and rub his back on the way home.

“So… what are you going to do when Koutarou leaves?” Osamu asked, staring down at his drink like it was his muse for the night. “Sounded this morning like you weren’t going with.”

“I’m not,” Keiji responded, taking another swig of wine. “I’ve got too much work to do, I can’t be gone for that long.”

He wanted to go, though, he wanted to so badly. He had never been away from Koutarou that long before, even when they went to university. He wanted to watch his husband play every game, he wanted to follow him around the world like in a cat and mouse game, spectator and athlete. But he was reaching thirty (God, thirty…) and he had artists relying on him, and publishers, and he couldn’t leave for a month to chase Koutarou down to Kyushu for volleyball scrimmages.

“You’re just going to be home alone for all that time, then?” Osamu asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

“I was hoping to hang out with some friends,” Keiji said, bristling. “What does it matter to you, anyway? Didn’t think you would know they were leaving.”

“Of course, I would know!” Osamu said with fake offense. “Atsumu is on the team, after all!”

“Oh, right, Mr. My-Brother-Can-Walk-Home-For-All-I-Care?”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make conversation, Mr. Overly-Aggressive.”

Keiji’s phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen, one new message from Koutarou. He swiped it open.

Koutarou: hey Kei, I’m gonna be at Atsumu’s place for a little while longer. Hinata brought out a super cool card game!! I’m currently stuck in a round :( see you tonight still?

Keiji sighed, hand pushing under his glasses as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Just more reason for Osamu to convince him to stay.

Keiji: have fun! i’ll see you tonight <3

“What’s going on?”

“Koutarou is staying at your brother’s for the evening.” Keiji raised his glass to his lips, only to get a single drop. He set the glass down with a huff.

“Want some more?” Osamu asked, already standing up and reaching for the fridge.

“Yes,” Keiji groaned. “Might as well, nothing better to do at home.”

So, Keiji drank another glass. And another. And another. Before he knew it, he had drunk the entire bottle, then Osamu—ever the stoker of the fire—brought out a second bottle, which they downed together. Somewhere in the mess, they had migrated to Osamu’s couch, a ratty brown thing that smelled like mothballs.

“Stop making fun of it,” Osamu laughed, patting the cushions lovingly, “I got it from family.” He, unlike Keiji, was still mostly sober, albeit a little tipsy, and held his liquor well.

Keiji was a giggling mess. Yes, he was a giggly drunk.

“I feel like I’m in a closet!” Keiji exclaimed, dropping his head back onto the arm. “Smells like those little… little red balls, you know?” Keiji held up his hand to make a sphere shape, as if Osamu didn’t know what a mothball was.

Keiji shot upright, leaning across the couch towards Osamu. “At least my shirts won’t get holes in them then, right? Miya-san?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that?” Osamu chuckled, deep and grumbling, similar to another laugh Keiji knew like the back of his hand.

“Oh, right, right,” Keiji blabbered, closing his eyes, and tossing his hand through the air. “Last night at the game. After the game, I mean.”

“Yeah, then.”

Keiji pushed closer. “What should I call you, then?”

Osamu coughed into his fist. “Just, uh… My given name, that’s fine. Osamu.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little intimate?” Keiji cocked his head to the side. “We barely know each other.”

“There’s two Miya’s in your life, so it’s not that intimate,” Osamu replied. “It makes sense, so that whenever you’re with both of us—like last night, at games—it doesn’t get confusing.”

Keiji looked as if deep in thought.

“It was awkward last night.”

“You made it awkward! I was simply trying to give you your keys.”

“Yes, but you got too close.”

“You seem fine with closeness now.”

Keiji blinked. Somewhere in the conversation, Keiji had pushed Osamu back, and now the other man’s head was leaning against the arm of the couch. Keiji’s hands were placed on either side of his head, the heels of his hands brushing the collar of Osamu’s thin t-shirt.

He realized then how similar Koutarou and Osamu looked. Both had heart-shaped faces, and upon closer inspection, Osamu’s eyes held a glint of gold—although not nearly as bright as Koutarou’s. The inspection included the blush on Osamu’s face, which was pink like Keiji’s garden.

