#oh and q’d

[bamababygirl7]

[ofdetonation]

@varicrux inquired : mina's just going to spend countless minutes tracing katsuki's scars on his arms & hands. expression gentle , quizzical , & soft. ' -- you're like a roadmap of battles & victories , ain't'cha? ' ╱ unprompted.

battle after battle, the scars accumulated. katsuki hasn't let them bother him since obtaining any of them ⸺ they were just a reminder of the fights he had to fight, the events of his life carved indiscriminately into fair skin, some ragged and raised and taut. if people were to ask about them when his sleeves are rolled up, he speaks of them in a clean, medical manner ╱ obtained because of his right arm being shattered, requiring intervention and proper surgery. or if it was the lightning scars ; those were an exposure to weather events, called upon while they were on nabu island. they were just a part of his path to heroism.

but mina refers to those same scars as a roadmap ; suddenly, they weren't just events he would gloss over, medically described in sterile words. they were a retelling of every event he survived. they stand to remind him that each battle he ventured into might have left a mark on clear skin, but he persevered through them anyway, unyielding even when he should have yielded. they taunt and torment as much as they bring him peace ╱ he won the battles, survived the wars.

soft and slender rose fingers graze over the blond's scars, gentle and tender, her gaze gentle and observant. katsuki's breath hitches as she traces across jagged scars along the palm of his hand. scarlet gaze, once harsh and stern, softens a fraction while the sharpened knitting of his brows relax, the tension in his shoulders melting away the more time she spends contemplating their presence. he almost can't find the words. she is admiring such a recent history and seeing them as more than just another mark on skin ; a mosaic of his victories.

❝ ... guess so. ❞ katsuki doesn't tug away his arm, only glancing up to catch black sclera and golden irises. ❝ 's what happens over time. ❞

a pause. eventually, crimson falls back on the scars scattering his hands and arms.

❝ what's catchin' your interest this time ? ❞ katsuki reaches with his free hand to rest over hers, palm calloused but comfortably warm to the touch. ❝ somethin' you wanna know ? i can tell you my point of view behind 'em. ❞

[dynmghts]

chako just steals her bf's hoodie & floats so he can't get it back. 😉😇 / hi ♥️

the one thing they fail to mention is that when you start a relationship, whether you like it or not, your clothes become your partner's. doesn't matter what it is. as katsuki had to learn: if they were big, comfy and warm, then the likelihood of it being snatched is significantly higher. [ getting them back becomes a 50/50. ]

katsuki should have known better than to leave his hoodie unattended for longer than a few seconds; he was getting warm while in the kitchen's vicinity, the dorms at a comfortable temperature outside of that for once, so he didn't need it anymore. he had intentions of returning it to his room. not that those intentions get to live for very long - not when a certain brunette rogue comes by and steals the item from the seat he sat it on, a temporary home while he ushered into the kitchen and demanded to be given the knife, insisting on doing a better job.

again, not that any of that got to play out the way he was expecting it to.

❛ oi! pink cheeks, don't you dare- ❜ he puts the knife down quickly, dashing out of the kitchen to chase after and catch his hoodie thief. he nearly snatches her at the waist. when he ends up stumbling forward with sudden confusion bleeding into his features, all he has to do is look up to understand why:

uraraka ochako has decided that she can escape his grasp by floating her way out of this. all this, while he's wearing his favourite dumb skull hoodie.

if she didn't look so damn cute, he would be more furious about the predicament.

as it stands, the blond carefully weighs up his options. red eyes intently stare at his girlfriend floating harmlessly in the air, narrowing a fraction while he swears there's at least a few onlookers witnessing the exchange. ❛ i know damn well you can't stay up there forever. ❜ palms warming and cooling, sparks flickering off the centre on occasion, katsuki stares at ochako before he turns that gaze to their surrounding environment. he pauses. then, with a click of his tongue and a smirk; ❛ fine. better float me when i'm up there, then, or i'm dragging you down. ❜

however she decides to play it out - if she heeds his promise, or if she endures being dragged back to the earth with warm palms and wild grin - katsuki takes his moment to glance over ochako once more.

