#like heckled on the street

[blackbackedjackal]

cringe

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters

♡ FEM reader

A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.

And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…

You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.

Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely. 

But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.

The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.

Oh, and they are full of it today.

Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel. 

At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen. 

Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon. 

The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.

With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling. 

You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.

You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.

Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude. 

Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.

“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.

It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed. 

But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain. 

But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”

Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.

To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”

You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.

“Good.” 

He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”

You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier. 

But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.

“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.

“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”

Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.

“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.” 

The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his. 

“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.” 

His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open. 

It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.

“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!” 

The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.

Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.

“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”

You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down. 

“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth. 

Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust. 

“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”

Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent. 

“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”

His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.

With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.

Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.

“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.” 

Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier. 

“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?” 

And a third smack. 

“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?

Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.

He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”

You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.

“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”

Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.

“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”

You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.

“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”

His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.

“Are you pure, magpie?”

Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.” 

He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”

You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.

Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.

He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.

Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.

You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.

“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”

Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.

You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.

“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”

You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.

“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”

Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow. 

Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.

“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”

He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor. 

And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.

The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.

“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.

A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret. 

At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.

Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.

“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”

But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar. 

Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”

And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.

He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.” 

He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.

And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[junkissed]

this is exactly what's happening in the wedding night hao wip i'm working on so stay tuned for that eventually (soon)

i need to have very very soft gentle disgusting lovey dovey sex w minghao

[thatdeadaquarius]

College be kicking my ass but we continue on like Scaramouche (alive and kicking, but still crabby about it all lmfao)

Random idea but what happens when the acolytes got hold of Creator that is able to squeeze into small places (like a cat would but less liquid) and knows how to escape? Think of sagau but instead of all the deaths, its just they got overexited and chased the Creator the moment they see them which scared them shitless seeing a mob just appear out of nowhere.

I mean who wouldn't after seeing your favourite person in your favourite game just appear right in front of you? (I apologize in advance to the poor unfortunate sucker)

Imagine a world-wide search that keeps getting them heart attacks. Venti just flying by with Dvalin ony to see you on top of the floating pillar above Dragonspine LEANING PRECARIOUSLY OH MY ARCHONS GET AWAY FROM THE EDGE---

Zhongli walking around trying to find peace and quiet only to sense your presence which led him towards Azhdaha's domain and nearly shouted in terror seeing you hanging by one of the limestones above the slumbering dragon your grace what and how the in the fucking name of teyvat did you---

Yae Miko screaming in surprise seeing you inside one of the cupboards of your grace's house (you made a small temporary one in each country in case u need more rest) that she and Ei found in one of the remote islands.

Nahida and the entire Forest Rangers having one of the most intense, frustrating and most challenging game of hide and seek in the entire freaking forest.

You hiding underneath the sand like a fricking snake everytime Cyno spots you from a disrance.

-Vine Boom 🧨

I am no longer apologizing for lateness simply bc atp its basically assumed Im terribly sorry 💀 /so gen

  

Content under -----------------✄

☆

Sun: Reader, (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, Imposter SAGAU? Imposter SAGAU Reversed Ver? unclear (NOT DARK)

Stars: little here, little there

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: reader/you thinks everyone is hunting them down, dark sagau fake-baiting lmao, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

No but the traumatic experience of you cautiously wandering into Mondstadt after realizing ur in Genshin like, ✨👄✨

and every single street/alleyway you try to go down to even avoid it is just people all looking at you like: 👁️👄👁️ ???

and ur over here equally just like: 😃 tf u lookin at????

u get up near the cathedral and finally see a playable character, Barbara, and she just fully GASPS and POINTS at you like she’s getting paid to be an actor for this

shouting sm nonsense like: “My Creator??? King of All???? IS THAT YOU?????”

and after which a few nuns check the commotion, Rosaria and Barbara’s Visions are glowing, and all join in heckling you

Venti coming (literally) flying around a corner on a breeze, saying he was trying to catch up to you, and ohhh now ur Convinced:

None of these bitches must be happy to see you, you did forcefully control their bodies if by the sounds of it they knew you/they must’ve been aware during the game, aw damn looks like u gotta run for your life now

You just book it out of Mond, Venti/Barbara yelling after you to come back, and meanwhile you’re leaving a shell-shocked Jean/Diluc/Kaeya (with Visions glowing) in ur wake on the way out

Not one being, mortal or otherwise, convinces you to stay in Mond, and you finally get to Dragonspine- the only place u know they wont follow

(well maybe the pyro characters but ur betting if u can make it up the mountain theyre not committed to,, running you down? arresting you?? ur not sure)

u make it all the way up and luckily everythings all solved like u did in the game, the traveler must be well into teyvat by now, and u decide to say “for the already achieved achievement” and fuck around and find out near the nail

U thought as u finally got on it u heard a scream somewhere in the sky, and u spotted Dvalin carrying Venti/Barbatos, and once again book it out of town (damn u cant believe theyre so committed they got the dragon in on it…)

so u haul ass all the way down the mountain, traveling only at night, living like a vampire, holing up during the day when u see Mond citizens/knights/gods/etc. walking around presumably looking for you

but u make it, finally! sweet, sweet Liyue, ur 2nd home (besides Mondstadt)

Only to immediately, like right outside the fucking gates to Liyue Harbor, run into Zhongli.

and he’s standing there like this mf knew u were coming, and the first thing out his mouth is some BS like, “…Darnell, that you??”/ref LMAOO

but instead of laughing abt it u just scream and run for your life haha

oh jesus h christ- he’s sending the adepti after you fuck- how hated are you??

sure u maybe hate Celestia a little, and sympathize with the traveler, but this seems a little extreme?!

you go to the one place u know he/any other adeptus doesnt like to come often, Azdaha’s cave

and after a night (well, day bc ur sleeping during the day now) of Azdaha sleeping peacefully, he wakes up fully coherent and u actaully have a rlly pleasant conversation with him about Liyue food lol

he also kept mentioning some kind of god? but like in reference to you?? are u connected to them, u kinda know a lot of gods atp so ur not sure which he means, a god to rule them all??? Celestia?? yeah u guess u know those fucks-

Cue u looking down from ur perch in the stalagmites above, u found a ledge and Azdaha helped you,

only to see a very concerned and borderline nervous Zhongli down below, Azhdaha just greets him like nothing’s wrong, but as soon as he sees you’re uncomfortable, helps you escape (more like teleport) away

(the old geo archon was probably nervous just be around Azhdaha u assume)

and now ur on the islands of Inazuma

u know exactly what islands are all but abandoned, the ghost one, the electrocuting one, and the scary bird one, all great options 👍

Raiden and Yae Miko manage to find you on every single one, with Yae getting more and more exasperated, and Ei getting more and more concerened with every position they find you in

hanging out on the banks of the electro river that would kill you if it weren’t for the little electro trees fending it off (thank fuck u maxed that shit out while in game)

bc u assumed they’d hate to be around it, plus lots of ronin- nope Ei is almost… scolding you?? oh but she’s got her Musou no Hitotachi out fuCK-

(she was slaying ronins that were getting too close to you)

she also is constantly jumpscaring you on tsurumi island/ghost island bc while the ghosts are gone, the creepy atmosphere isn't, and it makes her all the more terrifying as The Raiden Shogun comes walking out of the fog into the cave you've hidden in, stuff of ur nightmares for weeks as u just bird box style try to be silent and stealth around the island to get to an abandoned boat,

literally her scary ass purple sword glowing silhouette wandering around in the fog as you paddle away 💀

getting to thunder bird island and Yae Miko is literally both running/teleporting as quickly as she can to you, as you jump from floating rock to floating rock to escape her, god its so unnerving to watch someone so lazy running after you

she keeps getting in this weird “praising the heavens pose” sometimes when you jump, oh shit she’s aiming hER ATTACKS AT YOU THATS WHY-

oh good- she missed and deflected some stray debris coming ur way, u gotta get to the bird area and see if you can glide away (u managed to get a glider at some point thank fuck)

the bird is luckily on ur side against all these mfs trying to hunt u down (for controlling their bodies u guess) and flies u back to mainland teyvat

sumeru u thought would have the most mercy on u tbh, maybe fontaine bc Neuvillette only rlly cares if u break “fontaine” laws, maybe he wouldn't care to chase down a mortal like u over this

and nahida bc shes just nice

which is somewhat true, as you are acting like tarzan swinging around on vines and shit to escape the forest rangers

but she does show up in ur dreams, but shes just all foggy or distorted, u guess bc ur not of this world or smth??

and so it just unnerves u more, and u try to make it out to the desert, where at least there's no gods to worry about

mf ur hunkered down in a pyramid and see the shadowy shape of Cyno walking thru a sandstorm at you 💀

U dont kno how u got out of that one tbh, smth abt “king deshret made a plan for this” and left it behind for ppl to use to escape underground, sweet

And while Nahida and other eremites, scholars like Alhaitham/Kaveh/Dehya were looking around the desert sands, u slip by them

And u make it to the oasis at the edge of the desert, and steal an old rowboat to cross to fontaine (if i had a nickel everytime u needed to escape a god via old rowboat, youd have 2 nickels- )

and getting to Fontaine is not much better.

U literally get to the clockwork tower, foggy, ominous, uninhabited except for treasure-seekers occasionally, its perfect

until Neuvillette himself just strolls in abt 3 nights of u making camp there

u nearly shit urself as he just fake-knocked on a wall, meanwhile ur like hanging from the ceiling (four limbs out suspending you type of fictional shit)

luckily, mostly bc u were trying to wait him out (which wasn't possible ur limbs hurt so bad) he was, finally, the first person around u long enough to be genuinely kind and patient and answer questions

(Neuvillette acc couldn't figure out where u were at first, and was very confused how u got ur voice to boom around this chamber of the tower, after a minute of talking u trusted him enough to tell him to look up lol)

just in time too, he was able to hide u from the archons a little longer bc u were nervous

(u were already intimidated enough by Neuvillette being irl himself, talking to you, let alone all the other gods/vision users, as u realized afterwards thinking abt all the ppl trying to “hunt u down”, that if they all counted as ppl actually wanting to see you, that was a rlly overwhelming amount, esp if their first instinct is to run at you??? what are you, a fan-abused/disrespected kpop idol????)

☆

trying to be fancy and schedule posts once i get enough free time to actually wrangle my adhd to actually partake in my favorite hobbies 💀

well as long as I'm not getting slammed with lots of shifts again

hope u guys had a great weekend and have a good week! Happy late Valentine’s Day :)

Safe Travels Vine Boom,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the Beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter One

also on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: pre- s1 (for now), profanity, mentions of death, addiction, and prostitution

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter One:

The undercity was certainly something.

Especially at night, when shadows extended their smoky tendrils to allow those dabbling in unsavoury business to lurk, gloomy buildings hiding things you’d be safer off not knowing within. People milling about, going about their private, dangerous business.

Water splashed across the street as your foot landed in a puddle, ankle twisting the wrong way as you tore through the filthy streets, enforcers hot on your heels. All this for heckling an officer? You clutched your shawl around you as the wind almost buffered it away.