“You remind me of flowers.”

“How so?”

“Your face.” Keiji reached up with a single finger and touched down onto Osamu’s cheekbone, which made the blush flare brighter. “It’s like camellias.”

He ran his fingertip along Osamu’s warm skin, up towards the hollow beside his eye, almost to his ear before Keiji removed his hand altogether. Osamu let out a breath, shaky and barely controlled, landing right on Keiji’s Adam’s apple. It bobbed as Keiji swallowed harshly, although his mouth was so dry that he nearly swallowed his tongue.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Keiji missing Koutarou, or maybe it was Osamu’s blush that looked like camellias. Not a second more passed before Keiji’s hands were wrapped around Osamu’s cheeks, mouth crashing down. Osamu’s lips were chapped, like he noticed last night—a stark difference to Keiji, who took chapstick very seriously. But right now, Keiji felt that if he let go of Osamu’s mouth, his lips would crinkle and dry up from dehydration.

Osamu ran his hand through Keiji’s short hair, pulling his head closer, closer, infinitely closer, until he thought their teeth may clash. They kept their tongues to themselves, much to Keiji’s dismay as he continually tried to work his way into Osamu’s mouth. The latter kept his lips tight, conscious enough of the gold band on Keiji’s finger to keep from going further, but not enough to pull away. Conscious enough to realize this was his brother’s teammate’s husband, but not enough to contain his attraction.

Keiji ran his hands down Osamu’s jaw to his shoulders, clenching his fingers in Osamu’s shirt. “Kou,” he groaned, making Osamu’s eyes pop open.

“Nope, nope, you’re drunk,” he replied, pushing Keiji away. “Gotta get you home. Now.”

“But I’m having fun,” Keiji whined, holding onto the hand pressed into his shoulders.

“God, I can’t drive you home like this, you think I’m Bokuto,” Osamu muttered to himself. He looked around. “Where’s your phone? Is there someone who can take you home?”

“Mm… Kenma can. He should be home.”

Osamu worked his way out from under Keiji, leaving him in a pile on the couch cushions. He searched around on the kitchen counter, moving dishware and tossing aside papers like the world was ending.

Which, in a way, it was. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to pass Keiji onto someone else for the night and hope that as the alcohol washed out of Keiji’s liver that tonight would wash out of Osamu’s memories, and they could go back to Keiji being annoyed by his mere presence.

He did not want to remember kissing a married man.

“Aha!” Osamu snatched up the phone from where it sat, tittering on the edge of the tabletop. The lock screen lit up with a picture of Koutarou kissing Keiji’s cheek, which made Osamu’s gut twist.

He searched through the contacts until he got to the K’s and hit the green phone icon under a Kozume Kenma. He lifted the ringing phone to his ear, hand running over his lips repeatedly in anxiety.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Goddammit, I thought you said this guy was home?” Osamu grumbled.

“He should be,” Keiji called back, still laying on the couch. “I’m pretty sure he was streaming tonight.”

A click came from the phone, followed by, “Hey, Keiji! How’s it going?”

“Not Keiji here… Is this Kozume Kenma?”

“... Depends on who’s asking.”

Osamu slumped down onto one of the barstools. “This is Miya Osamu, a…” He paused, taking a glance back at Keiji. “... A sort of friend of the Akaashis’. Uh, could you possibly come pick him up?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. He’s just, ah, drunk.”

Kenma sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I will. What’s your address?”

Osamu gave it to him a little too quickly and had to repeat it over again twice. Kenma arrived in a timely fashion, and Osamu attempted to drag Keiji outside without any more adulterous acts; that proved quite hard, as Keiji was attempting to kiss his neck, and would have succeeded if it weren’t for his stumbling.

“There he is!” Keiji cried when Kenma got out of his car. “The famous Kodzuken, my best friend!”

“God, he’s wasted,” Kenma sighed. “Where’s Koutarou? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Keiji drink without him.”

“My brother’s house,” Osamu replied. “Hanging out with that little redhead… Hinata, I think?”

A smile perked at Kenma’s lips. “Probably dragged them into some card game,” he laughed. “Shouyou has a habit of doing that.”