it is his favourite hoodie. but, lucky for her, she's his favourite person. he decides quickly that his favourite person in his favourite hoodie is not such a terrible thing, and in continuation, he realises that people have omitted the most vital piece of information: it's a good feeling to have your partner wear your clothes.

still, since she stole the thing right out from under him: ❛ planning on giving it back at the end of the week or what? ❜

@ofluminance / unprompted! <3

[cipherdragon]

greed is ace

[m1d-45]

Yo can I jitter about Baizhu then? I know there's no real demand for him, but. Pretty Snake Man. -sibling anon

yes

[ofdetonation]

... oh for fuck's sake. how did he miss his water bottle anyway ? he has to check his bag to make sure of that, and ... yeah. definitely not there. his face scrunches up as he glances around for the bottle.

❝ stop givin' me that look, raccoon eyes. it ain't ⸺ fuck, where in the goddamn hell is that stupid fuckin' ... ❞ a pause. eventually, katsuki glances at her, staring intently for a few beats. surely she didn't ? ❝ ... if you took it when i wasn't looking, i'm gonna kill you. ❞

no he won't.

' katsuki ⎯⎯ ' she begins , visage etched with layers of amusement & mocking , her mouth curved at the corners not unlike that of a sly fox. ' what d'ya think hikers need to stay hydrated when they're out & about on an adventure? '

[peachysamu]

Tupperwares That Intermingle

Summary: you go over to Iwaizumi’s house with one tupperware only to be sent home with two.

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: fluff; pining; love found in food (it’s me. what do you expect?)

A/n: me reposting bc tags :/ and bc i really thought i forgot how to write fluff but all it takes is time skip iwa to get my heart going again.

you gather a deep breath, tote digging into your shoulder as your chest expanded before exhaling it all out and hunching over a bit. it’s no big deal, just a simple dinner at a friend’s house. it’s not even a date. he asked you if you wanted to have dinner and you’ve had many of those before. granted, dinner was usually a party that consisted of three or more people including your mutual friends. it was never just him and you and as much as you enjoy his company and believe him to be a fascinating meal partner, for some reason, you can’t even prepare a conversation to talk about besides weather and the latest update on the PlayStation 5 software.

(you only know this because you woke up to a notification from Apple News this morning. hopefully this dinner isn’t as dry as your phone is.)

“you got this.” you try and convince yourself. “it’s just eating. you do it all the time.”

you mimic the action in front of you with your hands as if you were an extra in the background of a restaurant scene of a theater play.

“just shovel, then nom. shovel then—“ Iwaizumi opens the door and his untimely presence finds you whispering to yourself and eating a mouthful of air. a sexy brow quirks with his lip.

he smirks down at you, obviously amused. his bicep hits his door frame as he leans against it with crossed arms and now you’re hoping he’s serving fondue so you can melt into the pot along with it. you want to sink to the bottom so no one can ever find you in the viscous, yellow abyss. maybe you’ll be left unstirred and then you’re nothing but burnt cheese too stubborn to be scrubbed off. it’s a better fate than this.

“i didn’t mean to bother you. go on.” he teases. he nods his head for you to continue. “i’m very interested.”

you fluster. if not at his words, then simply at his physique because even until now, you can’t get over the fact that you actually know a man as handsome as him, let alone have dinner with him.

“i was just practicing.” you huff with your hands now gripping your tote just so they have something else to do other than embarrass you.

“practicing.” he repeats with a small pause as he tries to connect the dots between your words and actions. “eating?”

“yes, practicing. i have a tendency to forget how to do things when i’m nervous. anyways,” you try and deflect by taking a step forward. iwaizumi stands his ground and just the overbearing presence of him, his cologne, the sound of his quiet huff that might signify a laugh, has you quickly retreating and taking the one step back. “are you going to let me in?”

his eyes widen a bit before a tanned hand shuffles behind his neck in what looks to be an expression of embarrassment.

