#sorry for once again churning out an essay

[yandereocs]

*rubs hands together* Imagine Husk’s de-faced darling asking to cut off one of his hands before they’ll forgive them

* YEAHHHH

* Let us both evily rub our hands together like super villains

* For context, this is related to this post right here!!

Defaced and declawed - Yandere Husk x Reader

* CW: Descriptions of violence and gore

You don't like looking in mirrors anymore.

It makes sense, given your circumstances. You're not sure anyone would be a fan of looking at themselves after having their face ripped off.

The pain has long subsided and the wound had scarred cleanly. But you swear that you can still feel the agony of your skin pulling off.

It's terrible.

Both you and Husk prefer the bandages stay on.

Speaking of Husk, he feels terrible. You know he does. His mask is in a constant state of expressing sadness or nothing at all. His loving gestures have increase by tenfold. He keeps writing elegant essays begging for forgiveness.

But you can never bring yourself to accept any of it.

Today was no different. Husk was desperately trying to win your affection back, to make everything okay again. He was writing something in his notebook, the sound of pen scratching against paper mixing with the noise of whatever you were watching on TV.

"Please, my love. I'm sorry. It was a lapse of judgement, I never meant to harm you like that. I've told you before that I'll do anything for your forgiveness and I meant it. Anything at all."

Your eyes scan the paper as the notebook was suddenly handed to you. His handwriting had deteriorated in the past months, slowly going from calm and smooth to frantic and shaky.

As soon as you finish reading, your eyes immediately flicked over to Husk's hands. Even now, all you could see was his bloodstained hands, how the thick red liquid dried under his fingernails. It disgusted you.

Those hands...they hurt you. Caused you more pain then you could imagine, caused pain to so many other lives. You turned away from Husk. Looking at him was sickening.

"Your hands."

You felt him perk up when you spoke. Ever since the incident, you've barely spoken to him, if at all.

"I want...I want you to cut off your hands."

The monster immediately stiffened. Cut off his hands? What an insane request.

But he was so desperate for your love again.

"If I do this, you'll forgive me?"

The notebook appears in front of you again. You sigh. You don't want to forgive him. But, if his hands were gone, then no harm can come to you again.

You'd be safe.

"Yeah, sure."

Your reply was half-hearted but it seemed enough for Husk. The man immediately rose from his seat and scurried away to the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts. What would happen afterwards? Husk needed his hands to communicate with you. He was normally the one initiating conversations after the incident. Will the two of you just be in silence forever?

Husk returns promptly, interrupting your thoughts. He was holding a butcher knife. He placed his hand on the coffee table, glancing your way multiple times to make sure you were watching.

You were.

The knife was raised.

And was brought down swiftly.

Immediately the knife clattered to the table as Husk stumbled backwards, his remaining hand gripping the base of his wrist. Blood was pouring out, staining the floor, and Husk's form was becoming unstable. Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you watched the man in front of you shift from something humanoid to monstrous to back to humanoid. He was letting out low groans and growls of pain, his body shivering.

It was a disgusting sight.

You could see the hand that he had chopped off just laying on the coffee table, the once human hand shifting into someone much larger with sharp claws. Perhaps that's how his original hand looks like.

The stench of blood filled the air and make your stomach churn. But you couldn't tear your eyes away no matter who hard you tried.

Husk turns to you, his mask blank. But you could tell he was in pain. You stared back, not offering any words of comfort. Why would you?

Husk lets out another low groan before reaching for the butcher knife again. But then he stops, and he looks down at himself. He isn't exactly sure how to chop off his other hand. He looks to you for help. You shrug.

Husk drops the knife again and stumbles to his notebook, picking up his pencil with shaking, blood stained hand as he writes something down before showing it to you.

The handwriting is barely legible and it isn't in his usual cursive, instead looking more like frantic chicken scratches. But the words could be made out with close enough reading.

"Is chopping one hand enough?"

You stare at the question written, mulling it over. Just one hand wasn't enough to compensate what he did to you. After all, he had used both hands. You scoff and turn away once more, shaking your head.

"No."

Husk immediately let's out a low groan and drops the notebook, his body shaking. His form is still unstable, occasionally sprouting large antlers or growing significantly taller before shifting back to his usual form. He's struggling to keep it together. To keep you from seeing just how much of a monster he really is.

It doesn't really matter, though. You already know what kind of a beast he is. You learned that the second he laid his hands on you.

Husk stumbles out of the room and leaves the house, slamming the door. Most likely accidentally. You watch him as he goes.

And now you're left in just your thoughts.

As always, they immediately swarm your head. Regrets, fears, pleas for mercy, they all resurface.

Your head throbs.

Your face aches.

You're so tired.

The door abruptly swings open and your gaze immediately jerks over in it's direction.

It's Husk, of course. He kicked the door shut and makes his way towards you, standing in front of where you were sitting. He holds his hands out. Or, you know. Lack thereof.

Somehow he found a way to get rid of his second hand. The wound wasn't a clean as a swift chop. It honestly looked like he got some wild animal to maul his other hand off. Maybe that is what he did.

Blood was staining the floor under the two of you. You can't tear your eyes away. The exposed, pulsating muscle and the contrast of cleanly cut bone compared to the gnawed off end of his wrists was disgusting to see, the overwhelming stench of iron flooding your nose, causing you to cover it.

He's looking at you.

He needs an answer.

You'll forgive him now, right?

He did what you asked.

So what if he can't communicate with you anymore? He'll find a way.

So, please. He's silently pleading. He needs your forgiveness.

Surely this was enough for you, right?

As you look at him, your stomach churns with the familiar feeling of fear, disgust and hatred.

Nothing has changed.

It wasn't enough.

[through-lines]

Hiii. Sorry for the inactivity TwT Here's a mini update

Long story short, IRL obligations got in the way and we spent most of our free time doing stuff besides writing and using tumblr. I never wanted to set the expectation for being super active anyway, but I didn't intend to be gone for weeks on end! My bad.

I've been thinking about my presence here and if I'm content just churning out "essays" like I'm basically doing. I feel like my last few posts have just been me whining, but I honestly feel a bit listless about all this and I'm having a hell of a time shaking it.

Tangentially related, but Othercon is happening once again. I was ambivalent about going last year, but I'm really unmotivated this time around. That stuff's up Son/ic's alley, though, so I'll probably be there at least in spirit. Now we just need to figure out how PK works... ._.

Anyway, hi again, sorry again, I'll try to write more, kthxbye

[bjd260]

Sorry to hijack your ask, but I think I know what Val brings to the table and it turned into an essay lol!

Valentino has Charisma~

They all do, they have to, but Vox is clearly an introvert with a temper, and Vel has an even bigger temper, blunter mouth, and she just got here in the past decade. Valentino may not be the most conniving of the Vees, but his role in their little monopoly is not to be underestimated.

Imagine you're in Hell, down on your luck for even being there in the first place. You don't know where to turn. Who's going to draw you in; The calculated embodiment who's giving you a cubicle or tech job (in Hell)? Or the sweet talking behemoth who keeps telling you how beautiful you are, how sexy you are, how he could make you a star. Even if you personally would take Vox's offer, the average person is more likely to take Val's. How many people have said if they failed xyz that they'd just give up and become a stripper/OF? What's a bigger failure than being in Hell. There is no uphill from here. This is it and this is eternity. It's a breeding ground for nihilism and a second chance to be unabashedly terrible, commit every sin, savor every taboo that was too frightening to touch in a world with consequences.

You may be asking "What about Velvette? Being one of her models would be glamorous. People say they'll just do Youtube or live streaming when they hate their humdrum life these days." One, Velvette is new. She may be filling the gap now, but a lot of what she does had to be either filled by the other Vees, or just undone before her arrival, and that's a 40 year gap of just Vox and Val. Not to mention, we haven't really seen much of how her operations work. We know she's a fashion designer, and is very loud and harsh with her criticisms of her underlings. I'm sure she is very capable of putting on the charm when she needs to, but everything we see of her shows her to be very rude and brutal from the jump in a way that would be very off putting to someone who the Vees are trying to ensnare in a contract.

Let's zoom out and look at everything we've seen on TV in season one. We see Vox's anti-Alastor broadcast, his advertisements, the news, and the porn Angel Dust stars in. Vox's broadcast starts as another news broadcast, then switches to a talk show, then a televangelist-esque advertisement for "Obey-n-Pay" (kinky), a section of him in a captains outfit next to a volcano that I admit I can't categorize, and a cooking show. They're all nonfiction (except for maybe the volcano thing) and they all star him. His advertisements from his introduction also star him, one is for a drone, but the other is for a TV show (I'm guessing Reality TV, but it could be completely fabricated) called "Yeah I Fucked Your Sister, So What?" A show meant to entice the consumers of hell to "Trust (VoxTek) with their entertainment." You can tell from the title that, at least on some level, the show is about sex. Combine that with the way Angel won an award for his work, it's safe to infer that being a pornstar in hell is the only way to be an actor in hell, at least on screen which is what most sinners from the past century are going to gravitate towards. It makes sense that pornography dominates, we once again are seeing sinners cling to the taboo like the rock that's getting them through this hard place.

If all entertaining video media in hell is pornographic, then to some extent it is Valentino's territory. Regardless of how much creative control he has over the works, Valentino would definitely be lending his stars and more than likely some of his directorial skills to the production.

Valentino handles the Talent~

Valentino's job is not to hatch wicked schemes, figure out how to overthrow hell, or even crunch a single number. Valentino's job is to be the bait that lures new souls into selling themselves to the Vees, and to manage keeping them in line to churn out more entertainment. It's a very important job, and Valentino's emotional intelligence, volatile mood swings, and stunning and intimidating presence make him the perfect man for the job, even if he still is the dumbest of the Vees.

Don't feel bad for him, (seriously, don't. Have you seen him? He's terrible) since he's the one who lures the souls, he's the one who gets the biggest cut of them, as while some may gravitate to Velvette or Vox, most people are more likely to sell their soul to the one they're being lured by, closest to, and even just met first out of loyalty or bias. He also gets to just do what he loves. He is an artist after all. I theorize that before Velvette showed up, Valentino handled the creative side of most of their business, while Vox handled the technical and business aspects perhaps because his falling out with The Radio Demon made him feel insecure about his talent as a creative idk just sayin'. When Vel arrives, she gets to do a bit of both as well as focusing on teaching these boomers how social media works. Valentino gets to do what he loves, which just so happens to coincide with everything the other Vees don't want to do. Their set up is actually pretty great so long as they all work together and get along decently, though I'm sure they all have Batman style contingency plans about how to take each other out in case they go rogue. I can't tell you how well thought out they are, but they all certainly have them.

Trying to put together what, exactly, the Vees have and it's. Not a lot. I don't even know what Valentino brings to the table, he wears glasses that clearly are just for show because he STILL can't see with them on; he's got that pheromone smoke, but it's totally useless given that Vox can ALSO control minds and his power reaches across distance while Val's doesn't. Vox seems to be a good leader who's very intelligent and charismatic, with constant surveillance on the city, but all of that goes out the window as soon as Alastor gets involved- also, Alastor seems able to overpower the effect his hypnosis has on others, and can directly interfere with Vox's tech. He seemed like a very competent and intimidating villain right up until we saw him with Alastor. Velvette better have multiple aces up her sleeve...

I love how we just generally agree velvette has the most brain cells/is the most capable, like hey at least SHE won her diss track against carmilla unlike SOMEONE ELSE, she also seems pretty astute she was able to deduce carmilla killed the angel based on her expressions

vox is pretty capable if his obsession with alastor didn't make him look completely stupid

val is just kinda stupid regardless and the equivalent of "thinking with your dick", his first solution to losing a bit of control over angel was "I'm gonna fuck everyone in that rancid shithole!" and his contribution to the vees' discussion after that was "just put something in them that's how I get the bitches to behave" and vox was the one who interpreted it as an "inside man"

[arosnowflake]

Forgive me if I've missed this, and I imagine I may know some of the answer, but why won't you watch BNHA? Also, hard as it may be to find, there are probably quite a few non-romance fics in the fandom, so you can get some character fix without necessarily watching it? I did that for supernatural, i couldn't be arsed to watch the damn thing, too many damn episodes for any man to understand

Oh! Okay so full disclosure I have actually watched season one of BNHA and it wasn’t terrible or anything, I’ve watched far worse things (especially anime), and in fact, I really enjoyed at lot of it, primarily in the characters and concept (I really fucking love Ochako, Iida, Momo, and Izuku in particular), but there were just a couple of things that made me incapable of really enjoying the show as a whole and generally left me more annoyed than satisfied, so it just wasn’t a fun experience as a whole, which is why I really won’t be continuing it despite the fact that the fandom has some amazingly talented writers/editors/fanartists and I really do love a lot of the characters, but I just… can’t enjoy the series as a whole.

And the reasons I’m really adamant about not continuing it aren’t even for any social justice related (you’d think it’d be the sexualization of teen girls but unfortunately that’s pretty much an anime staple and I’ve watched way, way worse, so you know), it’s just because I got two main problems with the series:

1. Bakugo. I know he’s very popular in the fandom and I can definitely see why; Explosion McAsshole is absolutely a compelling character from an objective viewpoint, but I just fucking hate him. I can’t quite figure out why, exactly, but my best guess is that his motivation for being an asshole is too realistic. That’s the tl;dr and I’ll elaborate more under the cut (I’m…. so fucking long-winded), but basically I just can’t stand Sparky Sparky Boom Man. 

But I could still probably stand to watch/read BNHA, if it wasn’t for problem no. 2: Izuku having a quirk

Like. Holy shit. I actually damn near dropped the whole show at ep 3 when they introduced that neat little tidbit. The tl;dr on why I hate it so much is basically this: it ruins the worldbuilding and Izuku’s character AND Bakugo’s character in one fell swoop and I have no fucking clue who anyone could ever think this was good writing. I’ve elaborated on it here already but I’ll do it under the cut as well because holy fuck I’m still mad about it.

And as for why I don’t really read fanfic for BNHA without watching the show, well. I just don’t like the fics. Every other fic is about Bakugo, whom I hate, and the other ones are all about Izuku either having a quirk, a romance, or some kind of tragic backstory that inevitably fridges his mom and turns him into a villain, and I don’t care for that shit at all. On top of that, my absolute faves in the show are Ochako and Iida, who are pretty much never the center of a fic (you’d be lucky to find one where Iida is even a proper supporting character tbh). And also, I just think that a lot of the characterization in general suffers from what I call Large Fandom Syndrome, where a large quantity of people create an echo chamber of bad ideas that inevitably ends up making the characters into caricatures of their canon or even properly developed fanon self, and I just… don’t care. I’m not here for it. Give me 3D characters or give me death. 

That said I have read some fic of it in the past, and there are even a couple I genuinely enjoyed despite them being centered around characters that I don’t care for, and if anyone has good fic recs for the characters I like best and/or just good fics in general I’m definitely here for it, but mostly, sifting through BNHA’s ao3 feels like all the work of slogging through a large fandom with none of the pay-off. 

So yeah that’s the abridged version, head on under the cut for The Full Salt on Why Tumblr User Arodumabass Refuses To Watch/Read BNHA, Despite Actually Liking The Characters and Concept A Lot. 