Kenma reached over and took Keiji, wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist. Keiji’s head fell against the top of Kenma’s, and his arm dangled over the other’s thin shoulders.

It didn’t take long to pack Keiji into Kenma’s car, since he still had enough sense to buckle himself in. Kenma began to pull out and caught Keiji, in the corner of his eye, blowing a kiss to Osamu. Kenma nearly slammed on the brakes then and there, but attempted to keep his cool for the drive back.

It wasn’t the first time Kenma had seen Keiji so drunk he’d probably end up aiming at the wall instead of the toilet bowl. It was always embarrassing, and they had a secret pact not to speak about Keiji when he was drunk.  Usually, Koutarou was there to rub Keiji’s shoulders as he threw up at one in the morning, but that night he threw up alone.

It was oddly reminiscent, in Kenma’s bathroom. It looked exactly like the bathroom at the Nekoma grad party, all those years ago, that he and Koutarou went to. Tetsurou called them not long after the sun had set, obviously drunk, yakking about someone being “the cutest drunk I’ve ever seen!” and trying to commentate an Uno game.

“Man, this isn’t as fun without you!” Tetsurou said, punctuating the compliment with a gargle of a laugh. “I’ll send you the address. You gotta come, Bo. Consider it my going-away gift.”

So, of course, Koutarou went—he was never one to turn down social interaction, especially with his best friend, especially when it’s a party. Keiji went too because, well, what the hell?

By the time they arrived, not long before midnight, Kenma was already passed out and drooling on Tetsurou’s shoulder, and the two other Nekoma grads were playing the infamous Uno game… but, seemingly backward. Before Keiji could take off his coat, the rival ace was up against his side and shoving a Bud Light can into his hand, with the dumbest and most self-indulgent smile he’d ever seen.

After getting sufficiently drunk off of one and a half cans of the cheapest beer a group of high schoolers could get, Koutarou joined in on the Uno game and Keiji curled up in an armchair, chatting with Tetsurou (who still had Kenma laying across his lap like a cat).

“What are you going to do when Bokuto goes off to college?”

Keiji paused. “Same as I always do, right?” he replied hesitantly, as if touching his toes to a stream. “I’ll still see him.”

Tetsurou paused. “Do you ever think about heaven?” he asked, absently running his hand down Kenma’s thin back.

“Not really.”

“What about that past lives stuff, or soulmates?”

“I don’t think about it,” Keiji replied simply. “What, do you? I didn’t think someone from class five would waste thought on it.”

“The idea is so romantic, though!” Tetsurou pouted. “Someone who you’re meant for, a love that literally goes beyond the world… Isn’t that romantic?”

“Hopelessly romantic.”

“Aw, don’t be so depressing,” Tetsurou said as he stuck his tongue out. “You just say that because you’re not still waiting on your soulmate.”

Keiji’s cheeks reddened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tetsurou laughed, the jostle of his hips making Kenma stir slightly. Tetsurou spared a glance at Koutarou, who was yelling as he slapped a card down with his eyebrows drawn in concentration. “It’s so obvious,” Tetsurou said, hushed, with his hand cupping his mouth to keep Koutarou from overhearing. “You and Bo are nearly conjoined twins! You never go anywhere without the other, even though you’re in different years, and you seem to talk in a special language to each other… Akaashi, you have a memorized list of his weaknesses and how to combat every one.”

Keiji huffed. “It’s what comes with being his vice-captain,” he snapped. “I’m more of a babysitter than anything else.”

“You guys are two sides of the same coin,” Tetsurou said. “You know I’m right.”

Keiji woke up, halfway to a decade later, with the same raging headache, one that permeated to the back of his neck and pulsated. He groaned as he rolled over, nearly throwing himself off the loveseat. He blinked to clear the haze from his vision and was met with Kenma staring at him from across the room with an unreadable expression.

“The hell was that last night?” Kenma nearly growled, tapping his fingers on his crossed biceps.

“What do you mean?” Keiji turned to face his friend, trying to put on a look of innocence but instead giving something between pain and confusion. “I got a little drunk, that’s all.”