“oh right,” he chuckles his way through, “sorry, i guess i should have practiced opening the door too.”

you bite your lip as you scuttle past him with your head tucked into your chest. if you acknowledge what he means, pry even further, any answer he might give you, good or bad, would have the capacity to make you faint and truly, it really is a wonder how you’re even alive right now, alone in iwaizumi’s kitchen with the man himself.

although you’ve welcomed yourself to his home many, many times, it feels different. you’re nervous. you’ve always looked at his place as the setting for a night of social hour, but this time, as you tread through his hall and into the kitchen, it finally hits you that this is his home. he lives here and suddenly, all the little details he’s decided to display pop out at you.

there’s a photo of a young group of four boys, probably in their late teens outside of a shrine near the entrance. those must be his childhood friends he talks about. the knuckle of your index finger cautiously flits over the dining table and when you go to check, there is no proof of dust. a big tub of protein powder at the top of his fridge and one, lone cactus at the sill of the window near the sink, you start drawing lines, connecting stars, because these little intricacies fill the blank spaces of iwaizumi, the handsome man who can do it all. it brings him closer in a sense and reminds you that he isn’t a caricature. he’s a human being, just like you. mightily attractive, sure, but a human being who looks like he might have overwatered his cactus nonetheless.

“here,” he extends a hand and you have to stop yourself from ogling at the veins that line his forearm. your heart that beats may be weak, but your eyes that linger are definitely weaker. “let me hang up your bag.”

you reach for the contents in the bag before handing it to him with a grateful grin. even his manners are a feat to admire. iwaizumi has always been conscientious. it didn’t matter if anyone was watching. he simply abides by his morals. add that to the already superfluous list of great things about him because he truly is a wonderfully decent guy with even better looks to match.

“i brought back the tupperware you gave me from last time.” you hand the plastic back to him, subtly eyeing it. you may have washed it more than once at home but one final look couldn’t hurt. you’d shrivel up and die if you found out you returned it with grease residue still along the edges. “i cleaned it already.”

“you didn’t have to do that.”

the smile he flashes you almost has you tipping backwards. thank goodness you’re holding onto a barstool of his for support. you make a mental note to keep your alcohol intake low because there is no way you can handle it if he offers. he is too much of a presence without the buffer of your friends.

“of course i did. that’s yours.”

“okay, sure.” he gives out an amused chuckle and then pulls out the chair that you’re holding onto. “come, sit. dinner’s ready and i hope you didn’t forget how to eat.”

of course dinner is wonderful. there has been a permanent smile etched on your lips, sweet, serene, and smitten. you don’t know why you thought there would be nothing to talk about because conversation has been endless chatter. a mix of extraordinary to mundane, you recalled childhood memories and then discussed your quality of sleep from the night before.

“here.” he slides over two plastic containers to you. “leftovers for tomorrow.”

“you’re always making me bring home food.”

he shrugs. “i accidentally made too much.”

“accidentally?” you tease. “i’m pretty sure you’re one of the few people i know who know how to portion their food correctly.”

then with a bass tone to mock him, “by weight. it’s the only way.”

he snorts and turns his face away from you but there’s an inkling of a curve in his lip that makes your heart flutter. “you suck at that.”

“you suck at lying. is this your way of getting me to wash your tupperware for you?” you grab both of them into your hands. “i came with one and now i’m leaving with two.”

“you don’t have to bring them back.” he offers.

“yes i do. they’re yours.”

“no,” he points at the new one, the yellow one in your hands. “that one’s actually yours, remember? from last week? you sent me home with some soup.”

you give the piece of plastic an incredulous look until you realize that it is yours. you had totally forgotten all about it.

“they’re ours. i send you home leftovers and you do the same thing. it’s no big deal.”

no big deal. right.