It was ridiculous.

After bumping into a large man, a mother and her child, and knocking over a crate of sludge-y creatures, shouts trailing after you, you found an alleyway to disappear into. You scrambled up some wooden beams, eventually emerging onto the flat roof of the low, squatting building. You watched the idiotic Pilties run straight ahead, missing your small detour entirely, and scoffed, stepping away from the edge.

You turned, and made your way across the rooftops of Zaun. 

You’d reached an impasse. Well, not really- nothing a simple jump couldn’t fix. You squinted down into the dusty darkness of the narrow alley below your feet. This part of the undercity was silent- but you could hear the lapping water, and knew you were close to the river.

Vaulting over a concrete bar and pushing off with your feet, you landed on the other side of the gap with a thud. The roof shook, and you yelped as a tile slid off the edge, and crashed into the darkness.

Holding your breath, you heard nothing. The water continued to rumble. You turned to leave.

Until- 

“Fuck.”

You froze in horror. 

Creeping back towards the piped edge of the roof, weight on the backs of your feet, you peered into the darkness. The glowing end of a cigarette burned orange. You gulped.

A man emerged, stepping into your view. His brow was furrowed. Your hands were shaking. “I-I’m sorry!” You called out, and he scowled. 

“You nearly hit me!” He almost-yelled back. But taking a look at your face his expression softened. Against better judgement, you slid down the pipe, feet landing on the ground with an oof.

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. Someone in the undercity coming down to personally apologise for something like that instead of laughing in one’s face and running away was rare. He looked at the apologetic look on your face, and watched as you opened your mouth to speak while also stretching out your hand.

“I’m sorry…”

He reached for your hand too, ready to dismissively accept your apology and move on with his night.

“…But can I have a cigarette?”

His expression dropped.

You lazily took the cigarette from his hands and took a long, deep drag, tendrils of smoke curling from your mouth. At his frown, you moved it from your lips to speak.

“What? You don’t have herpes, do you? I’m not going to get it, am I?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. You studied his face. Strong features, blue-green eyes. He wasn’t half bad looking.

I wouldn’t mind getting an STD from him.

Without a single reaction to your rather graphic thought you took another drag on the cigarette, before handing it back to him. “Thanks. Not everyone here knows that sharing is caring.”

He laughs, guarded, and then stops himself, surprised such a sound even came out at your words. You smiled at him sweetly. “And sorry for almost hitting your head and bashing it in with a tile. Though it wasn’t my fault, was it?”

“I suppose it was an accident,” he said stiffly, a strand of hair falling in front of his face. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “Miss…”

“[name]. Janna, I really needed to calm my nerves.” You stretched, arching your back like a cat, feeling the bones pop and muscles stretch deliciously. The man wet his lips, looking out at the street through the alley.

“And why would that be?” His voice was smooth. You readjusted your shawl. 

“Some enforcers were chasing me. The usual.” You let out a slow sigh, going to leave the alley without as much as a goodbye. He didn’t say anything, just watched you leave.

You planted a foot out into the street.

“That’s her!” 

You whipped your head around, watching a gaggle enforcers charging towards you. A scream tore from your lips you rushed back into the alleyway. The man grabbed you as you almost crashed into his chest.

“Fucking run!”

Shimmying up the pipe, you were back on the roof. You didn’t spare a turn to look back as your heavy lunges rattled the roofs, leaping over bars and gaps. You turned and saw an enforcer slip through a gap in the roofs, crashing into the street below. The man from the alley was just at your shoulder. Without a sparing a second you turned and left.

Once you were certain you’d lost the enforcers you stopped, chest heaving, and slumped onto the ground- roof- beneath you. The man stayed standing, eyeing you with an unreadable expression.

“Okay,” you gasped, turning over. “Now I’m actually sorry.” Coughing while trying to catch your breath you extended a hand. “Do you have water or something? I’m sorry.”

He let out a heavy sigh, not knowing how to behave in this situation as he took out a flask, crouching down and holding it out to you as you continuously mumbled apologies. You gulped down the water inside. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?” You sighed, wiping your mouth as you handed it back. He sat down as he took it, joining you on the slanted roof. 

“You only think to ask that after you’ve downed half the thing?” His voice was filled with amusement. You ignored him.

“I’m sorry, mister…”

“Silco.”

You stared at him as he took out another cigarette, patting his pockets for a lighter. Without a word you took one out, flicking it open and pushing down to activate the flame. You held it in front of his face. “I’m sorry, Silco.”

The cigarette lit up. You studied his profile, mainly the line of his sharp nose as he inhaled deeply.

“It’s fine. Why do you keep apologizing?”

“I got you involved in a chase with enforcers after almost dropping a tile on your head and taking your cigarette.”

“You didn’t have to take the cigarette,” he muttered, miffed. You ignored him, the lighter snapping shut. “And my plans for the night have been ruined…”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. He looked at you, chuckling. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, if you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such generosity is rare.”

“Not generosity. Justice.”

He laughed again, at your dramatics this time as he rolled the cigarette in between his long fingers. “Right. Justice.”

“So, one favour.”

“That’s a dangerous offer, [name].” A thought struck him, and he furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell me you’re from topside.”

You stared at him for a minute, then scoffed. “Of course I’m not. What makes you think that?”

“Your naivety.” He blew smoke from his lungs, and you watched as it curled over the rooftops. “It’s not a good idea to go around offering favours to strangers.”

“I’m as much of a trencher as you are, Silco,” you scoffed.

At this, he suddenly grabbed your wrist. You stared at him in shock as his lip curled, expression furious. You blinked, unmoving. 

“Zaunite.”

“Wh-what?”

“Use Zaunite. Not the name they gave us.” His grip on your wrist loosened before falling away completely. You nodded.

“Right.”

It fell silent.

“And I’ll never cash in that favour.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because, it’s a stupid idea. If anything, I’m doing you a favour.” Another drag. You turned over to look at the sky.

“Thanks… I guess?”

He chuckled again, smoke curling from in between his teeth. Your face felt warm. “You’re strange.”

“So I’ve been told. What exactly were the plans for your night that I so rudely ruined?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I hope you weren’t visiting a cathouse.”

He groaned, and you laughed, snatching the cigarette off of him. He didn’t stop you. “Certainly not. Not for the cats, at least.”

“The cats?”

“The women, [name].”

“Well, what else would you go there for?”

“You’d be surprised.”

You frown. “Right… so no prostitutes.”

“Definitely not. It’s an immoral practice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “A trencher with morals. I see.”

“Zaunite,” he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, sucking on the cigarette. “Well, I don’t care. They’re just making a living.”

“And what would you consider immoral?”

You blew out a cloud of smoke, and for a moment you considered saying something that he’d agree with, racking your brains for an appropriate answer. He clearly hated topside…

“What those Pilties are doing. Their prejudice against us,” you said proudly. He gave a small laugh.

“Right. Everyone thinks that. Something unique, please.”

You stayed silent. “Well… I do believe capitalising on addiction is quite immoral.”

“Ironic, considering that cigarette you’re holding.”

“There are extremes.” Your voice was low, and it was clear there was a story behind the subject. He didn’t press you, simply watching you put out the cigarette on the tin roof, your appetite for nicotine crushed.

After a quiet moment you spoke. “My sister was pregnant. Some… drug lord got her hooked onto something.” You rested your head down. “It was dangerous. They don’t make it anymore.” He hummed silently. “I lost both her and the baby. And she was all I had left, so…”

“The father?”

You scoffed, and that told him more than he needed to know.

“That… drug… business owner�� whatever he was- he didn’t need money. He was filthy rich,” you spat. “A-“ your eyes slid to Silco- “A Zaunite, hoarding money, sucking life out of his own people, and not sharing a single drop. I hate that bastard.”

“What became of him?”

“Business crushed, killed by enforcers.” Your response was curt.

He hummed. “Well, in that case, I certainly won’t go down that path.”

“…I suppose I won’t work in a brothel either.”

“Or own one,” he added. You laughed.

“Or own one.”

You sighed gently, standing up. “Well, I hope whatever business you missed gets resolved. Goodbye, Silco.” You made to climb down to the street.

“Wait-“

You looked up.

“You said you don’t have anyone. If you’re ever… looking for company, go to the Last Drop. Tell the bartender you’re looking for Silco.”

Your eyes enlarged as you stowed the name in your memory. “The Last Drop,” you repeated, then nodded.

“Goodbye, [name].” 

You smiled again, and dropped down into the crowd.

When you looked back up to the sky, to the roof, he was gone.

-

[cuteandhughesy]

Cool | Jack Hughes

summary: after your breakup with jack, you thought your EP release party would be dreadful- especially after your single about him is the biggest hit. what happens when you see him at the party and all past feelings come rushing back.

[word count] 3.8k

warnings: SFW! ex! jack | singer! reader | angst | kissing | mentions of cheating + insecurities | second chance romance | suggestive dialogue and themes |

a/n: based off this request! hope you enjoy what I’ve done with your idea! also I used sabrina for my little album mock ups, so that’s that 🤍

🎵 cool by gracie abrams

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

when you and jack met, it was anything but glamorous.

working in music was something you'd always wanted to pursue, but the journey of getting into the music industry isn't always easy. sending demo after demo to different record companies was coming up short, and as a last resort, you'd decided to post a video showcasing your talents on tiktok.

it blew up - the cover of one direction's night changes was heard on every video you'd scroll by. people were using your audio as background noise for there own videos, continuing to further your success.

nessa barrett and her team had reached out not longer after your up-roaring success, asking if you'd like to be featured on one of her songs on her upcoming album. nessa had expressed her love for your style of singing and iceralll vibe, and thought you'd be the perfect final piece in her creation. you'd obviously agreed.

the day of recording was an eventful one. not being able to fly out to LA to record, nessa's team arranged a studio session in new jersey where you lived and because they'd put so much effort in for you - you didn't want to disappoint them.

but the recording session wasn't the craziest part of your day - the journey home was. your mom had called you, frantically trying to plan your younger sisters 21st birthday while you exited the recording studio. trying to calm your mother down, insisting that 5 different balloon colours was too many (especially when your sister only liked pink), all while digging through your tote in search of your car keys, left you rather distracted.

you’re rudely brought back to the reality of the busy sidewalks around you, when you walk into something hard. you phone slips out of your hand on impact, falling to the icy ground below. just as that happens, the person you'd inevitably ran into, spills their drink on you - hot chocolate stinging your chest through your white hoodie.

"shit, i'm so sorry." the smooth voice is instantly spewing apologies, and large, slightly calloused hands reach out and hover over your coat covered arms.

finally, you look away from the hot chocolate dripping off you, standing the white snow, and meet the deep blue eyes in front of you. you dance over his soft, round features - following the littering of freckles and moles on his face.

his brows are furrowed in worry, deep gaze trained on you as he attempts to asses you for injuries - darting between the hot chocolate stain and your rosy cheeks.

you shake your head slightly, "no, it's okay. I should've watched where I was going."