“You blew a kiss to that Miya dude!” Kenma yelled, throwing his hand in the air. “What the fuck did you do in there that made him call me, a total stranger?”

Keiji blinked. He stared at the wall for a few moments, before rolling onto his back and throwing his hands to his face. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Oh my God, Kenma, what did I do?”

“You’re married, Kei,” Kenma said, oddly low and measured. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” Keiji groaned. He dropped his hands away to stare at the ceiling. “I barely remember what happened.”

“You need to call him,” Kenma tossed Keiji's phone to him, nearly knocking him in the nose. “Find out what the hell happened to you.”

Against his friend’s judgment, Keiji did not call Osamu. Instead, he convinced Kenma to drive him to his truck. When he got to Osamu’s apartment building, he did not go in. He simply got in his truck and drove home. He was hoping Koutarou would be home, to distract him from the guilt eating at his intestines, but he came back to an empty apartment. On the table was a note saying, “went on to practice. I’m sad I missed you. let’s get lunch today– 1:30 sharp! I’m expecting you :) -Kou”

“I don’t have a reason not to now, huh?” Keiji sighed. He looked at the clock on the stove. Not even noon.

Osamu picked up after two rings. “Better Miya brother here, what’s cooking?”

“Do you start every phone call with that?”

He heard some scuffling on the other line. “Keiji? Why are you calling?” The playful tone was dropped from Osamu’s voice.

Keiji sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with his finger. “I don’t remember what I did last night.”

Osamu paused.

“Hello?”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“No.” Keiji sighed again as he started to get irritated. “Look, this is stupid, if you’re not going to—”

“You, uh, kissed me.”

The glasses slipped from Keiji’s fingers, clanging on the kitchen tile like an exploding bomb. His head was reeling, headache suddenly returning in full force, and he dropped down to his elbows on the counter below him. “What do you mean, I kissed you?”

“What else is there to mean? You kissed me.” Osamu paused, but Keiji stayed silent as a corpse. “I reminded you not to call me Miya-san, you got closer, said I looked like a flower, and then kissed me.”

Keiji groaned. His head dropped like a dead weight onto the counter, shaking every pot and knife and making Koutarou’s note float to the floor.

“If it makes you feel better,” Osamu rushed, “you didn’t say my name. You said Koutarou’s.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to hang up. Please don’t save my number.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Goodbye, Miya-san.”

“...Goodbye, Akaashi-san.”

[pop-punklouis]

re: your anon from yesterday bc im lazy and havent updated my dash, that's why folklore felt so refreshing to me (as a middle school swiftie who lost interest when she went pop and was pulled back in by folklore). by that point she was 4 years into her relationship w joe and started expanding past just writing about public facing stories into creating new worlds and stories to write about. paired w the new genre and much more poetic lyricism (especially compared to lover) it was a breath of fresh air. in the last year or so it's like you said, tired. it's felt like we're moving backwards, we're back to taylor swift's newest relationship and all speculation about that and the last boy she dated being the main thing both we (the culture, in news articles and social media posts) and she (in songwriting) are writing about as if we're back in 2010, or 2012, or 2014, or on and on and on. as if no one learned or grew in these 10 years

i would agree. i, personally, believe there are layers to taylor swift's resurgence in popularity (to the insane extent it is now) and how it got a head start due to folklore. besides it being an album that kinda dropped in the perfect moment where we were all at home and resonated with music like folklore during the pandemic.... and besides it being a pleasant surprise to see taylor step outside of the comfort we all know her music to be with an album that is, largely, considered an indie/folk project.... it was in the songwriting, for me, that ultimately brought me around.

and, during that time i had, had a tumultous relationship with her as a celebrity and as an artist. the rollercoaster i had felt since 1989 with her image and music was fascinating when i look back at it, and Lover is the record that brought be tentatively back into enjoying taylor swift. yet, folklore is the album that sucked me in entirely. and it was because there wasn't any nonsense revolving around the release or the lyricism of the project. it was so detached from her life that you could actually focus on the music and her songwriting without being distracted by easter eggs or references to relationships/controversial songs/lyrics that would be broadcast in the headlines. i felt at ease listening to it and creating my own world and own interpretations out of this universe she spun around both evermore and folklore.