“alright. fine you win,” you concede. then you hop out of your chair and bring the leftovers to your chest. “i guess we can continue doing this back and forth trade kind of thing.”

you do this shimmy with your shoulders to mimic movements your hand would make if they weren’t full of tomorrow’s next meal. you feel ridiculous.

“my tupperware’s your tupperware and your tupperware is mine.” okay, now you really need to shut up because iwaizumi hasn’t had a word in and all he can do is give you an unsuspecting stare. “anyways, thank you for dinner. and for lunch too, i guess.”

“no problem.”

he walks you out to the door and you turn back to find him leaning against his door frame again. this time, his arms are by his side, a hand tapping nervously against a jeaned thigh, as his gaze focuses on you. it looks like he has something to say, but as the minutes (really it’s seconds, but time ticks by slower when you’re breathless and drowning in his deep green eyes) pass, you decide that it might have been hopeful thinking on your end.

“thanks again.” you repeat only to have something to say.

“no problem.” he reiterates.

“okay, i’ll go now.” then you wave him off and turn around.

“text—“

“text me when you get home.” you finish in that mocking tone of yours. when you turn around, he’s rolling his eyes but the faux irritation is masked by a cheesy grin. “yes, hajime. i will text you when i get home. see ya!”

“goodbye.”

iwaizumi’s hand falls with a hard slap against his thigh. he watches you walk away and when the image of you disappears, he only curses at himself for not having enough courage to ask you to stay and to ask for more.

for now, he guesses he’ll have to settle with leftovers, with plastic containers balmy from residual heat. he hopes that, when you hold it precious to your chest, that it keeps you warm on the cold trek to your car. he wants his love to last from the ride home and through the steps of your door. he hopes it greets you good morning when you open your fridge to make breakfast without him. and after you sate your belly and eat your meal that hopefully resurface fond memories of the night before, he wishes that you’ll see how you make his heart glow iridescent like the suds along your sponge. then maybe you’ll give it back just for him to do it all over again until eventually, he finds the courage to ask you out.

[tomatoart]

so my shit idiot brain associates ppl with their pfps so my first thought was Akiren in a “I don’t give a swag” shirt alskdjakalskdj

THATS ACTUALLY SO IN CHARACTER TOO THANKS FOR THAT MENTAL IMAGE

[raaaylinda]

So. I had a idea in mind in a while and start to wrote it. At first it would be a mini saga 'bout reincarnation and lifetime missions and droped it because I found that its too much and would be dark as fuck. My brain said: NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. YOU DON'T NEED THIS TO COME BACK, THIS IS NOT YOUR STYLE OF WRITING.

Me:

Is this a good idea?

My brain:

And now I'm writing about how two People met before in their childhood/teenage years (mid 10's decade) and now, in 1930's or something one of them has to deal with a major character death + being married with someone doesn't love her back and how to manage the life, receive a mini heritage, the other is divorced, unemployed but sooner gets a counter job in the family industries. And she's getting, of course, part of the economic shares of the same place he works, so this make her being his boss. Tecnically.

They are cousins, but she's adopted. They fall in love twice (because their life is not easy, guys, and they're gone in separate ways, yadayadayada).

The two ideas I just thought bring them to HP universe. But no.

This work will be adapted to Reylo. I'M SCARED AS FUCK TO WRITE REYLO FANFIC KKKKKKKKKKKKK *cries in desperation language*

As soon as I finish writing, I will post on ao3 (translated to English) and on Spirit Fanfics (in my native language, that's Portuguese). My old FF.Net profile I lost it. Shame.

But this is it.

Oh ma gawd help me. 🗣

👄👄

[bamababygirl7]

[ofdetonation]

@shocksugars: "If I die, Kacchan, I want you to have my guitar and stuff, Kirishima has a guitar already and why is the ceiling spinning ahh I feel weird." meme: unprompted. ╱ status: always accepting.

someone's screwed up on pain meds. considering the amount of damage he did to his own body, it's not surprising to see that they needed him on some hefty medication ... but that means he sometimes says some weird shit. and the young bakugou is categorising this under one of those times.