"same - my brother and teammates were heckling me about my choice of hot drink - ironically enough, I wasn't looking in your direction. I'm sorry again." he swallows nervously, running a sticky, hot chocolate covered hand through his brown hair.

you notice then, off the the side against one of the brick buildings lining the streets, a small group of guys. they're moving between shooting you both amused looks, and hiding their embarrassed grins behind there hands. you think that must be the brother and teammates in question.

"don't apologize, it was an accident." you sigh gently, forcing a somewhat happy smile on your face. although you're not actually mad at this stranger, it was still an inconvenience and you're glad this happened after your studio session - not before.

you lean down to. collect your cellphone and see that your mom is still on the line. the chances of her still blabbing on about party supplies and not noticing your absence is very high. "I'm y/n."

the ghost of a smile rests upon his lips, "jack - and again, so sorry-"

"yo, hughesy," one of the teammates call, one hand cupped around his mouth to further echo his voice. "we should probably go, coach wants us at the meeting in 15 minutes." he sounds foreign, but if it wasn't for the lingering accent you'd have no idea.

"can I at least get your number? I want to buy you a new sweater." jack insists, already digging out his phone from his black, puffy coat pocket.

you smile, "you really don't need to."

his brow quirks up in a playful manner, and his smirk is almost teasing. "so I can't have your number?"

you giggle gently and start reciting your 7 digit code to jack - the warm, sticky chocolate stain covering your front long forgotten about as you are consumed by the handsome stranger.

like promised, jack had bought you a new white sweater from aritzia - a much more expensive, better quality sweater than your original adidas one.

you and jack had very quickly become close, and started dating only a month after your run in outside the studio. you shared your aspiring music career, and your hopes moving forward in the industry. jack had also told you about his career, and how hockey pretty much took up all his time and energy. but you didn't mind it, because you new your boyfriend was following his hopes and passions - just as you are.

what you weren't expecting was the specific fame that came with jack being in the nhl. in some ways, you weren't shocked that you boyfriend was one of the most sought out nhl player by women, because you knew he was attractive, young and talented - but you were surprised with just how intense these women can be and how you were feeling about it all.

you were pretty good and working through any jealous feelings with jack, and he'd always reassure you that the comments, dms and videos were just stupid talk - rumours.

and you'd always believe him - you loved him and trusted him despite everything and everyone else rooting against you. it wasn't until a year after dating and being in love with jack, that you reached an unseen breaking point - the hurt and jealousy coming to a hill top, teetering on the edge of falling away.

you watch him wordlessly, stewing in your own emotions- a mixture of jealousy and anger very prevalent in your demeanour.

jack scrolls through your dm messages just as quiet as you, his soft brows pulled together tightly to create two deep frown marks. he looks up at you again, because yes, this is the third time he's read though the messages on your phone. "nothing happened, y/n. these messages are just trying to get you," he pauses, waving his hand frantically in your direction, "like this."

you scoff, "so i'm overreacting?"

"no," he huffs, "you're not but I don't understand why you're not believing me."

"jack...multiple people have messaged me and said they saw you and your ex spending time with one another at the bar! some even said you two were dancing together! this isn't just one person, it's 10."

"yeah 10 people who saw my ex and I in the same location and immediately started talking about it to you - trying to convince you that something was going on!"

when jack left for his week long road trip with the devils to the west coast, you'd never would of expected to it end up like this. after a devils win, the boys had gone to one of the local bars to have some greasy food and a beer - let loose for one night, regardless of teaming staff's recommendations. oddly enough, one of jacks ex-girlfriends had moved out to LA to finish her degree, and so happened to be at the same bar as your boyfriend and his teammates.

your instagram dms flooded. multiple people claiming they saw them talking, and dancing. one message even said she caught them kissing off towards the back of the bar.

you just snapped.

it was too much of a coincidence and too many witnesses for you to just 'trust him'.

"don't you trust me?" jack questions, locking your phone and setting it on his kitchen island. the tv from luke's room is louder than it was when you first got to the brothers' apartment - probably trying to block out the argument.

you feel yourself getting emotional. you eyes start to blur with tears, and you blink desperately to try and clear your vision. "I did! I do! it's just," you pause, taking a shaky breath. "this is too much. I can't keep pretending all this attention isn't killing me...I can't keep just hoping it's all rumours. I love you but I can't keep sharing you with the world and feeling like the laughing stock on social media."

"then don't share me!" he stresses, taking a quick step towards you. jack almost reaches out to touch you, but he decides against it, not wanting to push you away any further. "please, just don't believe them...believe me. nothing happened-"

"there's pictures jack." you whisper. tears begin to fall from your glossy coated eyes, falling down your flushed cheeks.

"picture of us just talking, barley talking if anything-"

"yeah but you didn't even tell me- social media did."

jack pauses, his eyes full of a swimming pool of emotions as looks down at you. he doesn't have an excuse, because you're right - he didn't tell you.

even though pictures only captured your boyfriend and his ex talking, nothing more, how could you believe his words and broken promises when he couldn't even be honest about a so called innocent talk.

you sniffle, "I need space."

"okay," he nods, "I can drive you home and then tomorrow we can talk again, okay? we can get breakfast at the cafe you really like and just figure this all out."

"no," you correct, "I need space from us."

"what?"

"I can't do this anymore - the rumours, the comments and the complete disregard for my feelings. I just need to figure it all out...alone."

with your new heartbreak came a whole new lyrical world. you put your uncertainty, jealousy, anger, and sadness onto paper - which birthed your very first single on your small EP.

releasing your song tilted cool immediately had fans speculating your and jack's relationship. the lyrics hide nothing about the rumors circulating around the hockey community, and once you and jack stopped posting together and not spotted with one another - your break-up was confirmed to the world.

your EP, titled sucker, was a collection of four, self-written tracks that perfectly captured the emotions you'd gone through (and still dealing with) in the break-up with jack.

and sucker in its fullness and greatness, was being released tonight. your newly appointed manager through your record company, insisted throwing a release party for you and the already overwhelming successes of your single, cool, and the upcoming EP.

so here you stood, in your frilly pink dress that perfectly matched the colour of one of three vinyl variants - happily greeting friends, musicians, and fans as they pulled into the event hall. the space was covered in astonishing, expensive looking decorations to bring the atmosphere to life. streamers, shiny balloons, multi-coloured lights, and many more beautiful items.

you take a sip out of your fourth champagne flute, trying to keep your excitement alive, while trying to keep your earlier nerves at bay. you wanted your peers and fans to love your art, and you wanted them to feel proud.

you swallow the bitter drink, looking away from the crowded room and over to the large procedure screen against one of the wallpapered walls. half and hour until midnight - thirty minutes until the world would here your most precious emotions. in thirty minutes the judgment would start, and the hate....in thirty minutes there'd be no more secrets.

you sigh gently, looking through the crowd. as per request, everyone was dressed in either pale blue, cream or baby pink, matching each album variant. it makes the whole ordeal feel even more real, and that sends the flutter of butterflies in your stomach loose - your body going numb and warm.

"y/n," a familiar voice calls your name, and instantly your stomach feels funny. you look over towards the source of the greeley voice, and are meet with the tall figure of luke hughes. he's smiling widely, the same smile you'd see when he actually finds something funny or when something brought him joy, and he's wearing the pale peach colour of your record - a nice, button up with appropriate, matching bottoms.

you force yourself to smile back, pushing away any prior emotion and worry. "luke, hey." the tallest hughes brother embraces you in a friendly way, congratulating you on the success of your career.

you separate, and instantly, your smile falters. behind his brother, stands jack. he looks just as uncertain as you feel, looking at you with a mixture of sadness and hope. his tanned, calloused hands are shoved into his dress pants awkwardly, bunching up the hem of his baby blue shirt. the colour brings out his eyes, making the usual ocean blue look brighter.

he clears his throat, "hey, congratulations."

you're almost in shock, and you can't look away from the man infront of you. before you realize, luke has slipped away from you both, your once buffer now nosying around the food table - shoving cheese and crackers into his mouth.

you blink. "jack, what are you doing here?" you're not angry, and you certainly don't sound it. your tone is very soft, bordering on emotional- your overwhelming internal energy now presenting on the outside.

"I always said I'd show my support for you - no matter the circumstances. I'm so proud of you, y/n."

you say his name again, an almost warning tone lacing your words. you can't do this with him, especially tonight on top of all the other thousands thoughts running through your mind. "thank you for the support, jack but i'm not sure what you want me to do here."

his brows furrow, "I don't want you to do anything except celebrate yourself, but I do think we need to talk-"

your manager comes skipping over, guiding you away from your ex-boyfriend as she explains what you'll be doing next. with the music releasing in the next few minutes, she's asking for you to make a brief speech about the night and the upcoming EP.

you shoot jack an unapologetic look over your shoulder, rounding into the grand living space of the rented extravagant house.

jack follows slowly behind, and just as you're walking onto the stage, right infront of the countdown display, he settles near the back of the room, watching you with a guilty expression. he shouldn't of said anything to you, especially on your special night - especially when he can see how overwhelmed you are.

you tap gently on the microphone, checking the sound. the echoing noise grabs the busy crowds attention, the once chatty laughter coming to a slow halt. you smile warmly, "hi, everyone."

people smile and clap excitedly, some people even cheering at your greeting. your smile doesn't falter, and neither do your nervous butterflies. your wrong your hands out nervously, a typical nervous habit you've always done. "thank you all so much for coming out here and showing your love and support for me and my career. I'm so overwhelmed with joy at the thought of my small piece of art being heard by all of you and I can only hope that you'll love and enjoy the three new songs as much as cool."

through the bright lights, familiar and unfamiliar faces, your gaze finds jack. the sight of him as your nerves changing, and somehow you feel yourself become calm under his gaze. you clear your throat, "with less than three minutes to go, as just want to say that all these songs are so personal and raw with emotion and I just want to remind anybody who can relate to these lyrics and music that it's okay to feel overwhelmed, or angry, or jealous, even when you know there's no reason to feel that way."

once again, you find jack at the back of the room. his face hasn't changed, and you can't quite read the expression he's showing. without looking away from him, you continue. "finally, I want to thank you for believing in me and always supporting me. from tiktok, to my first feature and single - now my EP. thank you for everything, I love you."

you blink, finally tearing your gaze away. "all of you! get ready, because these are the emotional, up and downs of sucker!"

the crowd roars in excitement, counting down the last minute before the tracks will be shared. you slip off the stage, forcing smiles to the crowd as you slip through bodies and crowds of people, trying to get out of the bustling, loud and overwhelming room.

everyone is unaware of your motives, and because everyone is gathered in the same room, it makes your space easier. your shoes echo in the empty hallway, heels clicking up the grand staircase as you ascend upstairs.

you find an empty, unlocked room and slip inside quickly. it's a cleaning closet, and now you can understand why there's no lock on the door. it smells strongly of lysol and clorox, but the strong smells provides a nice distraction from your frantic breathing.

you move further into the room, pressing your back to one of the cool, metal shelving units. it was all feeling like too much - the party, the EP releasing, seeing jack....you can feel your stomach turn just at the back and forth motion from the thoughts in your brain. you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

suddenly, the sound of your opening track gets louder, turning from muffled vibrations into full, coherent sounds. your eyes snap open, just as jack enters the room with you.

your chest tightens warmly, and the heartbroken girlfriend in you desperately wants to reach out and let jack pull you into his embrace- providing his usual calming comfort.

jack shuts the door behind himself, letting the silence once again consume the small cleaning closet. his cheeks look rosy in the dim light, and his hair is pushed back like he's been running his hand through it over and over.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, taking a step closer to you.