So, about Bakugo. Like I said, my main problem is that his motive is too realistic; often, bully type characters are given some tragic backstory (usually an abusive family) for the reason they bully people in a bid to make them more sympathetic. While I despise this trope, I gotta admit that it kinda does work, since… well, I sure hate Bakugo more than any of those characters.

Unless I missed something important in canon, Bakugo’s main motivation for being a dick is that he was told throughout this childhood that, because of his strong quirk, he was superior to people, and he’s since internalized this mindset. This is definitely realistic, since the reason people get bullied irl isn’t because all bullies are abused or some shit, but because society just likes to tell kids that ‘weird’ people deserve to be bullied because ‘normal’ people are superior. So, you know, kudos to whoever wrote the manga for getting that right.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t make him any more likeable to me, and I know that he’s on the road for a redemption arc, but seeing him mad that Izuku is finally finding a place where he can feel safe just because Bakugo’s now not the Absolute Powerhouse he was in middle school anymore (yes, yes, I know it’s a little more complicated than that, but honestly, it doesn’t fucking feel like it), and then seeing the fandom just absolutely loving him leaves a very, very bad taste in my mouth, to the point where he almost singlehandedly ruins the show for me.

Now, onto point no. 2: Izuku Not Having A Quirk Is The Worst. 

Okay, so. BNHA’s world was basically introduced as a deeply flawed world right from the start. The opening episodes, Bakugo’s entire character, and even the way the entry exam/hero course is set up make it very clear that this world does not consider quirkless people to be at the same level as people who do have quirks. Izuku is repeatedly told that it’ll be impossible for him to become a hero, despite the fact that he clearly has the strategical smarts and drive to be one and could at the very least be a background helper, and adults seem to completely ignore the fact that Bakugo and basically everyone else bullies him relentlessly for something that he can’t help. The show makes it very, very clear that quirkless people, in the world of BNHA, are essentially disabled; they are locked out of certain job fields, bullied for something that manifests as a physical disability (basically), and the system as a whole just plain doesn’t seem to care about them. 

Literally any other piece of media with this kind of set-up would start deconstructing that entire idea, that what is essentially a genetic defect would automatically make you useless to society. But BNHA decides ‘eh, who needs useful worldbuilding, we can give Izuku a superpower and be done with it!’

Excuse me? The fuck, kind sir?

After Izuku gets a quirk, the whole ‘quirkless people are disadvantaged in society and can’t be heroes’ is completely forgotten about. I’ve heard there’s some minor quirkless character later on in the story, but for something that got such a huge set up, there just isn’t any pay-off. This results in a story that doesn’t challenge and even actively encourages an in-universe system that is absolutely awful and just plain bad (and also, you know, since quirkless people are definitely a disability metaphor, it has some very unintentional Implications that I’m not fond of). 

Not to mention that Izuku getting a quirk makes his character about 200% less interesting. Suddenly, he’s not the underdog anymore. He has something to prove, yes, but it’s primarily to himself and maybe Bakugo. Everyone else just knows him as ‘that kid with the super strong quirk who goes way too fucking hard’. They already respect him right of the bat, and Izuku doesn’t have any real obstacle to fight against aside from the villain of the week and his own stupid recklessness, and that just isn’t as compelling as a protag who fights against all that, and a broken system that’s intent on keeping him from his dreams. He also becomes a lot less relatable since we, the audience, obviously don’t have superpowers, so gaining one distances him from us. 

Also it’s not like a powerless superhero would be a new idea. Fucking Batman exists. Green Arrow. Iron Man. Clint Barton. I could name a couple more. There’s a real precedent for heroes without superpowers, and the fact that BNHA instead decided to just say ‘welp, you can’t be a real hero without powers’ just… baffles me. ESPECIALLY when Izuku already had the perfect set-up for being a powerless hero: his analytical skills alone could’ve easily given him an advantage on the battle field, especially when coupled with the fact that villains would be frustrated trying to find his quirk. when it doesn’t fucking exist. Hell, doesn’t BNHA have a main baddie who can steal quirks? I mean???? Why the fuck does this kid have a quirk when his entire character would clearly work so much better without one?

And Bakugo. Like. I hate this bitch. But you know what would’ve made his character arc of being jealous of Izuku better? Izuku actually being quirkless. 

Bakugo’s whole entire deal is that he’s essentially the disillusioned gifted kid, who was constantly told throughout elementary and middle school that he was special, that he would go far, and then he actually got into a school with people who were just as smart as him and realized that he wasn’t actually that special. Bakugo internalized the mindset that he was better than anyone else, and now that he’s slowly proven wrong with people who just don’t take him serious because they’re about as strong as he is infuriates him. What’s more, it gives him a giant inferiority complex, that says ‘if you’re not the best, you’re nothing at all’, which he deals with by lashing out.

Izuku is basically the epitome of that whole predicament. A kid who Bakugo has bullied pretty much his entire life, held under his thumb by the notion that Bakugo was better than him and would always be better than him. The fact that Izuku not only got into the same school and track as Bakugo, but is also clearly better at this whole hero thing than he is makes him fucked up mad because Bakugo has always seen Izuku as inferior to him, so if even Deku is better than him now, where does that leave Bakugo? So he lashes out and is a giant dick about it. 

Only. This doesn’t really work, does it? Izuku has a quirk now. Bakugo doesn’t know why (or I think he’s figured it out by now, but in the beginning he didn’t at least), but it’s clear that Izuku has leveled up. And it’s a damn powerful quirk as well. Bakugo’s whole ‘even fucking Deku is stronger than me’ anger issues and inferiority complex kind of falls apart when you realize that, to Bakugo, this isn’t the same Izuku he’s known all his life. This is a new one, a better one, with a strong quirk. It really doesn’t make much sense for Bakugo to be this affected by Izuku surpassing him, when it’s clear that the kid had a goddamn cheat code to do so. 

His entire arc would be so much better if Izuku had stayed quirkless. Then we could actually have Bakugo unlearn his toxic internalized ideas of superiority, because as it stands now, the logical conclusion for his character arc would be ‘well there are people with stronger quirks than I have, and I shouldn’t have bullied Izuku because he had the potential to be powerful all along’, rather than ‘my powerful quirk doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, what matters is having a solid moral compass and hero instincts, and I shouldn’t have bullied Izuku because that was immoral’, which is what it should be. It’s a slight difference, but it’s a difference between a character I can stand and a character I cannot.

(I mean, I’m not saying BNHA is definitely not going with option 2 here, but I’m saying that if they do, it would be unearned.)

Anyway thanks for reading my fucking essay but the tl;dr is that BNHA’s narrative was weakened by the fact that whoever wrote it was a fucking coward and took the easy way out by giving Izuku a quirk and I fucking hate it, so now every time I watch BNHA all I can think of is ‘man this would be so good if only the writer actually knew what he was doing. and also if bakugo would shut up for a hot sec’. 

[ronsonlywhore]

Draco Malfoy and Exist For Love by Aurora

❛ 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲. ❜ draco malfoy x reader

summary: you lay your head on his shoulder, and in that exact moment draco feels like he lives for nothing else except you. like he exists for nothing else except love.

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of murder and poisoning, drinking

a/n: oh to slow dance to this song with a lover at 3 am...any volunteers? / this songfic was written for my mini 200 follower celebration!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

in draco’s eyes, you were heavenly; the true definition of an angel gifted to earth from the gods above and, like all gifts, he cherished and treasured you like his life depended on it.

loving you was like flying: exhilarating and always leaving him breathless. draco had never felt like this before; his heart knew that he couldn’t. to him, love was something he could admire, something he could long for, but never something he could have for himself. it just wasn’t in a malfoy’s nature to openly devote yourself to someone the way he wanted to devote himself to you.

and he loathed his own name for it.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

your touch was electrifying.

your hands had only grazed his for a moment while passing him an empty cauldron, your fingers there then gone, but those few seconds were enough to have draco floating on a cloud for the rest of the day.

he would never be able to explain the way you made him feel.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

draco felt like he was going to be sick.

“are you okay, malfoy? you look a little pale,” you ask worriedly as draco considers making a run for it. next to you, your friend giggles and murmurs, “malfoy’s always pale, (y/n).”

draco hears a yelp of pain from your friend, you having elbowed her harshly in the ribs. he finally gets the courage to look you directly in the eyes, the same eyes he dreams about, the same eyes that put the entire galaxy to shame.

you’re looking expectantly at him, your friend poorly trying to hold in her laughter. the fact that she’s probably silently judging him sparked something in draco. what was he cowering from? he was a malfoy, and besides, the worst thing you could do was say no.

“iwaswonderingifyoueverwantedtostudyinthelibrarywithmesometime?” draco mumbles. his throat feels dry and he can feel his heart beating in the pits of his stomach; he’s having a hard time swallowing. tongue-tied...that’s another thing he can add to the list of things you cause him to be. not that he keeps one, or anything.

you tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to the red-orange glow of the sun. draco can’t help but let his eyes trail down your throat and over your collarbone, desperately trying to imagine what it would feel like to ghost his lips over your smooth skin, or breath in your sweet scent, the scent he’s smelled so many times before in his amortentia potion…

“malfoy? malfoy?”

draco breaks out of his trance, cheeks blazing as you say, “i’m sorry, er, i didn’t catch what you said about the library.”

“oh,” draco falters out. if he wanted to chicken out and never attempt to speak to you again, now would be the time to do it. no, he thinks. he promised himself he would go through with this.

he takes a deep breath and tries again, slower this time, “i just...i was wondering if you ever wanted to study with me in the library?”

“oh, are you looking for a tutor?”

your friend finally bursts out laughing, holding her charms book close to her chest in doing so. you ask her what she finds so funny, and she answers, “don’t you see, (y/n)? he’s asking you out.”

you look back to draco, eyebrows raised. “asking me on a date? to the library?”

draco quickly backs away, thinking about how horrible this idea was. why did he ever believe he had a chance with you, the living embodiment of pure bliss?

“never mind. it’s stupid, i know,” he mutters dejectedly as he walks off, planning to find a deep hole he can crawl into and never emerge from again.

he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around, his eyes meeting yours once more; the same eyes that carry the universe all at once, the same eyes that the sun envies with all her might.

draco can hardly believe the words that come out of your mouth next.

“no! no, i think that sounds quite nice, actually,” you say as you pull back your hand. his skin burns at your touch, and aches when it’s gone.

“you do?” draco asks, surprised and not taking notice of your friend rolling her eyes behind you.

you nod and smile, continuing, “how about this thursday after lessons?

all draco does is nod, not finding the right words to say.

“great! it’s a date, then.” you walk back towards your friend, saying cheerfully, “see you around, draco.”

draco. you had said his name.

mesmerized: another thing he can add to the list. but he definitely doesn’t keep one, or anything.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

“remember when you asked me out?”

draco groans and throws a balled-up piece of parchment towards you. “please, don’t remind me.”

you laugh and try to dodge the flying paper as draco goes back to his essay, his quill scratching against the sheet. you sigh, resting your chin on your hand; draco fights the urge to look up and get hopelessly lost in the mere presence of you.

“you came up to me and said...what was it again?” you say as you scoot closer to him. he feels your lips brush over his cheek, your warm breath fanning his face.

draco turns to face you just as you lean in, but before you can give him a proper kiss, he playfully pushes your face away gently.

“i will never forgive you for assuming that i needed a tutor,” he sniffs dramatically.

you pounce on him, right there in the middle of the library, and draco doesn’t care if everyone is staring or whispering; he lets you pepper kisses all over his neck, anyways.

“i thought i would be forgiven by now,” you whisper into his ear as you prop your chin on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his jaw.

“your apology is still being considered,” draco breathes out before catching your mouth in an amorous kiss.

your kisses always took the air out of his lungs. or maybe that was his body telling him he needed to breathe, and stat.

you and draco eventually go back to your studying, but draco’s far from focused now. you have invaded his mind, taken over his thoughts, so that now all he can see and feel is you: a peaceful oblivion he wants to emerge himself in for eternity.

draco thinks back to a year ago, when he was just contented with your eyes lingering a second too long on him, pleased at just being able to sit next to you in potions. now, he has you; not just your persistent stares or your polite smile. you.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

draco swallows back a bit of bile as he loosens his tie harshly, his fingers getting caught in the intricate knot doing so. his footsteps echo in the empty corridor, and he wipes beads of sweat from his forehead, cursing himself for forgetting to meet you at the lake. now you’ll definitely know something’s up.

he walks through the great hall doors, the soft breeze doing nothing to calm his tension. he had only passed by the hospital wing, had only gotten a glimpse of weasley lying on the bed, unconscious and senseless, but that was enough to set his nerves on a frenzy. he did that. he poisoned weasley, even if it wasn’t directly, even if he didn’t mean to.

he had also cursed katie bell with that wretched necklace. a vexed pendant that wasn’t even meant for her, a bottle of venomous bottle of mead that wasn’t meant to be drank by anyone except him: professor dumbledore.

as draco trudges down to the lake, he finally comprehends how real all of this suddenly feels. he can’t kill dumbledore; he can’t kill anyone. he could barely bring himself to imperio bell, could barely handle gifting that bottle to slughorn. how could he ever be capable of murdering someone and watching them fall dead in front of him?

he tries to compose himself as he nears your silhouette sitting at the edge of the lake, your knees brought up to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. draco comes to a stop behind you, berating you in his head for being this careless.

“what have i told you about sitting around like this, (y/n)?” draco asks as he plops down next to you, hoping you didn’t hear that small tremble in his voice. you jump as you turn to him, glaring as you say, “you’re late. and it’s not like death eaters are just going to sneak into hogwarts in the middle of the night and take over. hogwarts is the safest place on earth.”

draco’s stomach churns when he realizes that’s exactly what will happen in approximately a week from now, thanks to him fixing that bloody cabinet. remember, you’re doing this for your parents, draco thinks. for her.

“the stars are shining brightly tonight, are they not?” draco hears you whisper as you take his hand and start tracing patterns on his palm.

“i suppose,” he answers, his mind still on his impossible task.

“my mother used to say the stars shone for me,” you say, choosing to outline different constellations on his hand.

draco smiles slightly and turns to look at you. “that’s because they do.”

you lay your head on his shoulder, and in that exact moment draco feels like he exists for nothing else except you. nothing else except love.

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

“father used to say love was nothing but an illusion, something that could fill your heart up but leave it miserably empty.”

“love is anything but, draco...it can be so many things and nothing all at once.”

draco’s back itches from the tree bark scratching at his back, but he stays in the same position and sips from the bottle of firewhiskey, anyways. it was his idea, after all.

he stares at you watching the whomping willow sway in the distance, your hand loosely grasping your own bottle. you had only taken a few gulps of the alcohol, but you looked drowsy and dazed already, the liquor quickly taking effect.

draco doesn’t know if it’s the quiet buzz resonating through his body that makes him do it, but he still asks, “please do tell of all the things love can be, (y/n).”

“long answer or short one?”

“both.”

you sigh contentedly as he watches you bring the bottle to your lips, observing the way your throat moves while swallowing the whiskey. you breathe in deep, then start, “love is like stumbling through life all alone, just passing through the motions, and then that one person walks into your life and suddenly you feel like you’re living, you’re alive…and i’ve heard it’s a very wonderful feeling.”

you pause, take another swig, and continue, “love is like being torn apart the minute you were only born, but that one person is the only one that makes you feel whole and complete...your other half, you could say.”

it finally clicks in draco’s head that you are his ‘one person.’