❝ what are you on about this time, dunce ? ❞ if he dies ? getting his guitar and stuff ? he shoves a hand over the other blond's eyes, if just to save him from the world spinning. ❝ go to sleep. you're talkin' nonsense. ❞

[only-mostlydead]

So...what is That Scene for Awake My Soul???

Uhhhhh that would be the latter half of the next chapter I’m going to post/basically the entirety of the two after it! No spoilers 😉

[bledvanity]

😍

send “😍” if your muse has a crush on mine.

  ❛  ◞   SECRET ADMIRERS    /   ↺ @volterrae

[dynmghts]

your gaze lifts from your task with stoic thought written into the crease of your brow and the firm line of a frown; even when you usher the pancake onto a plate and nudge it over to the young girl, you watch her features with great care. you do not fault her for keeping it quiet. as solution oriented as you are, even you know there isn't a real solution for something that goes unremembered, and thus your presence will just have to be enough.

you have a feeling she'll be your shadow for a while, though. how familiar.

for now- ❛ now hold on a minute - i ain't gonna get hurt. ❜ you know that's a bold claim for someone who is going to be a pro hero, a line of work notorious for its high rate of injuries. that doesn't change your unyielding confidence in tone. ❛ i'm good at what i do already, unicorn. even if i do get hurt, it ain't gonna hold me down for long, y'know that? hell, i'll be back up and healthy before you know it. ❜

you move through the motions for the next pancake. [ but you wonder; what was in her dream that startled her so much? why you, specifically? ]

❛ you're talkin' to the next number one, the one who's gonna beat all might at his game. trust me: a dream's a dream. ❜ you pause. that doesn't stop it from feeling any less real in the absence of detail - and... well, fuck gang orca for teaching you how to deal with kids. ❛ if you wanna stick by to make sure that dream's f...reakin' lying to you, then do it. i'll prove you got nothing to worry about. ❜

     ❛ mhm ..  ❜ you reply with a subtle nod to, one to his confirmation, & another to his first question. you only go quiet when bakugō asks about aizawa.

     ❛ ... myself ..  ❜ you know it wasn't good keep something like this from him, but you didn't want to worry him any more than he already is. you'd only told bakugō because it had something do with him & the dream you'd woken up from had scared you the most - yet, if asked, you wouldn't be able to say what it was that happened in the dream.

     simply put, you don't want to leave his side. if you're always around, you could be there and heal him with your quirk. it's not that simple, & you know it's not that simple - but that didn't mean you couldn't try.

     ❛ i don't want you to get hurt ..  ❜

[m1d-45]

More unrelated Bird Xiao blurbs because this idea has me in a chokehold.

Xiao always felt guilty about the scar he left on your hand when he but you. He nuzzles that scar with his little feathered head every chance he gets.

Zhongli noticing Xiao is in a much better mood these days. When the former archon asks the yaksha about it, he swears he saw Xiao give a small smile before he left to pray to the creator.

Xiao gets hurt in his bird form. He can't fight back in this little body and ends up with a broken wing. When the true creator finds him, he can only chirp sadly and apologetically. 'I'm so sorry,' he thinks, 'I just wanted to find you.' But instead of leaving him there like he expected, you oh-so-carefully pick him up and use what little powers you have to heal him. His heart aches for you when he hears you murmuring comforting words to him while you hold him close. He never wants you to let go of him.