“no, jack,” you huff through disbelieved laughter. “i'm so confused and overwhelmed and I don't know why you're actually here. do you want an apology from me? is that why you want to talk?”

“no,” he replies, “I want to talk because I was wrong.”

your brows furrow and your confusion is evident. “what do you mean?”

jack takes another step towards you, “I shouldn't have lied to you and I immediately should've told you that I saw my ex and had a brief conversation with her - even though that was the extent of it. I made myself look guilty and because of that, I made you feel like you couldn't trust me.”

he continues, eyes swimming with emotions as he keeps his gaze locked on you. “all your feelings about what happened are absolutely valid and i'm sorry for being the cause of your pain. that song, cool - I know it's about me and when I heard it, it solidified how badly I screwed up.”

you frown uncertainly. “why now? why are you saying all this now?”

“because the guilt of it all is eating me alive. I couldn't go an hour longer with you thinking that I would ever cheat on you. even though I talked to my ex for only that minute in LA, I shouldn't have been so sketchy about the situation. I should've reassured you, and listened to your concerns and I should've told you as soon as it happened - end of story.”

he pauses, asserting your face of emotions. jack sees the way your eyes have glossed over, but your shoulders are still broad - indicating that you’re upset, but not uncomfortable. you’re still here, listening to his apology. with that, he continues. “you don't need to forgive me, and you don't even need to say anything, but I just wanted you to know that i'm sorry for how I handled the situation that I very easily could've fixed. I love you….so much and i'm so proud of you and I don’t want you to think anything but that.”

you blink and look away from him, sniffling away any lingering emotion. hearing jacks apology has solidified so much for you and the situation a few weeks prior. the second track on your EP is vibrating through the floor, the bass lined chorus tickling the soles of your feet through your heels. softly, you set your gaze back on jack - who’s soft, guilty expression hasn’t changed.

“I agree, you should’ve mentioned the situation with your ex before I found out through social media, and you telling me that you recognize how that made me feel and how it made you look, has me feeling so much relief.” you take a shaky inhale, “your apology means so much to me because I love you and I should’ve truly expressed how I was feeling about everything, instead of arguing, deflecting and shutting down. I trust you and I always have but I was feeling angry, and jealous about the slinky feeling of it all.”

“you still love me?” he breathes shakily, a ghost of a smile beginning to pull at his mouth.

you nod, your own bright smile gracing your face - shining through the dim, bleach scented closet. “I love you.”

jack releases a visible sigh of relief, and he closes the gap between you in favour of gently taking whole of your warm face, softly caressing your plump cheeks affectionately. you smile as jacks thumb subconsciously runs under your lash line, collecting any tears before they can fall and ruin your makeup - something you’d complained about often.

“I love you.” jack repeats, his words a breathless whisper as he leans down. his nose nudges yours once affectionately, before slotting next to yours comfortably. then, thankfully, jack presses his lips to yours in a much missed kiss.

you don’t regret the raw, jealous and angry emotions you’d put into your new EP - all those emotions being directed at jack and the miscommunicated situation. you’re proud and excited to help others going through the same heartbreak as you did.

and with jack here now, kissing you like he’s done a thousand times, you’re looking forward to the blissing relationship to return, as well as the amazing career ahead of both of you.

you can’t wait for the love songs you’ll create - all because of jack.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

a/n okay I hope this was okay! I didn’t edit it because i’m a lil lazy (whoops) but the idea was fun and cute! also when I was writing I didn’t want to be too on the nose with the song or lyrics of cool, so I did the best I could:) also I added visual links for the colour and outfits of the reader, luke and jack!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Olly Wang for the First Time: Influence

G/N. Sort of soft. I did it anon!! Masterlists

In hindsight you could have been considered a bad influence except you felt bad for him. You like to think that you showed Olly Wang there was more to life than studying, there are some things that can't be taught through textbooks.

You taught him how to live, you gave him room to breathe.

But sometimes, when the nights are too silent and your brain is too loud, when you miss him so much it hurts, you would think that it was all your fault. You set him on this path.

It's stupid, of course. Your minor risk-taking and vices are nothing compared to what has happened since.

Still, it eats away at you.

.

.

It's entirely by chance that you meet.

You're not particularly studious, but empty pockets and a meagre allowance accompanied with bad weather means your options are limited.

In the library, tucked away in the corner is a boy.

Trying his best to read and study yet annoying teenagers continue to heckle him. Throwing balled up pieces of paper and calling out derisive comments.

"Fuck off," you snap, feeling kind hearted today and storming over. You drag one of them away by the hair.

"Hey! Get off-" He tries to wiggle out of your grasp.

"Leave him alone, assholes," you snarl, shoving him away.

The commotion is finally enough to draw the attention of the staff.

The teens are shooed out, throwing angry daggers your way.

"You're welcome by the way," You tell the boy in the corner and you think he mutters something about being able to take them on himself.

Narrowing your eyes, you yank his ear, "What did you just say?"

When he doesn't react, you let go. Huh?

He doesn't feel pain, he tells you, or to be honest, anything. And then when you continue glaring at him thinking that that's bullshit, he introduces himself as Olly Wang.

.

.

The first time he ditches class, as a middle-schooler, is with you. Just two kids wandering the streets of Gangdong. You, used to skipping the occasional days and class, and embracing freedom, while Olly fidgets next you.

His mouth, usually stretched too wide in a grin, is pulled down at the corners. Tense eyes behind glasses anxiously flickers from side to side.

"You think your parents are going to catch you?" You tease, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"No." Olly doesn't sound convinced and you sigh.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Me?" he asks, blinking owlishly as if that's the first time someone has ever asked him that question.

You shrug off his weird response. "We can go the park. Shopping. Not that I have any money. Arcade-"

"Arcade!" he pipes up, then cowering and furtively glancing around him in case his parents are actually around.

Nevertheless, he spends hours and hours by your side; fighting each other, killing zombies, and racing cars. The sound of 8-bit music and bright flashing lights soon drown out his fears.

That day, Olly smiles genuinely along with you.

.

.

You first hear about Eli Jang a few weeks later.

Apparently he's fallen in with a new group of friends and this guy is the coolest person he has ever seen.

He's an orphan, he does whatever he want.

"Ok," you deadpan to each fact about this Eli Jang, growing more bored by the second.

Olly, oblivious to your reaction, continues fawning over him.

.

.

"Here, try it,"

You only offered the cigarette to stop him talking about Eli Jang. You've lost count of the times you've rolled your eyes.

Olly pauses, torn between wanting to impress you and not wanting to inhale the nasty smoke.

He gives in when he sees the playful glint in your eyes. His finger brushes yours as you pass it to him, and he places his lips where yours were just mere seconds ago.

"ACK!"

You giggle to yourself watching Olly hacking and sputtering.

You reach out to ruffle his hair once he calms and he peeks at you feeling his throat and cheeks burn.

.

.

"Why do you want to be like Eli?" you side-eye Olly, interrupting his ranting.

"I-" Olly starts, and then finds he can't say the words in your presence. He thinks Eli is the only one that makes him feel something but-

Deep down, when he's with you, he's not sure that's entirely true.

You misread his pause for something else.

You shrug, "I like you as you are."

.

.

"Want some?" you ask, shaking the bottle of soju at him.

Olly bites his lip, "Eli wouldn't-"

"Ugh!" You cut in rudely. "I've never met the guy and I feel like I know everything about him. Will you shut up about Eli?"

"But Eli-"

"I said shut up," you pull him by his stupid collar and yank his stupid lips to yours.

You consider blaming your actions on the alcohol even though you've barely taken a sip.

Olly stares at you, dazed, but there's a fire in his eyes.

"Ok." He agrees, then adds as he adjusts his glasses. "Only if you'll do that again."

You raise your eyebrows at his audacity. At this strange boy who was tucked away in the corner of the library.

"I thought you said you couldn't feel anything?"

Olly gives you a grin, different from his trademark open-mouthed one. It's almost a smirk. His gaze meets yours, determined and unwavering.

"I think I might have felt something then."

You lean in, at the same time as he does, meeting him halfway and kissing him again.

[soup-mother]

*heckling a street preacher* the rapture already happened dipshit and you weren't invited, there were like seaslugs that gave you magic powers and shit. read ayn rand

[shugarbunni]

kitty!reader x professor!james pt.2 ...enjoy :p

"hang on hang on- you've been sleeping with potter? as in the professor ive been rightfully pining over? you bitch!" barty squawks, hands flailing around as you all take your seats at a booth in a dark corner of the pub.

no one wanted to get sloshed tonight, so you all decided on getting..relatively pissed at the local pub. ('all' referring to the best group of people anyone will ever meet. you, of course, barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, marlene and the ever lovely pandora!)

"you have a boyfriend, barty." Marlene snorts, smirking at the eye roll Evan gives.

"shurrup, im allowed to have crushes-" barty starts, only to be cut off by you.

"that isn't the point!" you huff, plucking reggie's cigarette from his lips and taking a drag, leaning against him "point is i do not want to end things with him, not anytime soon." you trail off, before lifting your gaze to barty "and he's more than good sex, you bellend." you scoff, pointing at him "hes like, really sweet. and funny. if you overlook the fact that he's...painfully millennial, sometimes."

"what did you two even talk about?" pandora asks, trying her very best to hide her judgement with the situation, bless her heart.

"y'know..normal shit! couple shit!" you struggle, taking an anxious puff of smoke.

"couple shit?" regulus parrots flatly, a questioning quirk to his brow.

"yes, regulus, couple shit. y'know..getting to know each other." you sigh, sinking into the booth.

"okay, so like what? give us an example, kitty cat" evan chuckles, wrapping his arm around barty

"ooo, do y'know his favourite colour?" dorcas giggles, cheek resting on marlenes shoulder.

"you lot are such idiots." you grumble, taking a sip of your bloody mary "...and its red."

"im not going in a bloody nightclub, sirius" james groans as his best friend drags him along the street.

"come on, prongs!" sirius huffs, about to go on a rant about how they never have 'fun' anymore, when remus interjects.

"how about we go to the pub? act our age, for once?" he huffs, giving sirius a pointed look and pries him off of james, running a hand through his husbands salt and pepper hair.

"alright." he grumbles, rolling his eyes at lily when she laughs at his sulking.

the group strides across the street, remus' arm slung casually over sirius' shoulder. petes been quiet, checking his phone every ten minutes - no doubt texting Emma. like a bastard teenager, he is.

james stays quiet too as they all chatter, his brows creased in distracted thought whilst he follows along into the pub.

he only snaps out of his daze when sirius heckles him from the bar, "James! what ya wanting, mate?"