“love is selflessness, and loyalty, and euphoria. love is fearlessness, and spirit, and earnestness. love is the center of everything but also the center of nothing; we revolve around it but it also revolves around us.” you sigh, this time catching your breath.

draco can’t keep it from you anymore, not after what you told him everything that love could be, what love should be, what love will be.

“is love not keeping secrets?” he murmurs.

“yes, i suppose love is honesty, as well,” you answer back.

he responds to that by pulling back his sleeve and revealing his dark mark in its full, horrid glory. your eyes widen as you scramble back from him, your grasp on the bottle slipping and rolling away in the grass; draco’s heart drops as he realizes you’re scared of not only the mark embellished into his skin, but of him as well by default.

“what did you do?” you whisper, horrified.

“the dark lord was threatening my family...he was threatening to kill you, i had to!” draco’s voice breaks just a little bit; he prays to the gods that you’ll believe him, hopes you’ll see his reasons.

you don’t.

draco’s father was right; love can fill your heart, but only for a little while before leaving it miserably empty..

☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

draco’s mother is calling him over, and everyone turns to look at him with judging stares or pitiful expressions. even the dark lord is looking expectantly at him.

harry potter is dead. now everyone will have to choose their sides.

across the destroyed courtyard he can see his father glaring at him. he really doesn’t want to walk over there, doesn’t want to declare his loyalty to them, but what can he do? he has no one to live for on this side, no one to live for him.

he takes a deep breath and starts maneuvering the crowd, walking towards his parents. it feels more like walking into death’s open arms.

“draco.”

he stops, coming to a complete halt. he hasn’t heard his name being spoken in that soft tone in a while. he turns around and you’re there, reaching for him, and he can’t focus on anything except you. you say his name again, and it feels like white horses gliding over the waves or a rushing ocean in his veins.

“love is sacrifice, too,” you whisper.

draco doesn’t walk to his parents. he chooses to stay with you instead.

you, the one person who makes him feel alive and whole. you, the one person he exists for.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

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[spxllcxstxr]

Bridge Over Troubled Water • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Requests: can you do a blurb with Remus where the reader is nervous and anxious, maybe has a tough week and he gives her a massage and helps her relax? — anon and Hi! can you write an imagine where the reader is dating Remus and is disappointed in her school grades / results and is overall doubting herself and is disappointed with herself? — @emmaev

Summary: Things are getting really tough. Remus is here for you.

Warnings: mention of food, not eating/skipping a meal, hunger, depression, anxiety, a bit of a panic attack, homework, school, self deprecating thoughts, kinda take how we’re feeling in this pandemic and that’s kinda what this fic is, Snape being an ass for like two sentences, crying

Word Count: 1.7k

A.N: I hope it’s alright that I combined your two requests. But, I decided to make it longer with a lot more comfort. I really hope it’s ok with you guys ❤️ Kinda a vent fic? So that’s why it’s lowkey all over the place and the ending is sorta..abrupt? I hope you like it, though. I wanna say that I’m always here for you guys. This whole thing has been kicking my ass and school has been extremely tough for me, so know that you’re not alone. Know that you’ve got this. I believe wholeheartedly in you. Love you all. ❤️

Title: Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

****

You trudge up the stone steps to the boys dorms, your bag dragging heavily behind you. With your robes slipping from your shoulders and your tie dangling loosely around your neck, you almost consider letting your bag go. Watching the heavy sack of books tumble recklessly down the spiral staircase seems like a great idea to you. However, you make it to the sixth year dorms before you’re able to loosen your grip.

The oak door was closed but not locked. What use was a lock when the door was charmed to singe off the eyebrows of any unwelcome visitor? Thankfully, the boys granted you complete access to their room in third year, so the door couldn’t harm you.

Turning the brass doorknob and stepping through the threshold, you’re greeted by somewhat organized chaos.

Sirius and Peter’s side of the room was a complete disaster while James and Remus’ side was at least nicer to look at. Sure a few books were scattered on the floor and James’ red and yellow underwear was hanging from his bedpost visible to anyone who walked in, but that’s nothing compared to whatever the other two have going on. You don’t even want to look at it, knowing full well that just one tiny glance would make your already terrible day worse.

The room is empty and completely quiet, the boys, just like every other person in the castle, were down in the Great Hall for dinner. At the thought of dinner just downstairs, your stomach grumbles before quickly churning in agony.

Quickly, you dump your bag next to the door and go through Remus’ drawers, searching for that one specific jumper.

It’s the deep blue cable knit one that always smells like him. The jumper is soft and warm and the perfect piece of clothing to cuddle into when you needed a good cry. And Godric, you needed a good, long, ugly cry.

After finding it and throwing it on, you barely lift up your feet walking to your boyfriend’s bed to get swallowed up by his blankets.

The weight of the day hits you full force the moment your head collides with his pillow, and your lips wobbles, the day replaying in your mind.

Your morning started with a Transfiguration exam that definitely was not on what you studied all night for.

Then, your potion bubbled out of your cauldron and started disintegrating the stone flooring, making Slughorn shoot you very disappointed look that made you want to disappear into the Forbidden Forest forever.

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned into a complete disaster as well when Professor Bluebell handed back your essays on inferi, and yours ended up with a spikey red D scrawled angrily on the top. D, which stands for Dreadful, as Snape snidely reminded you from over your shoulder. He flashed you smug little smirk along with the delicate O that adorned his own essay.

And to top it all off, you had to meet up with Flitwick right after classes to go over the vinegar to wine charm that for some reason wouldn’t work for you no matter how hard you tried. And you still weren’t successful.

This was becoming a common occurrence.

You always knew that your N.E.W.T. year was going to be tough, but Merlin, you never expected it to be this awful.

Classes were longer and harder and your professors were relentless and unforgiving with the amount of homework and exams they started handing out.

Sure you had more free periods, but those were filled with research and essays and studying, you had no free time at all—it was all a lie.

You couldn’t escape it. Sleep was just more time to be plagued by anxiety to the point you barely even slept at all. Most of the time you stared blankly up at the ceiling thinking about all the assignments you could be doing instead.

It’s this torturous and vicious cycle that you just can’t get out of.

And your motivation was quickly disappearing.

It was getting tougher and tougher each time to even do your homework. Lifting up your quill and taking out a stack of parchment was just difficult. It took too much energy out of you.

Smothering your face in Remus’ pillow, you groan out your frustration, balling your fists around the frayed sleeves of the jumper.

You’re so wrapped up in your despair and panic that you don’t hear the door creak open and four sets of footfalls and laughter bounce around the room.

“Damn, what’s up with you?” Sirius chuckles. You hear him flop onto his own bed.

You bury your nose in the fabric of the jumper, inhaling the sweet and comforting scent of chocolate and old parchment that always accompanies Remus Lupin.

“Don’t be a git, Pads.” Remus scoffs, making his way towards you.

He crouches down by your head, placing a delicate thumb on your cheekbone.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone turns soft, drenched with concern.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose and dripping down to the white sheets.

“Alright, darling, hold on.” Remus whispers, placing a dainty kiss on your forehead.

He straightens up, knees creaking the way no sixteen year old’s should.

“Alright, lads, clear out.” Remus declares to his friends.

“You can’t kick me out of my room, Moony. No way.” You hear James whine.

“Yes, I can, Prongs, c’mon. Go play chess with Peter or something.”

“But he always beats me.”

“C’mon, Prongsie, we can scam the first years by making them place bets on you winning.” Sirius suggests. His boots click against the floorboards, trailing towards the door.

Peter’s light footsteps follow after them.

“Fine.” James huffs dramatically. “But I’m not sleeping on the couch again, so no funny business.”

The door slams shut and once again you’re met with silence, though you do hear Remus changing out of his uniform and into more comfortable attire.

The bed dips underneath Remus’ weight and his hand gently starts to stroke through your hair.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love.” Remus mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

You try to swallow down the lump in the back of your throat.

“Just a very shitty day, Rem.” You manage to croak out, the words choppy and wavering.

Tears begin to flow freely, warm salty streaks making their way down your face in rapid succession.

“Oh darling.” Remus coos, practically pulling you into his arms and between his legs. You bury your face into his neck, tears dampening his scarred flesh. “It’s alright, let it out.” He continues to run your hair between his fingers. “Let it all out...”

“I-I’m just so stupid!” You sob, choking on spit. “Everything’s just getting too much and I can’t fucking take it anymore!”

He squeezes you closer to his chest, opting to stay silent so you can vent everything off of your chest. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head and you’re vaguely aware that you’re being rocked gently back and forth.

“It’s so hard!” You continue to wail, lungs constricting rapidly. It’s a struggle to keep breathing and your words barely come out fully, instead broken fragments are the only things spewing out.

“I’m a failure!” You spit out, face wet with tears.

“You’re not a failure, my love. I promise.” Remus tried to soothe, his voice adopting a small but noticeable waver. His hand rubs your back.

“I am! I’m a disappointment!” You sniff, taking in deep gulps of air.

“Shh...” Remus pulls you back a bit so he can see your entire face.

You already know you look disgusting. Eyes blotchy and red, tears streaming down your face. Snotty, spitty, wobbling, and watery features taking up his entire vision.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm? Let me help.” He consoles you softly.

You gaze into his warm honey brown eyes, glistening with his own tears.

You sniff, rubbing the sleeves of Remus’ stolen jumper across your face in an attempt to dry yourself off.

“Everything’s slipping, Rem. My grades, my mental health, everything. And I’m so lost I don’t know what to do anymore.” You confess. “What am I supposed to do?” You bring your hands up to you hair, tugging at your scalp enough for you to feel sparks of pain.

Quickly, his own trembling hands take yours. He stops you from tugging, instead bringing them to rest on his jumper clad chest.

You swallow harshly.

“I’m going to help you, (Y/n)—“

“You can’t help me, Remus! I’m beyond help—“

“No, you’re not.” He retorts lightly. “I’ll help you with homework and help you ask for a few extensions...we can get you back on track.”

“Remus...” Your voice trembles at his kindness.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps out, a tear or two slipping from his waterline. “I’m so so sorry that I didn’t see you suffering like this. Merlin, (Y/n).”

Shaking his head at himself, he brings his forehead down to your own.

“I’ll be better. I’ll be better, I swear.” Remus keeps repeating in a pained mutter.

“It’s not your fault, Rem. I got good at acting like everything was fine.” Your voice cracks.

“Still! I should’ve realized!” He mutters angrily.

“I love you, Remus. I love you so much, please don’t beat yourself up over this.” You plead.

He bites his lip, deciding to drop it, instead focusing on you.

“Why don’t we try to relax, hm? Just take a nice night off?” Remus suggests, pulling away to brush strands of hair away from your sticky face.

“But what about homework—?”

“Tomorrow, love. I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

You shlyly nod, and he presses his lips to your forehead.

“You’re beautiful, darling.” Remus whispers.

“I just bawled my eyes out, Rem, I’m sure I look like a swamp hag.” You snort.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, rubbing deep circles into your back muscles. The knots start to dissipate.

“Never seen a swamp hag as angelic as you.” Remus flirts. But his voice is so sincere and honest, you have no choice but to somewhat believe him.

“Thank you, Remus.” You smile. “It means so much to me.”

“Anything for the love of my life.” He confesses, trailing his pink lips down your neck. “Now let me hold you close.”

He lays down, resting his head on his pillow, your head resting on his chest.

Things are going to get better.

Probably not tomorrow.

Probably not this week.

But things will.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[dirt-cup-draco]

I Miss You

tw: brief mention of self-harm, depression, depressive thoughts. **Please do not read if any of these are triggering or dangerous to your mental state. Take care everyone <3**

draco malfoy x reader- flashbacks in italics

To look at someone and know with everything in you that you know them better than anyone else was gratifying. To realize that they had become a stranger and that you didn’t know as much as you thought was worse than anything you’d ever felt. 

You watched Draco as he sat with all of his friends, arm slung around Pansy’s shoulders and a bored look on his face as he pushed at his food. You had to fight the churning of your stomach as you remembered how it felt to be tucked safely under that same arm and feel like nothing could ever go wrong. 

You could still feel him beside you, could still smell the cologne he’d picked out after asking you if it was nauseating or pleasant. Every time you passed the courtyard you thought of lazy Saturdays, the sun warming your backs as you sat by the fountain and people-watched. 

Bile burned in your throat and you had to look away, feeling sick and no longer hungry. How was it that he could be okay? It was that very same question that had been eating away at you at months. You loved him with every part of your heart, every bit of your soul, and he was fine without you. 

 “All right?” Lavender Brown asked, casting you an odd look and you flashed her a fake smile and nodded quickly. 

“Of course, just remembered I have a charms essay due and I haven’t quite finished it yet- excuse me,” With that same tight smile pulled over your heartache you all but ran from the Great Hall, rushing up to your dorm. 

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes and you sat heavily upon your bed, trying to catch a breath but finding that your lungs didn’t want to cooperate. “I should be over this,” You whined, praying that someone- that Draco- would recognize your inner turmoil. 

The sun was high in the sky and shining through your open windows but it only added to the ache you felt. The seasons had changed drastically in the four months of solitude you’d been trapped in and it seemed they would continue to shift before you ever got an answer. 

Tears, fat and hot, rolled down your cheeks and burned your hands as you brushed them away ferociously. You were so sick of crying but it seemed you couldn’t help it when you reminded of the boy you’d been friends with since you arrived at Hogwarts. He was a friend of your brother’s but as time went on, he talked with you more and your sibling less and you had become inseparable. He was your world, and you had foolishly thought you were his. 

You took in a shaking breath, voice catching as you let out another choked sob. Why does it hurt so badly? Do you know what you’re doing to me Draco? I want this to be over.

You tore your tie from your throat, being unable to catch your breath once more as you caught sight of the dried corsage on your night stand. It had only made sense back then that you and Draco go to the Yule Ball together, even if you hadn’t expected the invitation. 

“My brother told you I didn’t have a date, didn’t he?” You poked Draco’s chest, a teasing grin on your face but insecurity swimming behind your eyes. You knew Draco had wanted to ask another Slytherin, her name was Sophie (of this you were certain), yet here he was with a silly grin and a bouquet of sugared quills. 

“Haven’t talked to him recently, is that a yes?” All he had to do was pull you into a quick hug and remind you he did what he liked and your worries had vanished. 

Your lip trembled as you brushed your fingers over the brittle petals, a tear falling onto the browning flowers- the moisture being soaked up immediately. You had the sudden thought to crush the thing between angered fists and let the powder fall to the ground but with a deep sigh and a loud sniffle you opened the drawer and dropped the corsage inside. You couldn’t be angry with him no matter how badly you were hurting, you loved him and if he was happy then you would pretend that it was okay he had abandoned you so easily. 

“Everything alright?” You’d asked during mealtime as Draco picked at his food but didn’t seem to put anything into his mouth. His cheeks had gone hollow weeks ago and although you knew why he forbade you speak of it. 

“Yes, fine,” He had replied robotically and even if you had expected the answer it still disappointed you. He was your best friend, why couldn’t he be honest with you? 