so, i do think that is such an important observation to see as her popularity skyrockets how she is digressing (imo) in her sound and lyricism. almost devolving into what she was beforehand, making pop music which is fun to listen to but really doesn't grip you or keep you coming back around because the lyrical content isn't as rich. i remember when folklore came out, i was on a podcast with a few writers that used to write for the same music publication as me, and we discussed all of this. and the one who wasn't as big of a swift fan previously, really enjoyed folklore because of the difference in pace and her songwriting. then, just last year a group of us in the same publication had a roundtable just to discuss all things taylor swift (from both those who enjoy her and those who don't see the hype), and the conversations touched a lot on this dynamic with her songwriting and the differing of opinions of her since like reputation to folklore to now the second era of overexposure of her with the eras tour and the disappointment a lot of people felt with midnights etc. so!!!

all in all, i agree. i think everything she/her team is doing now feels so dated? like we've been here in this loop before, and i do hope tortured poets surprises us all and makes me shut up, but idk all signs are pointing to the same marketing and sound she did at 21 and 24 and 27. it doesn't feel new. not to quote the girlie herself but i feel like ive seen this movie before and i didn't like the ending lmfao

[ladytemeraire]

8, 18

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

Oh, this is a hard one. I guess if I had to pick, I'd go without dialogue, because I honestly love threading the needle of conveying nonverbal communication in body language and sensory details.

(Also I've kind of done the "without action/only with dialogue" version, albeit in an epistolary format using text messages and IMs, so doing the reverse would be a fun challenge!)

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

(I don't think I've ever shared my writing here before but, well. Rewards of being loved, mortifying ordeal of being known.)

Snippet under the cut because I am an awkward porg:

Mira whirled away and slammed her tablet down on the desk. "Stop lying to me!" The room went deadly silent save for her own hitching breaths, heaving under the steady white noise of the air cycler. "I do not make a habit of lying," V'therin finally said, voice low, every word deliberately measured. No, not measured, clipped, and she flinched; the last time she'd heard that carefully controlled fury, someone had rightfully ended up with a knife through their eye socket. "I especially do not lie to those I care about." "I know." It was barely a whisper. "Then I trust you have a reason for making such an accusation?" "Because it's either that or you're being willfully ignorant, and you're too smart to not see how this all ends." Mira's hands were trembling, the motion starting to move further through her limbs, and she couldn't keep her voice from shaking as she turned back to face him. "I screwed up, Vee. Don't you get it? I got them killed. They're dead, and it's my fault. Your Council will never, ever let me go back to Laethan space, and I can't bring them back, I can't fix this, so just stop -" She made a horrible choking noise and sank down onto the bunk, burying her face in her hands. "Please stop pretending everything is going to be okay."

Ahhhh, delicious, delicious angst. This was one of those scenes where the core of it slam-dunked itself in my brain like Athena stepping fully-formed from Zeus' mind. I may not ever get it to fit into a story proper, but it was one of the earliest scenes that came to me as I was noodling around with this cast and setting - ironically, before I'd even settled on their dynamics, which meant I ended up working backwards based on wanting to end up with the connection that could potentially lead to this scene.

The trickiest thing for me here was navigating the dialogue and really nailing the wording. I knew the core of it, and I knew Mira's first and last lines from the jump; most of the work went into the back and forth in the middle, massaging out the wording and rhythm to keep the tone and pacing and carry the emotion of the scene through.

What it came down to was that advice I read somewhere about "pretend your character can't say exactly what they're thinking or feeling" and applying that to both of them. It's an unbelievably shitty situation, they're both having some Big Feelings, and figuring out how they navigate that grief and guilt both individually and together and how it bumps up against their personality and different cultures (Vee is an alien, which isn't made explicitly clear in this snippet) until it sounded the way I wanted it to was the biggest challenge.

Thanks for asking!