"just a pint, pads" he says, forcing out a smile as he slumps in the booth, followed by the others whilst sirius gets everyones drinks ordered.

"cheer up, would you?" lily sighs softly, leaning her elbows against the table "we're meant to be taking your mind off of her, James."

"i am cheered." james mutters, giving her a sarcastic smile, earning a swat on the arm.

sirius scurries back to the table, setting everyones drinks down. hes always had a strange talent for carrying a bunch of glasses at once - must've been all the dorm parties back when they were students.

"right! cheers everyone" he exclaims dramatically, getting the group to clink their beers together "heres to healthy relat-"

"right!" a barman's voice interrupts, echoing through the pub "karaoke machines on, you lot. have at it."

most of the pub-goers (absolutely mortal middle aged men) dont seem to care all that much, but two groups seem to get elated at this news.

sirius gasps, immediately up and tugging on a begrudged peters arm (they've been karaoke partners since they were 17, believe it or not) "come on, wormy! we have to do starman!"

"sirius, mate-"

its then, that come on Eileen blasts through the pubs old speakers.

sirius shuts up - for once.

and james? well, james looks like hes seen an angel, to put it lightly.

there you are, giggling through the lyrics with Barty whilst you pathetically attempt the famous living room routine.

your whole group are creased watching, evan's filming of course. the people in the club clap along, energy up.

"come on, come on!" you wave over the others, the whole group crowding over the dingy microphone as you drunkenly shout the lyrics.

its when the song ends and your group stumbles away, clinging onto each other through bouts of laughter that you spot him. well, really you spot lily first. but then the others came into view. they all look anxious, sirius trying to tug james out of his seat. he doesn't budge.

oh christ, this is gunna be a long night, isn't it?

this feels so messy but like..ive had this idea for ages and i wanna get it out there. let me know your opinions! more parts to come<3

[blackbat05]

Side Tracked

Carlos Alcaraz x Reader

Summary: The feeling of winning is sweet, but so is unexpected encounters. (Fluff)

A/N: Usually never write for real(?) people but here’s my attempt to not make it flop(?) Hope you like it and congrats to Carlitos once again!⭐️

July 2023

He thought he’ll try something different today.

Take a walk down the city of London, have time to finally relax.

Maybe he should have thought about the fact that he was doing this right after he won the championships.

It’s not that he minded, he appreciated the attention that the sport was getting. But if he could just walk down the street without being stopped every three seconds, that would be great.

He quickly turns into a small alley with quaint little stores littered on each side. He’s not going to linger outside any longer so he dips into the first door that is opened.

The smell of lemons wafts through the air along with soft music that reminded him of being on the beach. Bookcases towered over him no matter which direction he turned.

Strangely, it wasn’t intimidating at all.

“Hello!”

A young lady pops out from the second shelve to his left, causing him to stumble back a few feet in shock.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She apologizes, a small smile grazing her features. “Can I help you with anything? A book perhaps?”

He didn’t want to trouble her just because he was trying to get some peace and quiet. So he just puts on his usual charm, takes a random book and shakes his head. She seems to be satisfied with his answer and leaves for the next row, telling him to look for her if he needs anything.

Book long abandoned, his eyes follow her curiously. Perhaps she doesn’t watch tennis. Not that he cared, did he? She could be busy with her work. Still, it intrigued him. He could be wrong, but she seemed to be… avoiding him?

He gives a sigh and turns open the book that he randomly grabbed from the shelve. If anything, he was not a reader. If he stares at a page for too long, the words might just jumble up into a ball of mess.

“Hey,” the same voice brings him back to the present. She stands in front of him in her white apron, another book in her hand that is outstretched to him. “You were almost going crossed-eye with that book. I think you might like this better.”

He swaps the book and she leaves quietly. Oh, it’s a book about his idol and one of the biggest sporting icons in tennis history. Rafa’s book was published when he was just a kid, but it would be interesting to see his perspective. He opens the book and this time, he doesn’t go crossed eye.

In fact, he’s so engrossed in it that by the time she checks in on him, the sun has disappeared and night falls.

“I’m glad you seem to be enjoying the book.”

Oh, he really wants to hear her talk more.

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

But he’s leaving the day after.

“You’re welcome. I hope you got the quiet time that you need. Congratulations by the way.”

He’s momentarily stunned, earning a chuckle from her.

“I think you had enough people heckling you for a day.” She looks out of the window and then her watch. “And I think your team should be looking for you.”

He’s still rooted to the ground, book in hand. The phone in his pocket buzzes and he’s sure Juan Carlos is going to give him an earful for escaping the hotel alone.

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers and darts off to the shelve, coming towards him with a brown book. “It’s not much but I would like you to have this.”

The little book of encouragement.

She looks sheepish as she explains, “It must be stressful. Having all these expectations on you. Sometimes you really just need to take a step back and remind yourself what’s truly important you know?”

What’s truly important…

His fingers wrap around the book and he holds onto it tight.

“Thank you, again.” He says. “I promise, I’ll be back when I’m in London.”

“I’m counting on it.”

***

A year later, 2024

This time, he remembers to put his hoodie up.

There was no need for google maps or asking for directions. He knew the way by heart, by instinct.

The same store comes into vision and he’s suddenly nervous. His fingers wrap itself tightly around the spine of the book. He can’t wait to see her.

The bell chimes as he pushes the door, the familiar scent greeting him again.

There she was, face scrunched up in concentration, a clipboard in hand. Her eyes light up with joy as soon as he enters.

As if like he never left.

“Well done champ.” She comes to give him a hug which he swears he felt her linger. He didn’t want to break the hug if he had a choice too.

They fall into easy conversation and he feels like a normal person. Not the athlete that everyone expects him to be.

“How did you like the book?” She asks expectantly. Her passion for books was admirable and adorable.

“I loved it. It helped me a lot. In good times, and in bad times.”

It was the truth and only the truth.

He passes her the book and it takes him all his strength to not tremble.

“I really like page 88.”

She cocks her head to one side in curiosity. Flipping the book to the said page.

When everything gets too loud, remember what you have, what you are fighting for.

She does a double take of the pink post it that has been pasted to the page of the quote and reads it carefully.

Would you like to go out with me for dinner today?

She peeks out from the book and he’s clearly nervous. She decides to be a little cheeky, and holds back her answer for a while more.

But she can’t bear to, not when he’s so sincere.

Not when he’s so hopeful.

Not when she’ll eventually say-

Yes.

[kick-a-long]

jewish american safety tips for upcoming oct 2 to oct 7th 2024

ok, so this is not a post about looking for trouble. but if trouble finds you from oct 2 to oct 7 and you don't pass enough to feel safe, and even if you do, there are some simple ways you can carry things to defend yourself while still deescalating a bad situation long enough to escape.

the important part is to either make you just enough of a problem that they don't want to spend the effort or a good little jew who doesn't fight back. don't hit them, try to stall and deescalate until you can run or get some distance. walk with people, travel with people, don't expect anyone to fight for you (being in larger groups is just a detergent) so the same rules apply alone as with someone else.

carry a bat or cane. these are pretty easy to get at a sports shop or a pharmacy. they are good for keeping attackers at a distance and in that time someone might pass by and get them to run off. these will not win a fight. carrying them is a way to make them think twice, keep their distance and regroup because jew bashers won't expect you to be able to do them any harm and it can give you time. don't hit them even if they faint at you because they will attack.

if you have a dog with you, be sure you can hold him back for both you and the dog. dogs are usually perfectly happy to attack and give you a chance to run but they will hurt that dog and you might try to save it which is worse than having no dog. the ideal dog is a barker not a biter, or a big scary dog you can control.

carry a rape whistle. these can do fuck all but the sound might scare them off. especially if it's the electric kind that sounds when activated. this method makes them feel like they will get caught and they are all cowards.

mace is a bad idea but if you think you know how to use it without spraying yourself it might give you time to run but it will get that now very pissed antisemite an opportunity to run after you.

third if you wear a yamika, you are now also wearing a baseball cap on top. if you wear religious garb or gay identifiers of any sort, you have to make sure it's only visible on your front so you can see who can see you or don't wear it at all if you can. stick to places you know and residential areas.

don't be afraid to knock on strangers doors if you even get a whiff of being followed. most people love to be a hero and if you don't want to let you in ask if they can watch for trouble coming from their door or window while you wait by the house. even if you are just walking to an apartment try ringing bells. if you are in a shops area, head into a shop and explain that you are unsafe and ask if you can stay for safety. you should call police but police take time to respond and they can't charge someone that hasn't done anything... and the whole point is to prevent them doing anything.

NO KNIVES. NO GUNS. no weapons, although some chunky rings can't hurt. no earings to grab, no necklaces to grab, keep your hair up. no nutzo weapons, you are not john wick. you want them to keep their distance not engage. the people who do this want easy targets and they are cowards at heart.

the most likely thing to happen is getting yelled at on the street from a car. that's fine. those dudes usually drive off. if they stop, you can run off by the time someone gets out. they only brought the car to get away and they don't want their car stolen so they probably wont get too far from it.

second most likely is drunk assholes spontaneously following and heckling and yelling slurs. keep your ears open and don't respond and run off if they stop. drunk guys want trouble but don't usually attack unless you engage. play it off as a silent uncomfortable joke where you smile if you have to because they might see it as "just a little fun". don't talk. don't laugh. don't engage.

the third situation is the real danger. if you see a lone guy or a group of guys in a car or on foot who don't look rowdy, drunk, aren't speaking but are looking at you. run. the easiest thing to do is walk towards a house. no waiting.

the fourth is a large violent riot/protest. don't look scared. chant whatever they chant and get to the nearest house.

i know a lot of jews are feeling unsafe. it's very, VERY unlikely that anyone in America is going to be physically targeted or attacked (except orthodox jews. sorry but your community probably already has security in place. rely on them it's not their first rodeo.)

if you are outnumbered by people joking on a bus or public transit you can't get off immediately, stay safe and subservient. that's what antisemites consider a good jew. scared and knows their inferior place. try keeping your head down and get off on the next stop. don't think the other passengers will help you and don't assume they don't have weapons.

i know it's scary but it's very unlikely you will encounter any of these situations. stay inside as much as possible, only travel by day or by car if you have to get out, a quick trip to pick up beer or dinner is not worth it if it puts you in danger.

stay safe.

edit for good advice from @angryjewishcockroach : Another tip re: cars: if you’re walking and someone is following you in a car, or you’re afraid they’re going to start following you, do a 180 and go in the opposite direction. The amount of time it takes to turn a car around will give you a good head start, and most jerks won’t even bother. If you’re in a neighborhood or something similar, you can also cut through lawns; cars can’t follow you there, and you should hopefully be able to lose them if they try to follow anyway.

[allfearstofallto]

A wip that I started that I liked a lot. I don't think I'll ever finish it though because I genuinely CANNOT REMEMBER WHERE THE STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO GO.

anyways Venti x Fem! Reader

TW: alcohol and drinking

Your travels took you to lots of places. The harsh deserts of Sumeru and the stormy terrain of Inazuma being two that you could think of right off the top of your head. Being an adventurer meant that places like that would be common for you, not something to look forward to, but something to be expected and dealt with accordingly. With that being said, even you found yourself grateful when the most you had to worry about in Mondstadt being small hilichurl camps and winds that could at most, blow your map away.