“I was thinking over the summer you could stay with me for a week or two and we can go to the lake like always,” You mentioned through a mouthful of roll and Draco rolled his eyes at the sight, but you caught the smallest blip of a smile at the edge of his mouth and considered it a rare victory. 

“Yeah, maybe, I’ll owl you,” He had dismissed it quickly but you thought nothing of it. Draco wasn’t one of many words in recent days and you supposed he had just grown fond of comfortable silence. Did he realize you were crawling out of your skin? You had wanted to hug him, wanted to brush his hair from his eyes and beg he take just one more bite of dinner or ask if he’d had enough to drink that day but you let the desire fester inside of you. 

You didn’t want to push him away by being too inquisitive. 

You realized that you were supposed to be in class but nothing could pull you from the comfortable space you had found in your bedsheets. You had drawn the curtains and blocked the sun from view. Your pajamas were soft against your skin and the heavy weight of your pillow pulled tight against your chest was enough to stop the tears even if nothing could stall the ache in your chest. 

You had to remind yourself to take a deep breath as the corners of your eyes began to burn again and you clenched your fists tight, nails pressed uncomfortably against your palm. Even pain had done nothing to soothe the dull thud that had been rattling in your chest since Draco had read your begging and pleading and had said nothing. 

Your legs were stuck by pins and needles as you moved your legs into a new position, the floor hard and cold beneath you. You took a glance in the mirror and felt silly once you spotted the mascara that was smudged underneath your eyelids, highlighting the fact you hadn’t slept in nearly a day and a half. 

The new top you had on didn’t seem as cute as it had that morning when you’d sent an owl to Draco, asking when he would be arriving. He told you to expect him that Saturday and so expect him you had. You’d not slept the night before and you’d risen early to make yourself look nice. You felt shame burn in your veins at your vanity. 

He didn’t care, probably didn’t notice, that you had dressed up. You didn’t expect anything but your love only grew for him more each day and every year it grew more impossible to swallow down those feelings and pretend you didn’t want more. Maybe if you could impress somehow he would tell you he felt the same. 

You scoffed bitterly, looking down at your red hands- having wrung them to the point where they were raw and irritated. Hours you had waited, from ten that morning to ten that night. Silence all day long and you had so foolishly hoped that he was simply busy and would get back to you soon. Soon turned out to be close to midnight that night when a tawny owl had tapped it’s beak against your window and bit your finger when you’d rushed to grab the letter instead of giving them payment first. 

You had welcomed the sting of the owl’s sharp beak once you looked at the nearly barren letter. All it read, in Draco’s lazy scrawl, was “Sorry. Not today.”. That night you had made your way to your mother’s room, curled up on her lap, and cried until you could turn a desert into an ocean. When the burning in your chest hadn’t faded and the tears had failed in putting the fire scorching your heart out, you had taken your wand and burned your thigh just to feel something other than the ache. 

Not even that helped. 

You sent a number of owls after that. More than anything you were worried about Draco. Had he been eating enough? Had he slept at all that weekend or was he much like you? Maybe you just weren’t reaching out enough. You inquired after him but his replies never came. You grew sicker each day, your bedroom now your biggest comfort as you waited on any word from him. 

After two weeks had passed you decided to ask Blaise, Theo, and Pansy. Blaise said Draco seemed fine when he’d played quidditch with him three days prior your letter arriving and Theo wrote of how Draco had just sent him a letter asking to meet at Hogsmeade three days before the new year was to begin. And then Pansy wrote back. 

You’d never had anything against the girl, you’d grown up with her and learned that her bark was much louder than her bite and usually she just needed someone resilient enough to take the verbal abuse and patient enough to wait until she confided in them. Now, however as your eyes skimmed over her slanted letters you couldn’t help but hate the girl. 

“Draco spent the night two weeks ago, the thirteenth I believe,” She’d practically gloated and you prayed that her including the date wasn’t a way to ground your heart into an even finer powder. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. He was supposed to come see you on the thirteenth... 

You stared at your bed curtain an arm’s length from your face and let your eyes wander across the pattern absentmindedly, the same thoughts circling through your mind. The doubts and loathing and blaming were so common that it was just the new normal for you. 

If he’s happy, nothing else matters. Maybe if I was better he would have talked to me. Would he notice if I was gone? Probably not. If I was someone else maybe he’d still consider me his best friend. If I didn’t do anything wrong, why did he stop caring? Maybe he never cared at all. 

The thoughts bit deep and were anchored to your mind, making every breath labored and every smile a difficult task to achieve. 

“I understand I’m probably the last person you want to hear from,” You wrote carefully on the parchment, biting back your tears. “I’ve missed you terribly. I don’t mean to make you feel guilty by saying that- not that anyone could ever make you do or feel anything- I just thought you should know. I heard from Blaise that you and Pansy are together, that’s great.” 

You  had to take a steadying moment. It hurt but if Pansy made him happy, if your love and friendship wasn’t enough, then he should be with her. 

“He said you were happy and that is all I could ever want. I’m not sure what happened to us, but if this it’s good for you- not having me around- then I can’t complain. I’m sorry my thoughts are so disjointed I’ve just had so much I’ve wanted to say over the past four months and now it’s all being tossed onto a page. It’s piss poor timing and I know nothing can or will change but I love you and I like you, Draco Malfoy. I love you more than any friend I’ve ever had. I’m sorry I want more than I can have and I’m sorry if I’ve ruined any chance of you coming back to me. I love you with everything in me and you will always come first. Please don’t think this means I expect you to put me first, I don’t even expect a letter back. Just know you are always in my heart and forever will be. I truly hope you are happy and if there ever comes a day where you think you’d like to see me again or write me a letter I will anticipate it greatly. I’m going to be selfish and ask, beg, that you at least tell me why we fell apart but I leave that choice to you. Love, Y/N.” 

The letter had been your last ditch effort, written the first week you’d arrived at Hogwarts and realized Draco wouldn’t even spare you a glance, his arm still over Pansy’s shoulders. You had watched as his tawny owl glided overhead, dropping the neat letter into his lap. Pansy had turned her head to watch you but you had kept your head down in shame, only peaking out of your peripheral. 

You watched as Draco opened the letter, expression as bored and stony as it had been before. His eyes raked over the minimally tear stained parchment, taking in every word that you had spilled from the depths of your heart. 

And then, Draco too your letter and folded it back up before storing it within the torn open envelope. Pansy said something you couldn’t quite hear and he simply shrugged, eyes still cold. The envelope sat opened and ignored at the table with him and the friends you missed but couldn’t face anymore. 

For a spiteful moment you wished Draco Malfoy hated you. That he would stroll up to you and mock you, target every insecurity and doubt you had confided in him about and tell you that he could never want you-not even as a friend. Hatred would put you more at ease than this icy indifference but you knew now that you couldn’t coax an emotion out of the man you still considered your best friend. To him, you had become nothing- and why would he ever feel anything over someone who didn’t matter? 

Head hung low, you  let that familiar ache settle back over you. 

“All right?” Lavender Brown asked a week after Draco had decided your questions would not be answered. 

“Of course,” You tried to smile but even to you it lacked conviction. The girl let it go however, knowing as well as anyone who had seen you for the past six months that nothing could lift you from whatever ocean you were drowning in. 

[seijorhi]

hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice. 

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise. 

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot. 

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole. 

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one. 

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror. 

He hasn’t moved. 

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort. 

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks. 

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness. 

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more. 

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.” 

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes. 

Only for a moment. 

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s. 

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

[little-diable]

Five times - Draco Malfoy (fluff)

Request by my sweet willow-lillies Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a "five times the reader realized she loved him, and one time he realized he loved her" with draco malfoy ? 🥺👉👈 I just love the idea that he would blurt his feelings as soon as he figures out hes in love with the reader (also if you want to do this with anyone else I dont mind!)

Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: five times (y/n) can’t stop falling deeper for the prince of Slytherin and the time he finally makes (y/n) his. 

I. The time he had to catch her as she was falling

“Stop staring”, Jasmin mumbled, eyes following (y/n)s gaze, resting on the silvery haired prince of Slytherin. “I’m not staring”, she found her friends smirking features, (y/n)s cheeks were flushed, hating her body for betraying her like that, “is that drool? (Y/n) you have some-”, she slapped her friends hand away, rolling her eyes at the giggles that left Jasmin.

(Y/n) couldn’t remember a day where she hadn’t been into Draco, mesmerized by his bright eyes, the mysterious aura that followed him around and that breathtaking smile he shot her every single time she walked past him. 

Though she had barely exchanged a word with him in the last five years she got pulled in deeper and deeper, there was no way out, even though she knew that Draco wasn’t interested in her. 

Jasmin tugged on (y/n)s hand, “come on, I don’t want to be late for Snape's class”, she had to shake her head, to fully rip herself out of her daydream, stopping herself from finding his entrancing features once again. 

“Did you finish your essay?”, (y/n) combed through her bag, mumbling the words as she tried to find her homework, not noticing how she slowly but surely was running into a broad chest. She didn’t have any time to register what was going on as she began to sway, blinking a few times till her eyes fell upon Draco, hands trying to reach for him as she fell backwards.

“I got you”, he had his arms slung around her waist, stabilizing her before she’d actually crash down onto the floor. Sparks were shooting up her spine, skin tingling from his tight grip. “I’ll see you later (y/n), try not to run into anybody else”, his smirk made her smile, nervously chuckling as he squeezed her side one last time, brushing past her.

II. The time they had to share an umbrella 

“Alright everybody, listen up, I want you on your best behavior”, McGonagall’s voice reverberated through Hogwarts old school ground, eyes focused on her tiny frame. They were just about to make their way to Hogsmeade, about to indulge themselves with rare sweets, chocolate frogs and butter beer. 

A smile tugged on (y/n)s lips, she loved afternoons like this, finally some time to relax, time to keep themselves distracted from the essays that were waiting to be written, the exams that would come up in the following days. 

Even though she tried to keep her eyes off his frame, (y/n) could tell that he was close, mind focused on the expensive scent of his cologne, the laugh that would wake the butterflies in her tummy. “(Y/n)”, his voice made her freeze, turning towards his tall frame, eyes instantly hooked onto his bright ones, “come here”, Draco reached a hand out for her to take. 

She hadn’t noticed how rain slowly began to pour down on them, wetting her clothes as her thoughts were still circling around Draco Malfoy. He pulled (y/n) underneath his black umbrella, smiling at her, “are you cold? Do you want my coat?”, his warm breath clashed against her cold cheeks, voice dripping with concern as he watched her shudder. 

(Y/n) only shook her head no, she didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to properly answer him, she’d probably blurt out some embarrassing words anyways. Her heart was rapidly beating, palms sweaty as he pulled her even closer, arm slowly making its way around her waist, trying to keep her warm, somehow.

III. The time he saved her from Snape’s wrath

“(Y/l/n)!”, the deep, emotionless voice ripped her out of her slumber, head still placed on her books as her eyes fluttered open, trying to locate her surroundings. 

The voice repeated her name, finally pulling her back into reality, she jumped in her seat, flushed cheeks on full show as she seemed to realize that she had fallen asleep, in Snape’s class. No words rolled off her tongue, her pupils were slightly dilated, insides churning as the professor took a step towards her desk, “am I boring you that much (y/l/n)?”. 

Some slurred, incoherent words left her as she tried to sort her thoughts, body burning in exhaustion, she hadn’t been able to catch much sleep in the past few days, mind focused on her upcoming exams. “It’s my fault professor”, Draco's voice made Snape turn towards him, waiting for Malfoy to keep on talking.

“(Y/n) helped me study yesterday, I kept her awake for too long”, his shiny eyes met hers for a glimpse of a moment, winking at her confused self as Snape rolled his eyes, “next time don’t bother your classmates with your problems Malfoy”, his cloak moved with every step the tall professor took, adding to his dark aura. 

“Thank you”, (y/n) mouthed, running a trembling hand through her hair, nervously biting her lip as she tried to catch up with Snape’s rambling. Jasmin kicked (y/n)s shin underneath the table, “something going on between you and your lover boy?”, the words made a small, breathless groan spill from (y/n)s lips, “don’t tease me”.

IV. The time he showed her how to dance 

Soft music echoed through the room, drowning out the professor's voice as she explained the dance steps, she could already tell that most students were hopeless cases. “Find yourself a partner”, (y/n)’s eyes wandered along her fellow classmates, trying to figure out who she’d ask to be her dance partner, getting distracted by Pansy’s annoying voice. 

The Slytherin kept on clinging to Draco, annoyed with his bored seeming self, “no, I already have a partner Pansy”, the words made (y/n)s heart skip a few beats, weight seemed to rest on her shoulders, of course he’d never ask her to be his partner. 

She cursed her mind for pushing her into those daydreams that would leave her disappointed and confused every time she’d get pulled back into the harsh reality. Draco grasped (y/n)s wrist, “please tell me you don’t have a partner yet”, he seemed stressed, as if he was trying to run away from something, or rather someone. 

“No I don’t”, (y/n) smiled up at him, eyes finding Pansy’s annoyed ones, a fire was burning behind them, probably already plotting (y/n)s death. “Perfect”, Draco began to pull her into the middle of the room, surrounded by a few other couples, waiting for the music to start. 

“I don’t really know how to dance”, it was just above a whisper, eyes wandering down his frame, onto his feet, wondering if he’d change his mind and find another partner. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead”, Draco pulled a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling at her as they began to move to the music, swaying around the room, pulled into their own bubble of happiness, only focused on one another.

V. The time he told her she looked gorgeous

She had her eyes focused on her reflection, smoothing the fabric of her gown, trying to smile at herself, it was the night of the yule ball, a night where she’d be able to let loose, to enjoy some time with her friends. But the thought of seeing Draco with the girl he had asked to be his date broke her heart apart, made (y/n) doubt if she should go down there in the first place. 

“Oh no, stop that frown”, Jasmin entered the bathroom, tugging on her friends elbow, “don’t tell me you don’t want to be my date any longer”, she pouted, finally making (y/n) smile, chuckling as she pulled her out of the room, down the stairs. By now they could already hear the soft music, the chatter of their classmates as they excitedly stumbled down the stairs.

(Y/n) couldn’t stop herself from searching for his frame, lips slightly parted as she took in the sight of his suit, the gelled back hair and that addicting laugh that rumbled through him as he spoke to his friends. He looked happy, truly did, carrying that bright smile on the lips she so desperately wanted to kiss. 

“(Y/n)”, Jasmin sighed, shooting her friend a sad smile as she pushed a glass into her hand, “want to dance?”, Jasmin twirled around in her forest green dress, set on keeping (y/n) distracted, to put a smile onto her lips. Just as (y/n) wanted to reply she felt somebody pinch her sides, “may I have this dance?”, Draco patiently waited for (y/n) to give Jasmin the glass back, wordlessly taking his hand, following him to the dance floor. 

“You look gorgeous (y/n)”, Draco's hand wandered down her spine, her skin burned with every touch of his, struggling to process the words he had just spoken. 