-sibling anon, who is currently fixated on all the fluff+angst material of this idea

honestly i could probably post this stuff as like. a Genuine Post. but i wanna answer this now and also have a really sad post right after valentine’s day (which is already q’d) so… here’s 800 words of bird xiao :)

xiao’s fond of sitting in your palm, head resting on the small scar on your finger. he feels so bad for it, always, the glimpse of blue engrained in his memory, but he hopes by covering it you won’t hate him for it.

you don’t hold it against him (honestly, you probably forgot) and treat him as you always do: with kindness. you pet over his wings and give him your almonds, and in return he sings you a gentle song.

he’s seen at the inn less and less often, it’s so quiet on the balcony that verr ends up calling zhongli over. the consultant knew the yaksha, somehow, and she hoped he could find out what was wrong. zhongli wasn’t expecting anything serious, but when the balcony was empty even after he called for him…

(across liyue, xiao stiffened in your hands. you frowned, but he only flapped up, up, and away, leaving you as suddenly as he arrived)

xiao appears a moment before zhongli was going to call again, seeming… almost relaxed.

they talk, and though xiao swears he’s keeping up with his duties… zhongli knows he isn’t lying, but he can see how his debt has lessened. his shoulders are straighter, he isn’t as hunched over, and his hands aren’t balled at his side.

zhongli eventually shrugs it off. hes not surprised xiao hasn’t been hanging around as often when the traveller recently went to sumeru; love does strange things to people.

xiao’s only seen you in his mortal form once, and it was entirely by accident.

he’d been traveling from one hilichurl camp to the next, and your paths had crossed. he’d frozen, unused to seeing you when he want the size of your palm, but even from a distance he could see the terror in your eyes.

he hated it.

he couldn’t move for you if he wanted to—he did, he wanted to stop and hold you like you’d held him, wanted to brush his hands over your skin and assure you you had nothing to fear—as you turned and fled, leaving him alone on the trail. he couldn’t blame you, in truth, not when his spear was drawn and his face was taught with irritation. it made sense you’d be afraid of him, just… he wasn’t prepared for it to hurt this badly.

he’s been careful to only approach you in his smaller form ever since, no matter how far he had to fly. it wasn’t worth scaring you.. not after he’d already hurt you once.

he was distracted as he flew, not seeing the hawk that was diving for him until it was too late. the claws of the larger bird slammed him into the earth with a sharp crack, and he let out a cry. he couldn’t shift, not now, not when it was the time when you were usually walking about-

“hey!”

the bird didn’t pay attention to your call, only pressing xiao down further, but he did. he tried to wriggle from the hawk’s grip, to avoid the sharp beak that could spell his death in this smaller form. all he needed to do was get out, to slip free- but what if you saw him? would you still be afraid of him?

a large stick hit at the hawk, knocking its beak from xiao. you’d picked one up, one of the many splintering sticks scattered in liyue. you.. were protecting him.

the hawk cried and let him go, flapping backward, but you continued to jab at the dirt in front of it until it caved in and flew away.

xiao tried to flip to his feet, but one of his wings was hurt badly, pain shooting up his shoulder when he tried to move it. another weak chirp slipped out of him without his meaning to, and you turned, worry on your face.

you knelt—you shouldn’t be doing that, not to him, not when he was so dark and you were such a bright light—and carefully picked him up, cradling his small form in your palm. the warmth from your hands quickly covered his body, seeping into the definitely broken bone and easing some of the pain.

you carried him back to your messy camp, carefully hand-feeding him bits of almonds. if he weren’t covered in feathers, he’d surely have flushed a bright red, but he couldn’t deny that the food did help slightly.

for the rest of the day, he sat in your palm in a quiet half-sleep, weakly chirping whenever you checked on him. other birds came and went, but you kept him sheltered in your hand, wiping away any dust on his feathers.

by the time morning came, his wing was barely even sore.

[peachysamu]

If there is anyone’s love that is so pure and unadulterated, I think it’s Bokuto Koutarou’s. His love is liquid. It pours, it flows, drizzles, storms, spatters, and waves. But it’s also adaptable and takes form of the vessel he wishes to fill. He’ll love you the way you need to be loved because that’s how much he has to give. And I think that’s neat.