The city of freedom truly lived up to its name. It was the smallest in size, but somehow the most lively you’d been to. Bards were commonplace and music being played on the streets was normal to the point where you rarely ever heard the silence. The people, while often drunk, were friendlier than in most cities. In exchange for their help, all they’d ask for was to share a drink, while you told them a tale of your adventures.

That was one thing that they loved most. A good story. Especially one that went well with their liquor, hence why you were always so popular in town. Your adventures, while they seemed rather tame to you, were like music to the ears of the people of Monstadt. They just couldn’t get enough of you. Even though you were supposed to leave days ago, you found yourself unable to pry yourself from the comradery of the city, choosing to stay for just a bit longer.

You nursed your drink and listened to a sailor who’d just gotten home tell the tale of a monster that he was convinced he saw in the sea. The bar patrons heckled him, calling him a liar in more ways than you’d ever heard of, all the while he continued on as if he weren’t being shouted at. It surprised you the first time you saw something like that, them yelling at the person giving the entertainment. It didn’t take long for you to realize that this too was normal and also in good fun.

“I have a story to share,” all eyes turned to the corner of the room to find the source of a voice which was followed by the strum of a lyre harp. Even you found yourself perking up at the sound of the mysterious verse, “A story in the form of a song.”

The bar went silent as the man plucked the strings of the instrument, playing a slow, solemn melody. The way his fingers moved was hypnotizing, they were like waves of water, splashing over the shore in a pattern that was heavenly. But he didn’t speak, didn’t sing, just played that tune into the silence with his eyes gleefully glued shut.

“What are you waiting for? Tell us the story!” someone shouted from across the bar. This caused an almost instant reaction amongst the crowd of more yelling and cheers.

“But it’ll cost you,” he said, finally peaking open one of his swirling green eyes, “The price of one drink.”

There was an instant groan and booing amongst the masses after he said this, but he didn’t falter. He just shut his eyes back, crossed one leg over the other, and began strumming on his lyre again, playing peacefully as if none of the complaining was bothering him. Everyone else went back to what they were doing, ignoring the man once in favor of talking amongst themselves, already sick of his antics. Everyone, but you.

What little bit of the song you’d heard was already stuck in your head, to the point where you just had to hear more. You scraped the mora you had in your pocket out and handed it to the bartender, a tall glass of dandelion wine was slid back to you. A specialty of Mondstadt, you seldom drank it yourself. The taste of it was sweet, a little too sweet. Its sweetness hid the taste of the alcohol, to the point where you found yourself drinking a little too much of it. You didn’t remember any of that night and decided to lay off the wine for a while.

Slowly, you eased the glass onto the table next to the bard, but before it could even leave your hands completely, he had already picked it up and was chugging it down. You watched in relative horror as he swallowed the drink down, each gulp of his throat making the glass become emptier and emptier before he slammed the now completely drained glass onto the wooden table.

“Phew! That hit the spot!” he breathed dramatically, using his forearm to wipe away what little liquor had fallen away from his lips.

Words couldn’t even escape your mouth. You just stared at him in what was akin to horror. Even you, who had a pretty okay tolerance, knew that downing a whole glass like that with no breaks, would get you too drunk to see straight, let alone still act entirely sober. Yet here he sat, lyre in hand, staring up at you with a playful smile.

“So it’s a song you wanted to hear?”

A mere nod was your answer. Curiosity had gotten the better of you in actuality and drinks cost so little. It wasn’t much effort to see what he was offering.

“Then a song you shall receive,”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for moving a box of spaghetti?

I (24F) live with my retired parents (66M, 66F). I pay rent (though significantly below market rate) and I pay for all my own expenses (groceries, insurances, phone, etc.). I also provide free live-in pet care when my folks travel, which they tend to do for weeks at a time.

My mom is kind of a control freak about the house. I am not allowed to have visitors, or any belongings outside the confines of my room. She also used to extend this to my room, but not since I turned 18. When I was in high school, I had to secretly buy and assemble a desk while she was at work because she thought a desk would "ruin the aesthetic" of my room. The only exception to the "no stuff" rule is in the kitchen, as perishable foods don't really do well in bedrooms.

She has decided it is her New Project to segregate all of their food from my food. I don't have an issue with that in itself. However, she is intent on doing it completely unilaterally. She first did the freezer, which she showed me excitedly. I was like "Oh, cool. Do you think we could switch which drawer is mine? I was used to using this one". And she absolutely freaked out, because I am not a ROOMMATE, I am a GUEST, and how DARE I have the ENTITLEMENT to tell HER where to put things in the house SHE OWNS. Please note that here she is screaming so loud that my friend, waiting for me outside, could hear her from their car.

We had a similar exchange when she showed me the fridge! I didn't have an issue with the actual organization there, but I was still like "hey you seem really stoked to show me this. I wish you would communicate about it beforehand though. Even if you're going to do it anyway, I feel like it's an act of respect to let me know what your plan is before you just start touching and moving my stuff". That again, didn't go well.

Today she decided to tackle the pantry. At this point this is a sore spot for me. I am like, physically holding myself back from heckling her as she does this. It doesn't help that she started doing this right before I was about to make myself breakfast so I am Hangry. She finishes like, an hour and a half later. I make my food. I notice that the way she has arranged my pasta, you can't get at any of the stuff without taking it all out of the cabinet. I fix it while still keeping all of my stuff on My side, but I have to remove a box of spaghetti because it doesn't fit quite right. I put it on the counter while I clean my pan because I'm not sure how I'm going to address it. I am definitely aware there is a chance I'm going to get yelled at, but I move it anyway.

While I'm scrubbing, my mom comes into the kitchen, sees the spaghetti box on the counter, and starts screaming bloody murder at me, at "audible down the street" levels. To the point where I was very viscerally upset for hours.

I obviously know that the severity of her reaction is literally insane, especially because I didn't even yell back at her. However, I'm torn on how justified I actually am in wanting to be included in the organization of the kitchen. AM I being entitled about this? Should I just let my mom do what she wants or should I keep trying to advocate for myself?

[kutputli]

I do think the show is leaning towards Trent being queer, and a moment of intergenerational queer solidarity would be amazing.

(I will bitterly note that none of the characters of colour are likely to find a moment of intergenerational solidarity regarding racism. And that given how glibly they moved on from the Dubai Air protests, I doubt that the show will really delve into the full repercussions of what a queer footballer would face.)

Trent Crimm doing his little cunt walk and puffing his jacket only to stop dead in his sashay to stare at Colin making out on the street with the same look all older queers have on their faces when they see stuff like that.

[kuromibabi5]

fire suffocates and drowning burns

dabi x reader

word count - 5.8k

warnings - stalking, kinda yandere, dabi in general, sad?

The last time you saw Touya was at his funeral.

The picture his father had chosen; white hair, blue eyes and sad. Seeing someone for the last time you'd think that it would be best seeing their last smile, or more their best. At the beach building sandcastles, their eyes gleaming, or on a family holiday with a growing tan. You think his best must have been after jumping into the river near your house.

You were playing hooky to returning home. After school had finished you both decided there wasn't enough time in the day, so if you couldn't make your own time you'd just have to spend a bit of the rest. Walking aimlessly through the streets of a world the two of you had created you'd come by that river and Touya dared you to jump off of this small cliff overlooking it. You'd said no almost immediately, already getting in trouble for staying out, you're not about to get in trouble for drenching the carpet too, and as Touya was, he wasn't going to just let it go. Strong minded. You hate that- hated that about him. Putting what was definitely all of his remaining energy into peer pressuring you, calling you a coward, juvenile sounding little bawk bawk bawk's. And the final words, "How're you planning to be a hero if you're too chicken to get a bit wet?" a playful (and evil) lilt to his voice as he says it, doing his best to hold back a shit eating grin when he knew it was working. You were never too good at saying no to him. You remember his stupid smile when you reluctantly agreed (a bit too fast to keep your dignity) and his obnoxious giggle when you nearly ate shit down the stairs towards it (you're not sure it's ever returning at this point) and you remember the sounds of the flowing water and passing cars from the bridge ahead as you looked down, unsure, at him from atop the cliff to find him deadly silent. Though he was silent, his expression was definitely not, to the point where you simply let out a giggle before giving yourself a running start. He followed, only after a few disgruntled excuses from himself and some very strongly worded heckling from yourself, your smile wide as he stood on the same cliff and wider when his head vanished underwater. Taking just a beat long enough for the ghost of worry to start creeping behind your shoulders and start to move towards him but when he finally resurfaced, seemingly returning from the dead, he beamed. His hair was still covering his eyes and he wasn't even looking at you, facing the wrong way until he regained the miracle of sight. There was no picture of it, but if there were you think that'd be a good one. He had just looked so stupid or stupidly happy that when you think of him now, you can't stop your mind from trekking back to that soggy afternoon.

Surrounded by black suits and dresses you don't think you could've looked at his smile. Surrounded by darkness you would've recoiled from light in the way that has your eyes creasing and flashing multicoloured behind the lids, hands instinctively raising ahead of yourself in defence. You weren't exactly happy in the dark, maybe just content. So close to falling apart you couldn't exactly call it that but light didn't seem like just falling, it seemed shattering. So when you did finally see the chosen image you remember thinking that you were glad it wasn't his smile. Your mind's speaker voicing 'If I'm never going to see it again what's the point now'. You settled for the dark.

The first time you saw Touya you remember thinking he was an ass.

Obnoxious and prideful. It wasn't hard to figure out he was Endeavour's son since he wouldn't stand you not knowing. It wasn't hard to find out that he wanted to be a hero when he grew up because he would tell anyone willing to listen. And you just had to know that he was going to be your next number 1. It seemed like everything he said he tried to carve into the air and earth around him, making sure it was known. Always loud enough that you had to hear him whether you wanted to or not. Obnoxious.

You only ever saw him in class and after school (it was hard to miss the hired car waiting outside the school gates everyday), he seemed to evaporate when break and lunch time came about, not that you kept an eye out for him. Well maybe you did. He just kind of interested you, he was Endeavour's son, though it was making you feel like you were betraying yourself. 'You are your own enemy now, nowhere is safe from Touya' you practically shivered at the thought.

Despite your interest in him you never tried to speak with him, you never spoke to others about him or let them speak to you about him, only reluctantly letting your eyes hover over him for a second or two too long. But you'd always had a bleeding heart. On rainy days you made sure to keep an eye out for travelling snails released from their hibernation, making sure to avoid crushing them, and the cries of indignation you'd half screamed at your parents having stumbed upon a shrivelled slug in your back garden in a salty grave. You loved the soft twittering of songbirds in the morning that accompanied your getting ready for school, the echoing owl hoots lulling you to sleep at night and your face would shine when happening to catch a glimpse of a passing rabbit. When you'd seen one limping instead of leaping across your view your parents had to hold you back from running after it into the forest, they'd said that an injured animal would only hurt itself further trying to escape help. At that moment you'd thought that hurting a bit more with warm arms around you was better than being left to bleed alone; love and blood were both painted in red for a reason. This is why when you found Touya by the water taps in a hidden corner of the playground with red trickling from his nose and bottom lip you softened and decided to help.