The time he finally seemed to realize his feelings for her

“You know, it took me a while to realize it, to understand why my heart would suddenly begin to race as you were close, the need to touch you at every given chance. But I think I finally understand what’s going on”, Draco pressed her closer against his chest, hand cupping her cheeks, “do you?”, (y/n)s gaze fell down to his lips, how easy it would be to finally kiss him. 

“I do”, Draco softly pressed his lips against hers, smiling at the soft gasp that left her, hands fisting the fabric of his suit, not letting go of him. “I am sorry that it took me this long to realize it”, he mumbled against her lips, kissing her once again before he moved away from her, twirling her around. A soft chuckle bubbled out of her, finally everything seemed to fall into place. 

[from-a-reckless-writer]

wrote a thing.

She is sitting behind you; back propped up against the harsh cement wall the double-deck is pushed against. She isn’t wearing her shirt, merely draped it over her frame. She is like this with you. Always partially naked, almost always bare but never completely. A sleeping short but no bra, there; grinding on your thigh with only a tank top and no underwear, here; and now, chest bare with only a shirt draped over.

You hear rustling and you know she is reaching for the pack of cigarettes and lighter on the head of the bed.

You are proven right.

You hear the flicker of the flames and the string of cigarette smoke climbs into your nostrils. You lace your shoes first before even wearing a bra. The first time you did this in front of her she laughed at you.

Shoes first before a bra? If you hadn’t just fucked my brains out I’d have half a mind to call you a psychopath.

She always smokes the same brand of cigarette. The ones whose sticks are black, as if a premonition of the blackening of her lungs if she keeps at it. It is always the one with the menthol aftertaste.

“Do you always have to have cigarettes after sex?”

“They're called stimulants for good reason you know? And besides…”

She trails off and it irritates you, because her trailing off means that she knows you’re thinking the same thing; implies that with you, she doesn’t feel the need to finish her words out loud because she is all too aware that you have already finished the sentence in your head.

It is most irksome.

“Besides what?” You spit out, even though you already know the answer; even though you know that she knows you know.

“Besides,” she drawls, and even with your back to her, you know there is a puff of smoke around that one word.

“You like the taste.”

You feel liquid fire running in your veins. Of course, that’s what she would say. That’s what you were thinking of, wasn’t it?

“They’re bad for you.”

You hook the clasps of your bra together.

“Mm. Like how I’m bad for you?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did, baby.”

******

There is no love there, you think as you wait for a cab below her apartment.

Above, you know she is listening to the trashy music you know she doesn’t really like but always listens to. You hate that you don’t know the reason why she does this. You hate that she always seems to know more about you, than you about her.

You imagine what she does when she’s alone in her apartment.

In that cramped space of a studio apartment, where the kitchen faces the door of the bathroom and the bedroom is three steps away from said kitchen. The one place you’re sure would always be burned to the back of your lids till the day you die.

It’s yellow walls eternally living in the gray matter of your brain. It has embedded itself there, along with the image of her spread open for you each time and every time.

You raise your hand to hail a cab. A car stops in front of you, you look up one last time.

There’s the silhouette of a woman behind the curtains.

You leave.

******

The city rolls past your windows. Manila in the middle of the night feels like a neon lucid dream. Well, it is, if you look past the homeless children in the streets and the rows of carton boxes inhabited by cold bodies on the sidewalk.

You think about her and how cold the metal frame of a double-deck feels at night. You never ask about the person who used to occupy the top part of the deck. You don’t ask about how there is a whole drawer of clothes that she doesn’t touch.

You don’t ask and she doesn’t answer.

It’s always been like that between you, hasn’t it? An eye for an eye. A tit for tat. What you give is what you get.

The entire taxi smells like orange Lysol and you suppress a gag reflex. It gives you a headache. But the pain of it is nothing compared to the chasm inside your chest.

It’s been getting bigger and bigger, wider and wider, you notice. The gap always increases whenever you decide to lace your shoes and hail a cab.

You ignore it.

******

She doesn’t call you, the next Friday.

It’s not the first time she failed to call. Often, it’s a work thing or a university thing...or both.

She’ll call the next evening; always eager to fuck off the stress the prior day has inevitably brought.

She wouldn’t even bother with foreplay on days like those. It’s fine by you. You’re more than happy to get down and get to work.

You’ve always been an efficient employee after all.

Because that’s it, isn’t it? This is just a contract between the two of you. If you need an itch scratched, you'll dial the familiar number and she'll show up on your doorstep and the next minute her hands would be down your pants and vice versa.

It works. It’s fine.

But then, she doesn’t call.

Not during that Friday night and not during the next evening and before you know it, a whole weekend passes by.

You find your hand on her doorknob on Monday morning.

******

She slams the door in your face the moment she realizes you’re behind it.

You pound your fist on the locked door three times, twist the knob roughly for good measure.

“Tangina, just let me in.”

You hate how fucking needy you sound.

******

You wake up falling backwards, the back of your head hitting the bone of her legs painfully.

“Aw. Pucha, what the-”

You look up and there she is, looking down on you and then she is muttering under her breath.

“Idiot. Who fucking waits outside somebody’s door?”

You scramble to your feet.

You embrace her. Tightly. It surprises you both. You hear the breath get whooshed out of her lungs.

You feel her stop fighting against the hug. She turns soft. She sobs.

You let your shirt get soaked.

******

You don’t fuck that night.

You hold her instead.

******

You feel nauseous on the ride home again but this time you know it isn’t because of some cheap air freshener.

There is something different churning in your gut. It makes you want to throw up. It’s got to do with the ever widening chasm in your chest and the woman in the studio flat, you think.

No, you don’t think. You know.

You elect to ignore it again.

******

There is a man with his arm around you when you run into each other in the LRT. In the distance you can hear the whistle of a security guard. You can feel the rumble of the oncoming train underneath your feet. Somebody says, Please observe the following for your safety and protection while inside the station...Thank you for patronizing the LRT.

You watch in real time how a nebula dies.

The light bursting, exploding and then blinking out of existence all in the same breath.

“Nice to meet you.”

She extends a hand to the man beside you.

You try not to think about the fact that that same hand had trailed up and down your body not only two nights ago, how those fingers had mapped out every single scar down the back of your thighs, how that hand had cradled your face so softly before even softer lips descended on your own.

“Well, I should probably get going. I’ll let you go now.”

The five words grate against your veins like broken glass atop cement walls grazing trespassing robbers.

You try to crane your neck to follow her disappearing figure.

His arm gets in the way.

******

She doesn’t answer your Friday night call.

And the Saturday morning call.

And the Saturday afternoon call and the evening call.

And the Sunday morning call and the afternoon call and the evening call.

Once again, you find your back against her door on a Monday.

******

She finds you there; sitting stupidly, head thumping repeatedly against the wood.

You scramble to stand up so quickly you almost trip over your own feet.

“Hi.“

—is the most stupid thing to say in the history of stupid things to say.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” you’re quick to add.

“No answer is an answer.”

She jams her keys into the door.

“Yeah, I figured.”

You twiddle your thumbs, eyes cast to the floor.

She opens the door. You follow, naturally.

She takes off her shirt.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Well, isn’t this what you came for? Let’s get it done and over with. The sooner the better, I have an essay deadline tonight.”

“No, I-”

“You what?”

You stare stupidly, mouth closing and opening like a fish, with no words coming out.

“Ano?” She demands, “Wala? Well, if you’re not gonna fuck me I suggest you get out and stop wasting my time. Like I said, I have a deadline tonight.”

You can take the dismissal for what it is.

Or...

You can fight back.

You can call her out on her bullshit.

You can apologize for your stupidity.

You can-

You rush towards her and smash your mouths together harshly.

You make her cum three times that night, her letting out your name in breathy whimpers.

It doesn’t feel satisfying. It just leaves you feeling empty.

She doesn’t smoke after, this time. She just gets out of your arms, pulls out a chair, a charger and her laptop.

She gets to work.

You dress yourself. Shoes first, then bra.

“I’m sorry.”

******

You stop hearing from her.

You know better than to call her non-stop.

No answer is an answer.

******

The apartment is empty when you get there.

The landlord says it’s been empty for two weeks now.

She didn’t leave her future destination nor her new address nor her new number.

She didn’t leave anything behind.

Well, except maybe for…you.

[inkykeiji]

Hihihi!!! Sorry i didnt really make that clear when i wrote the ask but i meant to say how would touya nii react to reader being really sad and insecure. But thank you so much for answering!! ( ◠‿◠ )

—🌶

hello chili pepper!! <33 okay so i’ve written a little bit about how touya-nii would comfort the reader when they’re sad here and here, but in terms of his reactions:

tw: stepcest/pseudo-incest

when they’re sad: he becomes softer, gentler, tenderer; automatically slips into his Big Brother mode, becoming extra protective and babying them even more than normal, because he fucking hates seeing them sad. he gets really touchy when he's like this, as if he's trying to portray his intense love for them through his actions, because his words will never be enough—there are no words to explain it, to describe it, to accurately portray it; they simply don't exist. large hands are always on their hips, their waist, their face; plush lips pressing gentle kisses to their shoulders, their cheeks, their hair; their body constantly cradled in his strong arms, pulled onto his lap and snuggled up against his chest, or laying between his spread legs in their fluffy bed, face nuzzled into his neck, or trapped tightly between his chest and the counter, leaning into him as he cooks. he spoils them like mad, makes them their favourite meal or runs to the store quickly to grab them their favourite dessert (which they're allowed to have as much of as they want to, just this once, because they're having a bad day), then puts on their favourite film or show and watches it with them, murmuring the sweetest affirmations into their hair until they fall asleep. he does everything in his power to take their mind off of whatever's bothering them, to make it better, and will go as far as doing everything for them in an effort just to see his baby smile again <33

when they’re insecure: it really depends on what the insecurity is and the severity of the situation. if they’re insecure about something he personally (and clearly) believes they shouldn’t be, ie. reader is worried about an essay or assignment they’re turning in when either 1. they’re close to/at the top of their class or 2. it’s just one dumb university assignment, he takes a little more of a tough love type approach, reminding them that it's just one grade, there's no reason to cry or that they're being silly, they know they're smart enough. if it's something more severe though, if they're dealing with a deeply rooted insecurity that has plagued them for years and upsets them a great deal, then he's much kinder. he will spend hours reassuring them, days reassuring them, an eternity reassuring them—he doesn't care how long it takes, he doesn't care if he has to do it for the rest of his fucking life, he just wants them to know that he loves them more than anything, and they’re absolutely perfect to him, and that’s all that matters. he struggles with it a little, having quite a few deep rooted insecurities himself, but he still tries his very best to make it all right again <33

either way, seeing his baby upset instills in him the worst kind of pain he’s ever felt, he’s absolutely positive of it; like burning needles searing through his veins and sharp spikes slicing through his heart, and he can’t stand it. it makes him physically sick, makes his stomach churn and his eyes sting and his throat ache—it hurts more than anything has ever hurt before, and he will bend over backwards to bring that gorgeous smile back to their face, to see those pretty eyes brighten again, to hear their precious giggles of his name and honorific <3 and if it’s someone else’s fault you’re feeling this way????? ooooh, they better watch the fuck out <3

of course bb, thank you so much for asking!!! <333

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 15

new year, new chapter c: it's been a while since i've worked on Chronicles—December Mood dips are Not Delicious, plus i started streaming regularly, which has been fun! ((i’m omnistruck on Twitch if you want to check it out 🥰) but rest assured i intend to see it through to the end. i hope you've been well <3 take care, and enjoy!

From: itsdjbubbles

My dude, if your stage presence is anything like this flyer, y’all are absolutely gonna kill it at La Tortue.

Well. Luka doesn’t know about that.

It’s not like Kitty Section is totally obscure. They’ve had a stage in Paris’s annual pop-up music festival or more than one occasion. And sometimes Juleka’s tagged along to street corners with him so they could duet in hopes of more than just pocket change. And, of course, there was that whole music contest with Bob Ross and XY, but that had only ended in fiasco: their music was stolen, Rose’s vocals ripped right off the track. Luka argued up and down over the phone until he was red in the face, nearly biked down to the studio and let them have it, but he could hardly prove it. And he cared too much about it jeopardizing Juleka’s happiness to follow through.

Total corporate bullshit. He didn’t know how Jagged Stone did it. When he said so at dinner the night he gave up, his Ma only tousled his hair and said, “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Sometimes he thinks that’s the strongest, bravest, he’s ever been. That all his audacity peaked years ago, and he’s only gotten worse since then.

Bubbles isn’t corporate bullshit. Luka feels like he’d be able to figure out something like that from conversation alone. But their talks have been friendly—and more than that, supportive. He’s even shown a few messages to the band, just to check that he wasn’t losing his mind. And he saw how their faces softened in approval, or lit up with excitement. Even Juleka’s.

Besides, Bubbles makes music. And when he samples something, he actually credits it. He knows how to play the game. And it feels like they’re on the same side of the board.

Bubbles has that stage presence; the fact that he only needs that one shadowy picture on his profile is more than enough of an indicator. And Bubbles has a reputation that precedes him. So even if they’re on the same side of the board, it feels like Bubbles is always just a couple of steps ahead.

At least his bandmates are on the same side, and at the same step. All it took was a casual mention, during a late-night band practice, of “the bakery he keeps getting their snacks from” being all in on getting them even more exposure. They didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding their excitement, but he wouldn’t have wanted them to, anyway. Even Juleka, after practice ended, had to admit, “You did good.” And then, with perhaps a bit more snark, “Maybe she’s the one trying to impress you. “

“Stop,” Luka said with a roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t help thinking about it once the partition between their beds was up. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng was trying to impress him.

…Was there?

By now, nearly a day later, Luka’s still asking himself that. Still hemming and hawing like they have more than just two weeks to get their act together. Pacing below deck with his phone in his hand, thinking about pear tarts and pretty faces instead of going to see them in person, and staring at Marinette’s phone numbers until he thinks he’s accidentally memorized both of them.

He doesn’t recognize the pattern or the area code of one of them, so he can only assume that it's an American number. But he still hasn’t mucked up the courage to text or even save the French one in his phone. Why does he need to be scared in the first place? It’s a phone number, and this is strictly business, and everything between them has been strictly business.

Well. Nearly everything. Nearly strictly.

He thinks.

Okay. Okay. All he has to do is say… what? Hi? Who just starts texting someone for the first time with “Hi?” But he can’t go writing a whole essay either, even though at least now he has the power to edit his words instead of just saying them and hoping for the best.

This is harder than it needs to be. And yeah, maybe he’s just making it harder than it needs to be, but it’s not like his brain and the shake in his hands are giving him much of a choice in the matter.

Luka switches back over to his message thread with Bubbles and shoots off a quick reply—flatterer—because maybe answering something easy will make the hard stuff more tolerable. He finds himself looking toward his guitar as though it might lend him strength… well, what the hell. It couldn’t hurt. He plays a doodle or two, idle notes, and catches himself before his fingers can drift toward the beginning of the ocean-blue song. At this point, it’s neither perfect nor good, and he can’t tell if it’s personal dissatisfaction or the numbers that the latest draft has been doing online.

Both. It’s probably both.