Weird Writer Asks

[pwkcy]

hi guys, i’ve been feeling a relapse coming up and i haven’t been active on this blog for YEARS so today i want to write down what exactly happened and what i want to do next🖤

Hopefully some of you will relate to my experience and any advice is welcome 🖤

4-5 years ago i started having disordered thoughts and habits around eating (even though i’ve always been and felt fat even as a child) and started dieting at my highest ever weight at the time - 74.3 kg. I wanted to reach 50kg as ugw and started losing slowly at first, but got more and more obsessed with time and restricted more harshly. Eventually after a year and a half or so of constant restricting/binging (heavy on binging) i got to my LOWEST EVER weight of 62.6 kg. (I recall feeling absolutely ecstatic when i saw that number as i hadn’t been that weight since i was maybe in middle school). Since then, everything went to shit. Over that year’s summer i started to gain weight very slowly since i was going on vacation with family and generally staying at home for summer break.

Then covid happened… and there was almost no way i could stop gaining weight over the lockdown. Problem is i gained A LOT of weight (back to my original weight of 75kg) but even after the regulations were lifted, i kept gaining weight. With time and getting more mature i was beginning to accept my body and adopt body neutrality as a state of mind. I felt less insecure and stopped feeling bad about my food choices. Unfortunately that went completely backwards because i spiraled into eating a lot of junk minus the guilt i used to feel after, so I wasn’t being any healthier tbh. So 4 years later after my lowest weight of 62kg here i am at 95 kg, so 30+ kg heavier. I look worse than i ever have and i might have triggered some health problems (constant painful bloating and back pain).

I want to reactivate this blog by writing down my progress everyday - to keep me motivated to lose this weight the only way I’ve ever known how, aka heavy restricting and possibly purging if i can handle it. I’ll start slow but not TOO slow cause i guess it’s not my first time at the rodeo.

Unfortunately I dont own a scale anymore so until i buy one I can’t weigh myself.

I will start tracking down my calories

I will eat in a smaller time frame (8hr?)

I will walk at least 5k steps a day

I will drink heaps of green tea and water (im really excited for this one actually) thinking 3L per day

I will stop getting takeout

I will stop accepting food from other people

I will limit my drinking

I will get diet pills and/or laxatives, currently waiting on the effect of one that im trying for the first time

And obviously i will restrict and/or fast and I’m hoping to reach 1200cal/day by the end of the month; right now, I probably eat around 2600-2700/day (i know.)

I will give updates hopefully if i can stay motivated and i would appreciate any further tips!! Wish me luck!!!🤞🏻

[selamat-linting]

the three body problem was... something. just started to read it and it was... cheesy? on the other hand the writing has this stilted, formal quality that makes it obvious its a translation. its not translated well. on the second chapter, it opens with a scene about how horrifying the cultural revolution was, and in the middle of a struggle session, a scientist had a loooong argument with a bunch of red army revolutionaries while he's supposed to be shamed and tortured for lecturing einstein's relativity theory.

while i dont mind reading a story like that, but can you really believe a public punishment would have an epic debate battle where someone burst into tears over losing an argument? like, at the very least show the scientist being unable to finish his arguments because they threatened him with violence or getting beaten once he starts refuting everybody if you want to show the red guard as a backwards war troopers who refuse science and rationality. the wall of texts between the protagonists and the red guards are just unnecesary.

i know the cultural revolution can be a sensitive topic to many but, the author's not writing a biography or a tragedy account, they write science fiction. they have to write it good and get the point across. take my opinion with a grain of salt since im a communist ofc, but do read the opening scene and judge for yourself instead of blindly refuting or accepting what i have to say. or perhaps im missing a context since this seems badly translated?

anyway, i think the only ones who find the long debate scene as moving are naive people who think hatecrimes and lynchings can be solved by debating the opposition hard enough (no, they would just shoot you) or people who believed in the victims of communism foundation (which mind you, was a right wing think tank. they count up nazis killed during world war 2 and unborn fetuses as murdered by communism)

if i was still a centrist i would still dislike this scene just like i used to think 1984 had good ideas but it was covered up with sexist sentiments and impossible worldbuilding. so tldr; the opening scenes are bad writing in a technical sense. but the book premise and views of the cultural revolution was interesting enough i'll keep reading it. well, if the stilted translation style gets easier to follow.