Gently walking towards him as if you were now approaching that same injured rabbit, you spoke your first words to him, 'Hey, Touya?'. He turned his head towards you upon hearing your - for the first and last time - foreign voice. Showing a placid, maybe even calm face at first but when your eyes travelled further you started to see those hints of fear and animal instinct settled safely in his eyes and after swiftly turning his head back towards the tap he spoke his first words to you. 'Get lost.'. That caused a small frown to find home on your lips but changed nothing in your movements. You went on to ask him if he was alright, continuing your steps closer, each one with all the delicacy your eight year old body held as if a single crunch would have him scuttering away, to which he replied, eyes fixed to the ground that 'yeah, he was fine' said in a soft and reserved tone that you'd never quite expected from him. In that moment you smiled softly and forgot about the loud, obnoxious boy you hated.

After enough prodding and poking and painfully strained conversation, though hard to call a conversation when the loudest sound he let leave his mouth was one annoyed grunt when you continued to speak, he relented and told you what had happened. Starting off with the same shy speech, he told you how he'd overheard another boy talking about his father; you had asked who to be met only with a sharp 'who cares', what mattered was the slandering words that left his mouth. Apparently this nameless kid was not a fan of the number two hero and he wasn't shy to be vocal about that fact. Touya didn't care to repeat what was spoken about him, going on to say how he shamelessly butted into the boy and his friends' conversation, saying he had no clue what he was talking about, that he didn't know how hard his dad worked, that someone so useless and small wouldn't understand. But Touya did. The words that Touya had spoken he wasn't hesitant to repeat, growing more agitated each moment, reliving the memory. Harsh words quickly transforming to disorientated yells ended up leading to Touya pouncing on the poor boy and you were slowly starting to feel a bit less empathetic towards his plight, though didn't think to say so. Now that he'd started it seemed that the words were leaving his mouth before they even entered his brain, having the chance to let it all out he spoke without holding back. You wordlessly listened to each barely strung together sentence, unblinking and eyes never moving from his small frame. Hearing him speak you wondered if he even knew how to have a normal conversation. Before when you'd heard him speak he seemed to make sounds like a chisel and hammer drumming in the air, now you think he sounds more like a jackhammer, it felt almost entrancing. Curiously listening to the tone and twinge of each huff of air that was forced out his mouth, testing a few syllables on your own, making sure they were real. When he finished, actually panting for air, you both stood in a few beats of near silence looking at one another before you asked a question.

"Do you love your father?"

He paused, mouth slightly parting as if preparing to reply, continuing to stare at you with a twinge of confusion he didn't have a moment before, "Well... yeah."

You thought you would've wanted to protect those you love too.

Life after Touya doesn't feel quite right. It's constantly quiet, lacking the unceasing rattle of his each and every thought. Missing the shine to his eyes when he'd talk of the future, how intwined his would be with yours. The way that the word 'after' had begun to poke pins into your skin.

After his death you stopped visiting the Todoroki estate, leaving behind fresh sliced oranges that his mother, Rei, brought the two of you in study sessions, no longer talking with his siblings and artfully dodging his father with hushed words and mixed stifled giggles. No longer watching the rindou flowers bloom in the fall, thoughts lingering on how similarly the flower’s blue tone mirrored his eyes, and how the sakura blossoms were lifted by the wind to slowly flutter into the back garden in the springtime. Forgetting the tall oak tree you'd both find shelter in, retreating from the sweltering sun when the heat became too much in the summer and snow carefully pushed aside to make snow angels of your small forms in the biting winter. Forgetting. You weren't lingering on each year, month, week and moment you'd spent together. You weren't. It doesn't matter that you still haven't referred to him in past tense or that you still smile to yourself when you think of the time he got in trouble for yelling at a classmate for stealing your favourite pen or that you came to a complete and motionless stop when you found yourself at the gate of his home. It doesn't matter that in that moment you found the start of tears in your eyes.

Life without Touya is unrelenting.

You can't stand going to school everyday, feeling those judging eyes leering at your every move, the whispers of others that really shouldn't be called whispers, it's a disgrace to the name. You can never quite make out the words but you just know what they're saying. They never got Touya, they never knew Touya, that's why it was always just the pair of you, you two and all your hopes and dreams and death against the world. They never knew how you two were going to move away one day, living alone away from the crushing claws of anyone else; you'd both promised you'd leave everyone but each other. They never knew how the two of you would drift off on lazy afternoons dripping into fantasies of being hero's, how when you told Touya how he would be the number one hero and you number two or maybe his sidekick he'd said that 'well maybe he would be fine with it if you'd tied for number one or something’; they didn't see the soft pink hue capture his cheeks saying he wouldn't have it any other way. They didn't know how he'd died alone.

You miss Touya.

Everyday you think about how his eyes had started to hollow along with his cheeks. How people started to notice him less and less as he started to quiet down, how his father started to tense around him, how his mother's eyes would melt in something different from affection. You'd noticed how Natsuo, his older brother, had stopped expecting conversation when Touya crossed his path, you heard when Touya stopped preaching heroism and started questioning it. You were looking him in the eye when he'd asked you why you wanted to be a hero and how his eyes lowered ever so slightly when you told him that it was because of him, you heard the silence that followed and sat in it.

You saw his hair, picturing his father’s violent red, dampening to the pale flickering wisps of red in a bed of his mothers white and when he said it was just growing pains you didn't question it, you saw how his fire dampened in drowned murmurs for the longevity of it's embers and how the words never flowed anymore but were almost lethargically forced out. You saw his posture weaken each time you saw him and his smile more weak and how his hands clasped yours so much harder than they had before. You saw the tired glance he gave you before slowly telling you he had to go, how he'd walked you home and his eyes weighed on you so heavily that you felt it on your shoulders still with your back to him. You remember how you'd stood at your door, turning back towards him before leaving, waved and wished him good luck while he smiled at you with his snowy white hair.

That was the last time you really saw Touya.

Two years after his death at fourteen, Touya wakes up to find himself a ghost.

Sitting up in strange surroundings his lungs constricted harsher than before, eyes dried at the contact of air, burned at that of fluorescent lights, elbows creased with the ache of sloth. His fingers tensed along with the rest of his carefully reconstructed body, mind being mercilessly thrown around his skull, wincing when feeling it quiver with each loud collision and before having gathered himself enough to know ground - only aware of his own consciousness - he gently moved his strained gaze across his surroundings. Paper cut outs of trees and asymmetrical patterned butterflies, childish multicoloured flowers stuck to the walls and fluorescent yellow stars flat to the ceiling, seemingly attempting to paint a dreamy recreation of the outside world, Touya didn't quite buy it. Room too pristine to have been lived in and carefully laid out medication on a wheeled silver tray beside him a picture of sterile life. Leaving the discovered white and blue bedsheets that draped across his body, discomfort drummed in his stomach, the soft padding of the soles of his feet warily placed upon the cold wooden floor, going on to take bambi-like steps across his room tunnelling towards the door. Letting his instincts lead him through to the hallway outside, decorated with the same false images, finding a doorless arch letting into a room of variously aged children sat and standing throughout it. Statued in the doorway, hesitantly watching the crowd, voices started to travel through the air when bright eyes had spotted him. They knew him, he'd been gone for two years and each one of them stared at him with familiarity spread across their face. Speaking to try to find answers for the many questions rattling in his mind, he found his voice to be so much deeper and scratchy than he'd remembered it, that former discomfort now ebbing waves over his skin.

Just as he started to feel frantic a voice spoke from behind him, startled, he turned around to be met with a grown man dressed in a character costume of the sun, and according to those in the know, it was named 'Sunny'. It's voice - feeling as painfully artificial as the rest of the damn place - continued, attempting to mellow his heightening emotions, referring to him as 'Sleepyhead' grated against him. Touya spoke back and his voice increased in volume with each syllable, agitation vibrating through the air when 'Sunny' interrupted with that fake joyous tone and almost forcibly brought him deeper through the building into an eerily bare room, containing the doctor in charge of this self named 'sanctuary'. 'To put all your worries to rest!'. Touya visibly cringed.

The doctor, who kept a firm hold on his anonymity, Touya still not knowing his name, finally gave him some answers. He spoke of how 'they', whoever that meant, had found his charred misshapen body floating in a pond he'd fallen into in his fiery stupor up on Sekoto peak, over the years building his body up to liveable before he stopped and let a disembodied voice continue on for him. Turning towards the crackling sound he found a laptop displaying a simple black background with large purple letters spelling out 'LIVE'. He heard it rattle on about how he would start to train his body, just like before, the road heading back towards greatness, staying and growing. The computer shut off immediately following its practiced speech, and as a silence followed, Touya looked in the reflection of the blackened screen seeing the visible signs of his death left splotched across his body; settled burn scars that didn't feel right under his hands. Who did they think they were? What inane string of thoughts made them think that he would just sit there and take this. How were they so carelessly spewing out such lecherous words? Where was he? Who were they, where's his father? He must've been looking for him, he must've been worried. He was missing a son, one was taken from him. He wouldn't stand for this. Anger erupting from his now taller form, flames burst out along with his words, alighting the computer and the table it sat upon, burning the bare wall behind it, heat following him through every winding hallway that he passed in his escape, he had to get home.

Hours later he was looking at the gates of the Todoroki estate, eyes thinning with the joy that came with it, an expectant smile gracing his lips. Rushing in with everything of the world through the halls of his childhood home, eyes searching for that comforting familiarity he once knew, smelling somewhat familiar embers and sweat pockets in the air and Shoto and his childhood. Looking for broad looming shoulders, vibrant red hair and eyes the same colour as his as his nose lingered on the smell of burning incense. His eyes following the scent of sandalwood he saw accompanying the patiently withering sticks, sat a picture of him. Breath fogging in the winter air was his first sign of a continuing beating heart. His tears were the second.

In the following months that Touya had spent translucently wandering he learned that his father never cared about him, that he was wrong all those years. Watching every interview he could find online on his stolen laptop or reading them in the shoplifted magazines and newspapers he managed to scrounge up from the small shops he wasn't banned from. He read how his father made no more than a singular statement about his death before radio silence and how little anyone spoke about his death. He was pretty sure that outside of those that had seen him in the flesh, he'd never existed. He often visited his family's home, keeping hidden and simply observing, watching how his dad actually gave a shit about his younger brother. Shoto who had gotten their mothers ice quirk along with their fathers fire, who didn't have to nurse burn wounds simply because he wanted to try, who was still living in their father's eyes. Shoto who had no problem just breezing through life. He saw how he never had to prove anything to their father, never having to beg for time with him, when he spoke to him, he actually heard the words. He saw his father so readily give him everything.