Messaging Marinette ends up being just as hard after his attempts at centering as it was before—because as it turns out, the whole music-giving-him-unbridled-confidence thing really only works while he’s playing it. So now he’s left still staring at the blank NEW MESSAGE screen, the cursor blinking almost tauntingly at him because of course it is. Because somehow, he can write a note telling a girl her eyes are pretty and survive long enough to see her smile about it, but he can’t send that same girl a text. It’s not like he can even see her reaction this time, anyway; that just gives him even more of an advantage.

Okay. Okay. He can actually do this. Maybe. He thinks—no, no, he has to.

With a deep breath that he holds longer than he releases, Luka opens a new message.

To: Marinette hey. it’s luka.

And like an idiot, he hits SEND before he’s even put the rest of his message together. So now he has to make a mad dash to come up with something so he doesn’t seem like a total creep for messaging her out of the blue.

For fuck’s sake. This is exactly why he writes his messages in the notes first.

To: Marinette sorry, hit send before i could finish. anyway, just wanted to tell you the band is cool with the postcard idea. i can pay you next time i come to the bakery, if that’s cool.

To: Marinette anyway, it’s really cool of you to offer your help like this. sorry if i didn’t say so yesterday, it’s kind of been... a wild time.

Luka locks his phone before he can agonize too much over what he’s sent, stuffs it away and starts pacing again. It’s not a frantic, shaky thing; no, he’s learned to keep the shakes on the inside until no one’s around to see them. He jumps when his back pocket vibrates, and he nearly drops his phone trying to fish it out. It’s only Bubbles, and he can’t tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed until his phone buzzes again. Twice. And this time, it actually is from Marinette.

From: itsdjbubbles Sorry, I was getting some stuff ready for my next project. Listen, I’m just saying. Don’t sell yourself short as this stuff. Paris is gonna hear you up there, and it’s gonna lose its collective fucking mind.

From: Marinette hi luka ☺️ no worries, i do that too sometimes. here’s the mockup for the postcard. let me know what your band thinks, i’ll do some tweaks and send it to print. sound good?

Luka balks, both at the tone of the message and at the picture she sent. It looks almost exactly like the flyer, same color scheme and everything. The only difference seems to be in the composition, which makes sense; she’s got more of the eye for this stuff, even for someone who only “dabbles.”

To: Marinette wow, this is... thank you? that was fast. and this is really well put-together. i think they’re gonna love it.

you really weren’t kidding, huh.

Luka finds himself sinking onto his bed and staring at the message thread instead of actually doing something productive. And strangely, he’s fine with that. The more time passes, the less scary it is to see her typing back, again and again and again.

From: Marinette course i wasn’t kidding. “help” is practically my middle name to the people who matter.

and i mean, there’s only a little bit of time until your show, right? so, gotta get movin.

anyway, i gotta run. my friend needs help for his summer class and i promised i’d go visit today.

Keep me posted about your band!

♥️

There is far too much in that message for Luka to need to process. “People who matter?” “Keep me posted?” The literal heart emoji at the end? He reads their messages over and over, mostly to confirm that this really, actually just happened, but he’s not going to push his luck. Maybe she just talks to everyone like that, and more importantly, the two of them haven’t been much more than a series of transactions anyway.

A... lot of transactions.

That she’s been doing a lot of giving for.

Luka tries and at least sort of succeeds at shaking the thought from his mind; he can’t read hers, and he shouldn’t try to. He sends her one last text—cool, have a good one—and switches back to Bubbles before he can worry if his words were too casual.

To: itsdjbubbles Thanks for the vote of confidence. I guess you’re not the only one? the bakery I go to, they’re offering to help too.

or, I mean, CBG is offering to help.

Bubbles’s reply doesn’t come until a few hours later. It’s presumably after that project work he mentioned, and definitely after Luka’s had some time to play out the rest of the shakes before he goes busking. His phone buzzes with the notification just as he’s about to leave, and what Bubbles has to say makes his stomach churn and his blood run both hot and cold.

From: itsdjbubbles wait. wait wait wait. hold on i just scrolled your posts.

CBG is *Marinette Dupain-Cheng?*

ohhhhhhh my dude you are in for it now.

[willowbird]

prompt: aaron had a slight ED that he developed as a kid and is now being noticeable to the rest of the foxes even andrew and nicky kinda knew he forgot to eat but the stress from school and exy makes it worse....

I could easily expand on this and maybe one day I will. It hits kinda close to home tho so I’m going to err on the side of brevity just for my own mental space. Thank you so much for the ask! I hope this is what you’re looking for ❤️ ❤️ Take care of yourselves!

Warnings for depression, eating disorder. 

Edit: this has been expanded and can also be found on my ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Ao3

-----

Wednesday | 6:04am

The alarm was screaming. 

Its cries crashed against his senses like sea-storm waves and Aaron was without shelter. The sound had been crowding him for four minutes now, and he still couldn't lift a hand to make it stop -- even though he was perfectly aware and wide awake. He wanted to stop the sound, he needed the quiet back, but for whatever reason his hand just wouldn't listen to his brain no matter how many times he willed it to move. 

Aaron hated days like this.

Wednesday | 8:43am

Nicky slung his arm around Aaron’s shoulders, a grin plastered on his face. His hair was slicked back like a low-budget greaser, halfway between wet and just damp. They’d just finished morning practice and he, Nicky, and Kevin were waiting out in the player’s lobby for Neil and Andrew to finish showering and changing so they could leave.

“Aw man, I am hungry. Please tell me that Andrew and Neil are gonna finish up soon so that we can go get a real breakfast.” Nicky's whining was easy enough to ignore most of the time, but today Aaron was tired and his patience was thin. He had three tests to study for, two essays to write, they had a game coming up on Friday, and Aaron didn't have the bandwidth for Nicky, too.

He shruged his cousin off with a snort. "I'm just gonna hitch a ride to the library." There were still a few hours before his first class of the day, and he needed to use that time for something productive.

"Aww, c'mon Aaron come to breakfast with us! We'll drop you at the library when we're done. It won't take too long!"

"What won't take too long?" When Aaron looked over, he saw Neil and Andrew coming out of the locker room, clean and changed.

"Breakfast!" Nicky announced. "Neil, tell Aaron to join us! It's a family breakfast -- he should be there!"

"You can't just label things "family" events as a way to require people to be there," Kevin said with a long-suffering sigh. Even so, Aaron noticed he already had the menu of their usual breakfast joint pulled up on his phone. The pictures of pancakes topped with glistening syrup and fluffy omelets made his stomach clench in an unpleasant way.

Aaron looked away.

"I've got a shit to do," he said. That would be his final word on it, and to demonstrate, Aaron turned to head toward the doors.

Except Andrew had moved to block him, though Aaron hadn't registered when his twin had circled them. Aaron frowned, lifting his chin in challenge.

Andrew just studied him for a long moment before looking just past Aaron, gaze darting over his shoulder to the others behind him. He lifted a hand and a second later a slim object snapped into it. When Andrew then held it out to him, Aaron saw it was a granola bar.

A quick glance over his shoulder exposed the granola bar thrower as Kevin, who was zipping his backpack shut. They matched gazes briefly and Kevin nodded toward the granola bar in Andrew's hand.

"If you aren't going to come to breakfast with us make sure you get something on your way to the library."

Aaron glared at him, then rolled his eyes and turned back to his brother. Andrew just looked at him, expression blank, and continued to hold out the damn granola bar like he could stand there all day without a care in the world.

A flash of resentment boiled through him. Of course Andrew could stand there so fucking unbothered. Barely anything affected him at all.

With an annoyed huff, Aaron snatched the bar out of Andrew's hand and shoved it into his pocket before stalking out of the building.

Wednesday | 1:15pm

Katelyn ❤️ (13:15): Hey baby! Prof Dixon bailed again ~ you free?

Aa. Min. (13:15): McCallister's?

Katelyn ❤️ (13:16): See u in 5! 😘

Wednesday | 1:23pm

Aaron stood inside the confused cacophony that was McCallister's, an on-campus restaurant that was the love child of a deli and a pub but four times too big, regretting his choices.

It wasn't even the noise that was bothering him the most. It was the smell.

Aaron took two steps into the restaurant and his stomach roiled. It twisted and tightened, curling in on itself in disgust at the sharp, slimy stench of cold cut deli meat cushioned on a waft of double-baked potatoes that filled the restaurant like wildfire's haze. He and Katelyn met here for lunch two or three times a week when their schedules lined up. They both liked the food and they had several corner booths where they could hide in and study together after eating. It was one of their favorite places. But right now, Aaron was fighting not to gag. 

“Aaron!” Relief warred with dread at the sound of Katelyn’s voice and he hastily plastered on an imitation of the smile he usually didn’t even have to think about, that always rose to his lips whenever she was around all on its own. It didn’t today, but for Katelyn he could make the effort. For Katelyn, Aaron could do anything. 

He turned around once that smile was fixed in place and wrapped his arms around her when she joined him, indulging in a quick kiss that soothed some of the nausea churning in his gut. When they broke apart, Aaron turned to lead them toward their usual booth but Katelyn stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Babe is everything alright?” Worry painted a crease between her eyebrows, her mouth drawn down as she studied him. 

Most days, Katelyn’s concern warmed him. It made him feel seen and loved and cherished. Today it put a slash of anxiety through his lungs, breath seeping out through the cut and concaving his chest under the weight of her scrutiny. 

Aaron arranged his smile into something tired and unalarmed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long week, y’know?”

Katelyn hummed like she wasn’t sure she believed him but was deciding to trust him anyway, then she smiled and she released his arm only to take his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Alright, then let’s get some lunch and shut out the rest of the world for at least a little bit, yeah?”

The smell of the restaurant was still choking him and even his skin felt tight. The absolute last thing he wanted to do right now was stay there another second, let alone the hour he had until he needed to think about heading to his next class.

“I’m so sorry Kate, I’ve got to meet with the TA for my history class. I remembered right after I texted you but I still wanted to see you so I figured I’d just tell you when you got here.” He offered an apologetic smile and did his best to ignore the way guilt was now mixing uncomfortably well with the sick already sloshing around in his stomach. Aaron did not like lying to Katelyn, it felt wrong. But he also couldn’t... he couldn’t explain what was wrong with him right now -- not because he didn’t know, but because he was sure explaining it was going to make him sound crazy and that was just the last thing he needed right now. It was better to slip away, go somewhere he could focus on homework or something and just... wait for it to pass.

Katelyn’s expression fell, flashing disappointment, then a sad understanding as she nodded. “Of course. It’s okay babe, really. I’m just glad I got to see you at all.” She smiled then -- that bright, warm, just-for-him smile that always had Aaron’s heart skipping. A small knot of tension loosened in his lower chest, just enough that he was able to take a small breath and offer a more genuine smile of his own in return. 

“I love you,” he told her. 

“I love you too, Aaron. Take care of yourself and I’ll see you later, okay?”

He made no promises before he made his escape, just a smile and a wave.

Wednesday | 3:37pm

The granola bar tasted like ash in his mouth. It felt like there were iron weights attached to his jaw, making it impossible for him to chew. A fist of repulsion locked around his throat, and it was a physical struggle to swallow. 

This was the worst part about days like this.

Aaron knew he had to eat something, because he knew what could happen if he didn’t and the only thing worse than having to put up with feeling this way, dragging himself through the mud of his own psychosis one step, one mile, at a time -- was doing it with everyone watching him struggle. 

So he forced himself through half the granola bar. He knew better than to push for more than that, or all his efforts would be wasted into the nearest trash can.

Wednesday | 7:51pm

Practice had been brutal. It had been so bad that even Nicky hadn’t been able to cheer himself through it and was just as bitter and on edge as the rest of them by the time they hit the showers. 

Aaron sat in the lobby and waited for the others, feeling old. He felt tired. He just wanted these stupid pissing contests to stop and everyone to shut up. He wanted the world to be completely silent, completely empty. Emptiness sounded nice. Sounded peaceful. Sounded right.

The sharp scuff of shoe-rubber against tile had him cringing so hard his shoulders ached and he peeled his eyes open to glare at the source. Andrew stood there, hands in his pockets, blank-faced and too knowing.

Aaron snorted and looked away. 

The couch shifted slightly as Andrew took the spot next to him. There was the soft shk of a blade cutting into something crisp and when Aaron looked over, Andrew was holding out a small sliver of apple. His brother wasn’t looking at him. Instead, the other Minyard was dispassionately staring at the tv, which was playing some sports channel that Aaron knew very well Andrew didn’t give a single shit about. 

For a long moment Aaron just stared at the side of his twin’s face, but it was impossible to know what, if anything, he was thinking about. Finally, he looked at the sliver of apple. It was pale, small, unobtrusive. Aaron’s stomach clenched, a mix between hunger and repulsion. All he’d had today was that half a granola bar -- which had been both too much and not enough. His throat tightened as he stared at that innocuous slice of fruit, but he was almost focused more on the hand holding it. His eyes burned and he looked away, but not before taking the slice. 

[unfortunatelysirius]

UNEXPECTED | Regulus Black, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

Request // Regulus finds something unexpected—at a Slug Club dinner party, with a girl named Y/N L/N.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Sorry if this sucked.

        LOVE.

                Even the word itself felt like a promise. It could come like a metaphor, as gentle as misted rain, or it was a broken idea, radiating animosity that maimed worse than misplaced surgical lesions. Some folks went their entire lives without knowing it, feeling it, getting the chance to embrace and relish it—while others did indeed get a taste only for it to scorch like too-hot coffee. A funny little thing, love was. As scary as it was delightful.

        Regulus Black didn’t know much about love. He only knew bleak sun—and a yearning that churned his stomach like butter. If he let his thoughts wander off too far, they’d explore territory too disturbingly foreign he’d have no choice but to retreat. His parents taught him discipline and obedience, but “love” was a rare occurrence; truthfully, the only person who ever even had an inkling of understanding for it was his brother Sirius, and the bastard left Regulus to bleed under the ripe moon. He knew what hatred felt like, same with spite, same with betrayal, same with repulsion.

        Then he descended on the path weary travelers couldn’t cross.

        It all started at the start of his fifth year, getting worse from there. He began noticing the Gryffindor who never stopped challenging professors and requested an extension on nearly every Charms essay. Who always wore an untidy uniform with the shirt untucked, cloak rumpled, and two different stockings. Who could be more quiet than a fairy’s whisper but the loudest personality in the room. Who once punched Giovanni Rivera, some snob in Hufflepuff, so hard in the nose he stayed slumped unconscious by a knight in the open dungeon corridor for an entire night.

        He noticed you.

        It was entirely accidental. Regulus was not someone to dive head-first, always treading the shallow end before walking into riptides that couldn’t be foreseen. He was caution in a world of chaos. He didn’t want to know the definition of “love,” even though he thought that was what he felt for Sirius. Brotherly love. The love someone had for another that protected them, provided for them in times of need. Then Sirius was labelled the family disgrace, shunned by Orion and Walburga; the perfect little Slytherin son, Regulus shunned him too. Regulus lost that feeling and failed to find it again, even in his circle of friends that mocked tainted blood and wanted more than meager lives. They aspired for a Wizarding World cleansed of impure magic; Regulus wasn’t sure what he wanted.

        He quickly became lonely. As the days turned to months then years, he preoccupied himself with his studies—working diligently to fabricate a living lie like he had any future outside of the Dark Lord’s bidding. He envied Sirius for breaking from the family so soon, forcing Regulus into a compromised position; their parents scrutinized him more carefully now and expected more than he would have had to provide if Sirius was the pride-and-joy firstborn they could have turned into a great ally, rather than an adversary.  Regulus hated it, hated that whatever he liked and the little joys he had in life were useless now that he had one reason to live. There was little to his life except growing up to be part of the Dark Lord’s army. Regardless of anything, he did know what he hoped for. The only thing that truly, truly belonged to him was his hope. It was different from his aspirations, as even those were polluted by conditioned hate.

        He watched you frequently. He watched you curse his own brother, Sirius, for calling you a suck-up. He admired your appearance, from your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair to your facial structure, the effortless way you stood and walked, the kindness in your expression when guiding none-the-wiser first years. You were the same year as him, fifth year, and an entire breed of your own. Regulus didn’t know when he began falling for you. Well, the idea of you. You encompassed freedom, and fuck if Regulus didn’t crave freedom. He wanted to see himself careless, able to act out and be himself inconsequentially. This was an impossibility he loved to consider, like a dreamer in a room of realists. His parents expected the most out of him and in his crystal ball, all that laid in wait was the Dark Mark etched in his skin. Death and destruction. His head dark and heavy. It wasn’t happiness that killers strived for—it was pleasure. Power, too. Regulus knew he was different from the others. He had to hide it and fight every inch of himself that wanted what Sirius had. Freedom.

        Regulus wanted to unleash every idea, every desire, every unspoken dislike. A brave heart scratched from under his skin, itching to have a say.

        Sirius was the courageous one, not him.

        He stuck to watching from afar.

-

        You hated Potions class. You hated parties. You hated Slughorn. Most of all, you hated Slug Club parties. Dammit, you hated your life.

        “Why did you drag me here, Lily?” you complained for the umpteenth time, fidgeting in your Gryffindor-red attire. You didn’t even like this shade of red. It was one of those colors you got tired of after seeing at every waking hour. All the assholes that prided themselves in the House the Sorting Hat bellowed, uniquely chosen for them… bleh! Dawning red and gold, parading around in Gryffindor scarfs bought for a bargain. You couldn’t be bothered. Lily had begged that the two of you go in a matching set, as one of your good friends. You never envisioned yourself agreeing. Fucking Lily, conniving you into wearing a dress like looked like it was sewn from a red Christmas stocking and attending a Slug Club party.

        Lily smiled innocently. “You owed me a favor!”

        A favor. You wracked your brain for any situation you’d been a part of where Lily offered her help. As your honorary big sister and a sixth-year prefect, she was the one calling for damage control whenever you did something warranting of punishment… and you didn’t want to fulfill your duties as a serious student. She chastised you at your worst but boosted you up too. Your best consisted of her praise and affection. You loved her, yes, but you didn’t love what owing her favors implied. It always wound you up in some unlikable predicament, such as this godforsaken party.

        “I don’t owe you shite,” you grumbled, pinning your eyes on a table of refreshments over by the door. You belatedly noticed a figure standing by it. The air went still and silent, your blood pulsating like a gushing river of red. Your eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Regulus Black was sharply—no, impeccably dressed, standing with his glossy dark hair in a neat do and his gray eyes watching the floor indifferently. When he got too close to looking at you, you quickly turned away. Lily was already raising a brow. “What? I don’t.”

        “Yeah, okay,” Lily said amusedly. As she reopened her mouth to remind you of your every last unreturned favor and escaped week of detention, she spotted something over your head and a look of horror struck; you gauged this by the way her eyes bulged at the sockets. “Oh, Merlin—why the bloody Hell is he here? I’ll talk to you later, Y/N. Try to have some fun.”

        She retreated like a squirrel from a hound, her body launching at the occupied Slughorn over half a room away. As she was nearly there a bulk dressed in black dress robes followed, at a tame pace compared to Lily’s. You knew it was James only by the unruly mess of black hair you saw from his enrobed backside profile.

        You rolled your eyes and snuck another glance at Regulus. He wasn’t looking your way.

Try to have some fun, my arse.

-

You were here. Regulus didn’t know how, but you were. He hadn’t calculated what he’d do if you attended this party, not knowing you were a member. He assumed you weren’t, a rash assumption by all accounts, and that costed him. He didn’t want to be dogged by the thought of you all night, and now that your presence was mere feet from him, his mental duties seemed like lost causes. The burning urge to stare at you, consequences be damned, was incinerating—and control failed him left and right. Fucking hell.

Regulus filled a drink for himself. A punch of some kind. He drank it in one go, hoping the taste would eliminate you from his mind. If it were bad enough he could instead be hounded by his throbbing throat, gagging like no tomorrow. That would be better than this.

The punch didn’t work its magic. He looked again at you and calculated the inevitable penalty of making an approach.

        Cursing his luck or lack thereof, he felt less inclined to drown himself in the punch bowl upon the appearance of a bloke he had in Potions, Terrence something. He was a Ravenclaw know-it-all, but he was Pureblood. He could go overlooked conversing with the fellow. Regulus was a master of mimicry and had his haughty Slytherin performance down pat.

        The bloke asked too many questions and was evasive on topics Regulus had no interest in discoursing, but he was a well-welcomed distraction. Or ill-welcomed. Regardless of the reception, Regulus’s ambivalence towards you transitioned to an annoyance towards Terrence. Annoyance, that he could work with. He felt it most days. It was familiar territory. A stroke of olive on a canvas of emerald where you were lavender.

        It worked. It worked until Terrence bid a hasty farewell, trailing after some quiet, expressionless brunette from Slytherin.

        Regulus subtly scowled. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at you, surreptitious in a way he remembered from parties he went to hosted by well-known Pureblood families. You were in mid-conversation with some Gryffindor he knew from a mutual class the three of you shared. It was a bloke whose mouth seemed too keen on keeping a conversation going and hand was swaying too closely to your waist. Regulus’s eyes hardened without his meaning to, and before he knew it, his feet were in complete control; he walked to the two of you with renewed purpose.

-

        You were ready to unleash your inner ugly. Random people kept coming up and trying to talk to you, each of them more mentally-taxing than the last. First there was Cornelius, an absolute walking disaster, then there was Dave, who went on tangents without checking to see if you were listening. Then Kala, then Paisley, then Travis. Finally, there was Justin. Justin was a compulsive flirt. You politely tried to get him to fuck off, but he just wasn’t catching the hint or acknowledging your blatant apathy in what he had to say. He wouldn’t understand discomfort on the part of his conversational partner if it slapped him in the face.

        It was like a blessing and a nightmare when Regulus Black, wearing a cold expression and marginally more perfect up close than he was from a distance, appeared.

        “Can I borrow you for a moment, L/N?” he asked, something off about his voice. Your eyes narrowed. If you had to garner a guess, you’d say he was straining to maintain a calm disposition, truly angry. The cold in his expression was cracking, giving way to heat. Had he noticed your wandering eye and wanted to clarify with you that he had no interest except to exterminate your muddy self from the Wizarding World? You were unsure; it was a common ideology among extremists, the hatred of non-Purebloods, but Regulus didn’t give off that ambiance. He didn’t feel like a future monster.

        “Sure,” you said, sneaking a glance at Justin. Justin’s face wasn’t aggravated at the interruption, just confused that Regulus Black had been the one to interrupt. Regulus kept to himself usually… and he hated anyone who wasn’t pure of blood, supposedly. “Sorry to cut this chat short, Justin. I’m sure there’s plenty of other birds to talk into a stupor around here…”

        Justin’s eyes lit up, disregarding the annoyance in your voice. “You’re right! Thanks, Y/N.”

        You raised your eyebrows at him but bit back a less subtle remark, following Regulus when his hand prompted you at the shoulder.

        “So, what was that back there?” you boldly asked, trying to avoid smirking. It was almost adorable, the way he swooped in and rescued you from a dolt. He couldn’t have approached you just to chastise your invasive stare or threaten you with death. You were taking a chance in assuming he came to save you the burden of dealing with Justin Doley’s bland chatter, but you didn’t care. You really didn’t. It was a sweet gesture if that were his true intention, but a niggling suspicion refused to believe it was. “Thank you, by the way. I was ready to lock my knees just so I could escape.”

        Regulus’s face blanched, a tinge of hot pink flooding his cheeks. His brows made a cute little furrow that gave the impression of a natural unibrow. “Why would you lock your knees?”

        “When you lock your knees, the blood stops circulating and can lead to fainting,” you said. Now you smirked. “Trying to avoid an answer? I’m hurt.”

        He frowned at you. “I’m not trying to avoid anything. It was nothing. You looked uncomfortable…”

        “I was more annoyed than anything,” you said, a correction you weren’t obligated to make. Seeing Regulus squirm was a pleasure on its own. He would already squirm, caught willingly communicating with a Gryffindor, but you had a tendency to go over and beyond in putting others on the spot. It made you a childish shade of giddy both inside and out, not that he would be able to tell. “You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know.”

        “Oh,” Regulus said but didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he was, watching you with a piercing gaze. Now that you were close enough to reach a finger across the distance and graze those gaunt, knife-sharp cheekbones, you ogled him. You knew he was gorgeous from the brief times you interacted and the long, solitary moments you took to dissect him outside lessons, but being so close and with no time limit, you took a chance. Your chance was a rescue mission disguised as a private discussion.

        A smile tore at your lips. “You clean up nice,” you said, your ogling session finished. You could stare at Regulus much longer than you deemed appropriate and actually did, but he was a moment and moments had the ability to pass you swiftly by. In this case, he’d leave without you getting to properly know him. Opportunistic as you were, you wouldn’t let him leave without taking what you could.

        Why would you even want to know him? you asked yourself. He’s probably a Muggleborn-hater. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, try as you might to logicize.

        Regulus frowned. “Thanks,” he said. He hesitantly snaked his eyes up and down your figure, stopping on your neckline. A beautiful necklace with your favorite gemstone adorned it, a gift from a Muggle relative. He cleared his throat aggressively. “You do too.”

        He’s a shy bugger, isn’t he?

        You inched closer, moving on a whim and putting your hand on his arm. Your fingers tightened around the material of his sleeve. He drew closer, like it was instinctive, and your eyelids fluttered as you basked in his perfumed, intimate proximity. You’d regret advancing on a Slytherin, especially one as admired and esteemed yet dark and dangerous as Regulus, but he just had this air about him. Like going from an altitude that took your breath away to one that had enough air to burst you at the seams. Like a butterfly with clipped wings, a scorpion without its stinger. He was tempting, but beautifully broken.

        I know. I just know.

        “When you came over, I thought you were going to confront me on how I haven’t kept my eyes off you all night,” you murmured. You met his gaze evenly, ignoring your pounding heart and fluctuating nerves.

        Regulus froze immediately. “What?”

        “Oh, did you not notice? Silly me,” you said, flaPping a hand like it never mattered in the first place. Truth was, your thoughts were frozen and fixated on his ignorance—ignorance you had just given a reality check. There had been no point, absolutely no hidden objective, in admitting your inability to overlook Regulus. Yet you had—and now he was staring at you like you had turned the color orange and horns magically sprouted from your head.

        Then, like a switch went off that had full control over Regulus’s emotions and the way he expressed them, he smirked. It wasn’t a full smirk, just apparent enough you noticed it. All the tension contorting his face flattened, leaving him like he was relaxed, the opposite of how he looked mere seconds ago. Always the skeptic, you stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He didn’t lose the smirk, his arms crossing over his sleek robes in a devil-may-care fashion.

        “Presumptuous of you to think I ever notice you in the first place,” he said, in that pompous voice you were used to hearing from Sirius’s favorite Slytherin, Severus Snape.

        You laughed at his audacity and, hearing the music change tone and tempo, reached out a hand. You forgot your wit and lost all possible responses to give his arrogant retort. “Dance with me, Black,” you said softly, “before your brother comes to ruin my night, like the prick he is.”

        Regulus raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t deny you. He interlaced his fingers into yours and his free arm, moving at whim and ease, came quickly to your side, enveloping your waist in a delicate embrace. A formal embrace that bespoke of the distance between you, the invisible rift. The dance he swept you in was unfamiliar, but it was simple enough that you could match his pace without tumbling over your own feet.

        You felt everyone staring, but nothing mattered more to you than the feeling of his hand on your waist and the deep, unreadable waters of his foggy gray eyes. He was an enigma that swept coast to coast, tainting the sand with his attendance but leaving wild imaginations to run rampant wondering why he was there, what he did, who he was. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew him. You couldn’t deny you also didn’t know him. Really, you knew nothing about him except that he was a Slytherin in your year, the younger brother to Gryffindor’s infamous playboy, and a supposed Pureblood extremist. You were curious, though, and wanted to know all the dismissive facts that made up his mind and crafted a mental narrative even you found ambiguous. He had consciousness, and there was no way in Merlin’s sodding Hell he was a host to someone else’s thoughts, opinions, and interests the way so many other future killers seemed. Every now and then he showed you something unusual—a mannerism individual to him, words you recoiled back at hearing from his mouth. After he smirked at you and accepted your demand to dance, you lost yourself in the shock of his dismal composure cracking at the folds.

        You never really believed in love.

-

        Regulus never really believed in love.

-

        But if you wandered too far into the bittersweet fantasy of happy endings…

-

        Regulus could get lost.

-

        The song changed again; slow and calm it became. Pressing your cheek to Regulus’s chest, you let the soft fabric of his dress robes sway you into an admittedly false sense of security. The hawk eyes following your every move disappeared with every cyclic step Regulus took. You were hypersensitive to his heartbeat now. It pounded against your cheek like a drumstick, a vibrato of epic proportions. You felt delirious with delight, yet a piece of you was stuck to the path your half-conscious feet made through the slow dance. It’s like you left a trail, and you’d have to pick up the pieces once Regulus became sick of your pathetic antics.

        “Are you asleep?” he asked amusedly, his chest vibrating against you. It rattled you enough to awaken some semblance of nerves.

        “No,” you said, shaking yourself out of the daze. You pulled back from him, bridging enough space to look him in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes a silly girl like you could get lost in. Any girl really. They were pools of fog made of spring mornings and forest hues. You just wanted to kiss his eyelids. What a strange desire, but you felt it all the same…

        Regulus blinked and you were drawn back in the moment. He had said something.

        You hummed in question, your eyebrows raising.

        He shook his head, his face flattening until it was expressionless. “I have to go,” he said. You knew what lies looked like. He was a good liar, but you were a better observer. “I have a matter to discuss with Slughorn.”

        You laughed. “That’s too bad,” you said, voice coming out like a purr. Your hand rose until it settled on his chest; your fingers curled around his robe, until fabric was fisted and cupped into a swirl. “We could have had some fun.”

        “No,” Regulus said firmly. Almost too firmly. His hand jerked up to meet yours and his larger fingers interlaced yours, tugging in an attempt to prompt your release. Your refused to let go. “Y/N.”

        “I like it when you talk all authoritative,” you said teasingly.

        His face blanched and it was enough of a shock to make him lose all incentive to fight the good fight. You took this chance and drew him in, his feet stumbling in a clumsy attempt to regain balance. “Y/N, I—”

        “What are you so afraid of?”