He saw when his mother was sent to a nut-house. For two weeks he saw the lack of her presence without knowing why. He saw the o' so precious Shoto with a poor little bandage covering his left eye and his mother suddenly vanished on the same visit. The first two he thought that maybe it would be just a coincidence, that his mother was out shopping or with friends, or doing whatever mums do when not being wives. He thought this even past the fact that he'd seen his mother's under-eyes a pale shade of grey each time he saw her, and how she slid across the floor instead of walking, feet seeming to not fully leave the ground with each step and that every time he visited she was always waiting for him somewhere within the house. Soon he looked up the name Rei Todoroki and read of her banishment.

Touya spent an endless amount of days only ever viewing. Watching his family go on with life, watching you forget about him, watching Shoto grow stronger, watching videos of his fathers fights, studying every move he made throughout, carefully practicing each one a few more times more after he was satisfied with his own execution. He lived wherever he could find any form of shelter, sleeping on the tough concrete of unfinished abandoned buildings, or when other wandering souls moved in, sleeping under bridges until he was told firmly by a policeman or hero that he'd have to 'move along'. Sleeping by dumpsters 'round the back of various shops before workers would shoo him away in the morning or down any alley he could find before dawn hit so he could get at least an hour of sleep before being kicked awake. Hard floors are good for your back anyways. He fought to find food wherever he could, snatching a sandwich someone sat beside them on a bench while turned the other way, grabbing a bento or onigiri from a corner shop before sprinting out before paying or when he was starving looking through bins and dumpsters for any scrap of whatever he could find. Once he'd gone to a homeless shelter to beg for a meal and they'd offered for him to take a bed there for the night with so much worry in their voices that the attention and notice they'd spent him made him avoid them like the plague. He never spoke to anyone unless there was no way to avoid it - or at least when his pride couldn't - he kept to himself, sometimes not using his voice for a week at a time, whenever speaking finding it sallow and cracking before it awoke with a forced sentence or two, or ten. He also found that people didn't care to speak to him either, almost all interactions he took part in being yelling or screaming or condemning words towards him. He found out that life was never easy just when you needed it to be and that the world never cared either.

He only ever visited you once or twice a month at his most frequent and never watching for long, really just making sure you were still up and kicking, but he thought of you almost constantly. Wondering how you were getting along with your mum these days. Did you still love those chocolates you bought every time the two of you went to the shops together, do you talk to more people these days now that he's gone? Before when it had just been the two of you, it really was just the two of you. Did you find another person to find a pair in or do you have a group that you now find home in? Do you laugh with them the same way you did with him? Was it that you preferred the company of two or was it him holding you back all that time? Were you happier now that he was gone, no longer having to carry the weight of his burdens, forced to listen to his ramblings of his father and how his mother and Natsuo and little Fuyumi never ever bothered putting anything real behind their words. When Shoto developed his quirk and his resentment for him started to bubble up, did your fondness start to dissolve or did you really feel a flutter of sympathy like you played at. When he watches you in those brief moments, studying a textbook or brushing your hair, the same as you had always looked before, he can't tell if there's something different in you now and it nags at him. Makes him want to start to pick at the edges of the blistering skin over where his smoothed out scars used to be. He thinks you wouldn't quite like him the same way you used to now, wouldn't look at him the same, half the surface of his body covered in bright crimson and wiltering flesh. Slowly growing more painful to look at, growing closer to the image of the corpse he was supposed to be, boiling himself from the inside out. If he startles when catching his reflection in a shop window he doubts you'd find it comfort seeing your old friend in his new form either. One thought that never stops itching at the back of his mind though, is had you found someone to hold in the same way you did him. Each time it crept up, casting its own looming shadow in its reoccurring awakening, he pushes it as far away from him as he can find the courage to do so, though when he's left alone with only his mind for company, hunger nagging and a swift breeze whirl-pooling around him leaving a settling frost in his bones, laid in the sad little 'home' he'd found for the night he thinks do you hold others like how he wishes you would hold him now.

As the years passed he found that he didn't have to find comfort in his empty stomach to get by, that nothing paid like crime. Through all his varying employers he was nameless, he knew he wasn't Touya anymore but couldn't place who else yet, still searching for his identity, his new being, though for now he would be a hollow whisper in the wind. Crime came naturally to him really, growing rage glimmering through his veins and bleeding into the aftermath of every job, quirk being seemingly crafted for destruction. He embodied the look of a villain now too, his once bubbling burns had been whittled down to drooping purple flesh being held to his face with only the help of gripping silver staples, charred skin spanning from the corners of his limp smiles to the start of his earlobes and reaching down his neck, another mass forming the permanent look of lifelessness with half moons that enveloped his under eyes, death glowing in the vibrant blue above them. And then he’d started smoking, not because he particularly liked it, he actually hated the smell, how it clung to his clothes and the bitter taste it left in his throat, it was more that his father would've hated it, a little 'fuck you' accompanying each shuddering jolt of his heart.

He saw that you'd started a little modelling career by now, trading in helping people to helping every sad loser still living in their mum's basement masturbate, skimpy bikini shoots you'd do practically begging for attention; he guesses you were still being a 'hero', saving the world one jack-off at a time. You'd moved out of your parents house like you always said you would, though leaving him out of the equation this time. By how quickly it followed your selling-out he assumes the second you'd gathered enough money you up and left, he had to admit you were amazing at leaving behind the past, with the ease that you moved from chapter to chapter you would almost believe you were completely devoid of emotion behind your cutesy facade. He realised that kind and soft mask you wore reached further than a photoshoot, you never really cared for him, just couldn't get enough of the attention he payed you, saw him tripping over himself to hear yet another of your lies, how your deceitful little form had had him reeling. He'd started following you around whenever he found himself bored now, quickly rising from occasional visits to trailing you around Tokyo for hours, multiple times a week. Hidden eyes lazily following you on your way to the supermarket, late night trips to the corner shop, prettying yourself up in your bedroom mirror for your next slutty photoshoot; whatever pays the bills, huh? Once when grabbing himself a snack, briefly leaving your shadow, he'd seen some sack of shit pick up a magazine with one of your more provocative shoots - don't ask how he knows - and he could almost imagine the sickening imitation of a bashful little smile you'd have shown him if you'd seen it too. He'd continue to follow you afterwards, a fresh feeling of irritation clawing at him, and the fresh smell of burnt glossy paper sticking to him.

He'd started to visit his mother in the hospital now too. She really was so incredibly boring, half of her days were spent just feebly gazing out the window or slowly speaking with a particular few of the other nutcases she could find the will to talk to in there, and even now, imprisoned, never gaining any initiative, resigning herself. Natsuo and Fuyumi would go to visit her every now and again, sad, pitying expressions that he thought could only have made her feel worse, she'd always crumbled at the slight signs of discomfort, and they'd always brought guilt gifts along with them, whatever fit the regulations the hospital set in place so she couldn't kill herself or something. Terrible drawings Fuyumi's students had made of poor recreations of trees and rolling 'hill' (yeah, just the singular one) and an amazingly unconvincing sun cozied up in the corner, or Natsuo bringing some new fancy skincare a shopkeeper had recommended to him, no real thought behind it, that she never ended up using by the way. Her meek little 'thank you's - or what he assumed were such by the wistful smile that would appear along with the gentle movements of her mouth - making him cringe, the back of his mind throbbing, imagining the words in her lingering voice, she just couldn't help it could she. His father would send her her favourite flowers - rindous he remembers - in the lack of his presence, a sickening mix of cowardice and actual strange care and thought behind it, and when she wasn't pathetically moping around, her gaze would soften when settling upon them. He guesses his dad finally broke her in the end.

At one point he'd decided to dye his hair, even with the new scars, the white hair was a pretty good give away to himself, and he'd settled on black. Yeah, emo, he knows, but blonde was basically the same, brown was just gross and he'd look conspicuous as shit running round with bright green hair or something, if he was gonna start doing more jobs he couldn't right well show up on tv burning some guy up looking practically the same, and aside from plastic surgery this was the best he had. At least security cameras were blurry to fuck. It happens to be that criminals actually have a short temper too, and his employers getting more and more agitated for the lack of a name to call him, 'inconvenient as fuck' apparently. He'd been thinking over this for a bit now, mulling over different names to complete his identity, frowning at some, considering others, parents really didn't get enough credit for this name stuff this was hard as shit, but after much grievance, eventually coming along the web of thoughts that he should be named after his so called rebirth. The thing that gave him a fresh start, the chance to do something. So the next time he was hassled by them ('they' who can't even fight their own battles by the way), he had something to give them. The word meaning cremation, it was bit on the nose but he thought it worked, Dabi.

You don't think you could ever hate Touya as much as you would've liked to. You imagine in your head how you would've hated him for when he beat you at your favourite game and when he stole your last piece of gum. How he never said sorry when he annoyed you and how he'd pester you until you gave in because he always knew you would. When he'd leave you for the day and he'd never say goodbye 'cause he knew he'd see you in a few hours and how he'd just pout when you told him off and you hate that you could never hate him for not saying goodbye to you on your last day together. You wish you could've hated his dimmed eyes instead of ruminating on them and that you would learn to hate the colour white instead of melt into it and summer would ebb through you instead of smother you in a warmth that you cant tell if painful or soft. You wish you would hate how you sink into the thought of you two back in the bug infested grassy field, arms spread, eyes wide pointed at clouds and so wholly each others in imagined futures and you hate that you could've never held his ashes in your arms and wish him to himself again.

[boatboysrowout]

my dear friend is distressed about the lack of martyn fics so although i am not clever enough to write martyn inthelittlewood i can offer you some situations i propose he be put in:

- overworked volunteer at an animal shelter. his favorite animal is a giant german shepherd named ren who never leaves him alone. his least favorite animal is a bird named grian who does nothing but imitate human screams and bite.

- amateur comedian. he does stand up every tuesday night and the instant he gets heckled he gets super defensive and starts saying shit like ‘you people don’t understand true comedy’ and ‘you’re just jealous you’re not on my level’ and ‘ren said i’m hilarious screw all of you’

- firefighter. he spends 90% of his shifts chasing down and extinguishing a very handsome man who has the unfortunate habit of setting himself on fire to prove his passion. no one asks him to do this. martyn is very distressed by this. etho and bdubs think it is hysterical that martyn hasnt noticed this only ever happens while he’s on duty.

- renaissance fair employee. i think its obvious where im going with this so instead of the obvious he gets way too into the roleplay and almost commits first degree murder bc someone cut in front of ren in line to get a funnel cake ill talk instead about how there’s a pirate themed booth for some reason at the renaissance fair and martyn hates it bc of the historical inaccuracy and also bc he is convinced joel and etho set his and ren’s tent on fire on purpose.

- burger king employee. there is a mcdonalds across the street and they hate each other’s guts. one day grian breaks in while scar is distracting ren and martyn and smashes their ice cream machine with a baseball bat bc martyn made one too many jokes about their ice cream machine always being broken. martyn’s manager ren takes this personally, dubs himself the burger king, puts on the shitty cardboard crown and declares war on the mcdonalds. by the end of the week every single employee of the burger king and the mcdonalds have been fired and their story is featured on national news.

update: that last one is now written. you’re welcome/i’m so sorry