-

        Regulus was afraid of a lot of things. He was afraid of what his parents would do if they figured out he didn’t despise tainted blood the way he was raised to. He was afraid of his peers shunning and scorning him for being caught dead with a Half-blood. He was afraid of losing himself in the moment just to sate his deadened hope and watching you get killed in the crossfire of his foolish, self-indulgent mistakes. He was afraid of many things.

        He would never dare utter those fears aloud.

-

        You watched the conflict flit across his face, erasing itself seconds after.

        “What?” you innocently asked, noting that he had gone stiff. You were unaware to how deep his issues ran. You knew from Sirius’s running mouth that Pureblood households were devoid of tender moments and affectionate caresses. You wanted to imagine an alternative for them, but Sirius was a hellish hailstorm when honest; his feelings were subjective, but his experience was likely to ring alarmingly true. Regulus was quiet and allowed things to fester, so no one would ever know how he felt.

        He looked at you now, a lock where his mouth was. No key in sight. His eyes were piercing and unquestionably inscrutable.

-

        He had to leave before he lost control of his mouth. He couldn’t afford to involve you in his mess. He was a hurricane and you were summer rains. He would destroy you.

-

        “I have somewhere to be,” Regulus said, no room left for an argument. His arms disappeared from around your waist and he tore his eyes away, like it was physically painful to do so.

        You grabbed his wrist before he could melt into the dancing crowd. “Regulus, wait,” you said. You hated the way you sounded. You didn’t know him, but you felt strongly anyway, like he mattered more to you than was plausible for a girl and boy from two separate worlds. You couldn’t explain why you cared; you just did. He hid himself under the pretense of a rich, spoiled Pureblood who stood above the rest. He was hypnotically beautiful and bathed in greens and silvers. He was brilliant in ways Gryffindor House could only aspire to be.

        Regulus didn’t respond to your plea. He stared at you, waiting briefly to hear what you had to say.

        You didn’t have anything to say. You had something to express—and words weren’t always the best at expression.

        You reached up to his face and palmed his cheeks, finding little skin and mostly bone. His cheekbones jerked underneath your grip. His eyes went slightly wide, like he disbelieved you had taken physical initiative with him. Your fingers didn’t dig or tear at his skin, nor did you impulsively decide that you had him in your grip and now was the time to hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be risk-aversive; he could fall clumsily into risk with you and the two of you would make it work. As long as he felt this bizarre, unnatural connection same as you did.

        You’d find out.

        You pressed yourself flush against him and drew your lips until you were a breath away. Then you kissed him.

        The room and its occupants disintegrated, leaving only Regulus and you. Regulus dissolved into putty. His arms went around you again, one of them circling your waist entirely and a hand gripping your hip tight like letting you go would mean you never came back. His lips were soft if slightly chapped, moving against yours like they belonged there; there was no hesitation, no anxious energy. Regulus had lost himself in the moment, same as you. He wasn’t a Pureblood and you weren’t some Half-blood Gryffindor who had spent half the night pinning after a Slytherin who would keel over dead before wanting you. Regulus was different, and you hadn’t failed to sense it.

-

        Regulus abruptly remembered his place and pulled from you. Your eyes were still fluttered shut, and it took several seconds before you noticed he was no longer wrestling with your lips.

        You stared. Regulus wiped all emotion from his face, refusing to let you know he wanted a second kiss. You were not a good deceiver and every emotion you felt showed on your face, from confusion to lust to apprehension.

        “That should not have happened,” Regulus murmured, glancing around. There were people staring; even some of your Gryffindor friends, like Lily Evans and Marlene Mckinnon, were aghast, eyeing the two of you like you had just committed a murder.

        “Why?” you said confrontationally. “Did you regret it?”

        Regulus glanced at you but didn’t say a word.

        You could feel your heart plummet to your gut. “Yeah, okay,” you said, shaking your head. You knew he was being dishonest, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt at his blatant favoring of his reputation over a chance at this… this relationship. You jerked out of his slackened grip.

      You fought tears as you walked away.

-

        Regulus watched you go.

        He knew what it felt like when towers crumbled and empires fell, as it happened frequently. His life fell apart more than it came together. He missed you the moment you left but he knew this was for the better. That kiss had meant more than Regulus would ever admit. He felt the connection and he knew there was a future that would happen if he allowed it, if he chose not to intervene. He was the inhibitor of a lot of good things, but he would rather see himself drown than another person swallow their breath underwater.

        So he stared at your retreating back, wishing things were different.

[shiftynightshade]

TW// Suicide Ideation/thoughts, suicide baiting, mentions of self-harm, intrusive thoughts/ bullying/ feeling numb.

Soulmates, everyone has one.

 For Izuku Midoriya, he watches his soulmate's percentages and wonders how his appears to them.

 (Would They Even Want A Quirkless Soulmate?)

 As he stands on the edge of the roof, Kacc- no Bakugou's words float around in his brain. 'Take a swan dive and hope for a quirk in your next life’, the jeers of his classmates (tormentors), All Might’s jaded stare as he crushed his dreams moments before, the heroes cruel glares as they berated him for playing hero.

(He feels a slow numbness enter his body as he stares at the pavement hundreds of feet below him. Maybe the blond was right.)

Just one more step and he'd be free-

Slow warmth erupted on his arm, phantom sensations of ink and a pen scrawling across his arm made his skin tingle.

 Clumsily jerking at his sleeve, he stared in wonder as five shades of ink spread across his skin and danced around his scars, (once stained a coppery red shining in the moonlight), green, pink, blue, and a mix of red and white appearing on his skin and lining silvery skin.

‘Please don’t, we want to meet you, please.’

(Izuku had been told stories of soulmates, how the power of been tied to another being through the galaxy, how it had saved so many other from tipped over the edge. Oh how much he had longed to reach out to his pairs-)

And it has happened, for the first time in months, Izuku felt hope.

He jerked from the edge, breath shaky. Izuku clutched his wrist, a wobbly smile spreading across his face as his skin was covered in a multitude of colours. Izuku scrabbled for his bag, grabbing the first pen he could and quickly pressed it to his skin, hastily writing whatever he coulf.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’

Pink, glowing in a way that looked like a supernova, crawled along his skin.

‘Are you okay? There’s no reason to apologise.’

Blue sped its way alongside the pink, shining silvery blue when the light hit it.

‘Would you like to meet up?’

His answer was instant. ‘Yes’

Five minutes later and five phone number drawn from his skin and into his phone, Izuku carefully left the roof, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

****

Things changed very quickly after that.

He learned his soulmates names, where they lived and their quirks.

He gently wrote their names and quirks down in a new notebook, a little pricier, sure, but as he filled the pages, he found that he didn’t mind.

Each page with a different coloured pen, easily matching the ink on his arms. (So what if he spent forever looking for a blue that shimmered an ethereal silver, or a pink pen that glittered like the stars?)

On Friday night he had stayed up late, gently tracing each name as he counted down the hours until they met the next day.

Ochako, Zero Gravity.

(What will happen when they learn that you’re Quirkless? They’re going to leave you like Bakugou did, like dad did.)

‘Shut up’

Tenya, Engine.

(Do you want to risk it?)

‘They won’t leave me.’

Tsuyu, Frog.

(Like Bakugou promised that you two would become heroes together, and look how that turned out.)

‘It won’t be like that, no empty promises.’

Shoto, Half-Hot Half-Cold.

‘How about you shut the fuck up for once in my damn life!’

It was quiet after that.

****

Izuku waved his mother good-bye as he walked outside the door, her face filled with excitement.

They had agreed to meet up at a café close to the train station, and Tsuyu had sent a picture of the table number into their quickly filling group chat.

And oddly enough, they had not asked Izuku once what his quirk was.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The sun shone and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Many people roamed around, smiles on their faces as the day went on. Izuku found the café with little trouble, the fairy lights and vines dangling in lieu of a canopy adding a fairy-tale like feel to it.

Glancing around Izuku felt anticipation bubble up under his skin. ‘Am I the first one here?’

Soft laughter reached over from a corner table, easily drawing his attention to a group of three. His eyes met the number of the table. 5.

The brunette girl met his eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds before a large smile crossed her face and she waved enthusiastically. “Izuku!”

Izuku squeaked as her shout drew the other two’s attention, their eyes each widening before smiling brightly and waving him over.

Drawing in a deep breath Izuku walked to the table, giving his own meek wave, sitting in the chair that was between the brunette and boy.

The girl with green hair smiled. “Good to see you for the first time Izuku.” He blushed, but smiled anyways. “Likewise, Tsuyu?”

Tsuyu grinned. “Call me Tsu.”

Izuku nodded, letting out a squeak when the other girl grabbed his hand and gave a positively blinding smile.

“I’m Ochako! It’s great to finally meet you!”

Izuku could feel his face burning. God the energy here was infectious.

The boy next to him smiled. “Please, call me Tenya!”

Izuku mumbled out a breathy “uh-huh” but mostly stared at his eyes. They kept shining different colours whenever the light hit them, first black, the blue, then red, then gold.

‘Like a really pretty version of an oil spill.’

Tenya sent him a questioning glance. “Is there something on my face?”

“Your eyes are really pretty.” Izuku blurted out, stammering out an apology when Tenya‘s face burned a bright red and he buried his face in his hands.

Ochako laughed. “We said the same thing!”

Tsu hummed. “Where is Shoto? He said he would be here.”

A quiet voice piped up from behind them. “Right here.”

Izuku looked up from where he had begun to look through his bag, eyes widening in surprise.

The two-toned hair and scar immediately gave away who he was, even under the hoodie he was wearing. ‘Shoto Todoroki, holy shit.’

Tenya smiled brightly. “Hello Shoto!”

Shoto gave a small nod and sat in the remaining chair, though a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

He let out a small breath. “I’m not going to lie, I’m glad that none of you have freaked out.”

He glared at the table. “I’m not exactly on the best terms with my old man.”

Surprisingly Tenya was the first to speak up. “Fair enough, personally I never really liked Endeavour either.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even when I was younger he wasn’t a courteous person, even at Hero Gala’s.”

 “Hero Gala’s?”

Tenya froze before letting out a frustrated huff.

“Dammit, not that I’m ashamed of my family or anything, but I don’t exactly like to broadcast it.”

Ochako shook her hands excitedly. “C’mon Tenya! Spill!”

Tenya sighed. “My family has been filled with pro-heroes for generations, it runs in our blood.”

A more proud expression fill his face. “You know the Turbo Hero Ingenium?”

At their nods he grinned proudly. “He’s my elder brother!”

Izuku gasped. “Really?!”  

Ochako laughed. “That’s awesome!”

Shoto stared then cleared his throat. “Where you the five year old that slapped him and told him that he was being mean, and heroes shouldn’t be mean?”

Tsu’s ribbit was startled. “Really?

Tenya chuckled. “Yes, that was me.”

Ochako cackled. “That’s awesome!” Her face turned thoughtful. “Hey Izuku, you said that Endeavour wasn’t the greatest hero, is it because of hoe aggressive he is?”

Izuku nodded rapidly. “Practicality wise he’s a good hero, though theoretically at the same time he’s not the best when it comes to personality and he does have the most damage done when it comes to property, civilians and villains.”  

Looking up from where he had crossed his arms into his ‘thinking pose’, as his mother had described it, one hand cradling his elbow and the other clutching his chin. He quickly realised that his soulmates were staring at him.

“S-sorry, I was rambling again, wasn’t I?”

Ochako smiled. “Yeah, you were. But that’s okay! Kinda cool honestly.”

Izuku let out a small breath, blushing when he noticed Shoto staring at him with wide eyes.

“Izuku, do you happen to be on any hero forums?”

Izuku laughed. “Yup! I like to think that I’m pretty well known on a few forums.”

Shoto leaned forward. “What’s your user?”

Izuku rubbed the back of his head. “The Analyst.”

Shoto let out a wheezy squeak. “You’re joking.”

Ochako looked between them like there was a tennis match. “Wait I’m confused.”

Shoto shook his head incredulously. “The Analyst is an extremely popular user on many hero forums, very well known for his essays and both popular and controversial opinions when it comes to both heroes and how society discriminates based on quirks and gender.”

Shoto inhaled. “And, is considered to be a veteran amongst most users, very respected in the community.”

Tenya chuckled. “You seem to be very well versed in the community yourself Shoto.”

Tsu nodded. “How do you know all this?

Shot/o blushed. “I- Well I have a theory account, on YoTube.”

Ochako leaned over. “Oh really?”

Shoto smirked. “Cryptid Theory.”

Izuku nearly slammed into the table with how quickly he leaned over. “Holy shit, really!?”

Shoto nodded.

“I’ve been subscribed to you forever!”

Shoto opened his mouth only for a waiter to walk up to their table. “Are you lot ready to order?”

Five milkshakes later and Ochako brought up the dreaded question.

“Oh by the way Izuku, you never told us your quirk. Is it analysing or something?”

The rest of the table looked to him, and Izuku sank into his seat to hide behind his glass.

“Uh- I well.”

He cleared his throat, wringing his hands together.

“That’s the thing. I- I don’t have a quirk.”

The four of them stared. Stomach starting to churn, Izuku dug his fingers into his wrist. ‘Shitshitshitshitshit-‘

“Oh, ok.”

Snapping his head up Izuku stared at their expressions, all supportive.

Tenya grabbed his hands gently. “We don’t care that you’re Quirkless Izuku, quirk or no quirk, that’s not your defining trait of who you are.”

The rest of them nodded.

Izuku could easily feel the tell-tale burn of tears gathering along his water line.

He smiled at his soulmates as they quietly panicked at his tears.

“T-thanks.” He sniffled.

Ochako smiled. “Of course.”

Tenya handed him a napkin which he accepted with a small thank-you.

Izuku blew his nose, smiling brightly. “Thanks, I’m okay though, just… overwhelmed I guess.”

Tsu gave a sad ribbit. “I’m going to guess that being Quirkless is really hard, isn’t it?”

Izuku nodded hesitantly. “Other than my mum, you guys are the only ones that haven’t been physically or emotionally abusive.”

Ochako honest to god growled. “Want me to suplex them?”

Tenya nodded. “Plus I’m quite sure that Quirkless discrimination is illegal so you could technically sue the school.”

Izuku frowned. “They always delete the footage though.”

Tenya grinned. “Not if you know the right people!”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a slim laptop with a mischievous smirk. “What’s your school name?”

“Aldera Middle School, why?”

Tenya motioned for them to gather around his laptop, which had already booted up and was giving off a dark blue glow.

Tenya smirked. “Well when your family agency is based around communication and technology, you pick up on a few things.”

As Tenya’s fingers flew over the keyboard Izuku watched in awe as the code for the schools security main frame appeared on screen. “My older brother allows me to help out at the agency most days, so I help run the comms and all Iida’s know how to hack. Sometimes when pursuing a villain we need all out access to doors and security feed, and we also help out with investigations.”

“This is like something straight out of a spy movie!”

Tenya chuckled. “Something like that.”

Seconds later and the security feed was all over Tenya’s screen. “Now all I need to do is a little reversing and…”

Tenya reached into his bag and pulled out a USB, plugging it in and downloading all the footage, both visual and audio files. Once the download was complete Tenya handed the USB to Izuku. “Just in case.”

Izuku nearly burst into tears again. “Thanks Tenya.”

He shook his head. “No problem.”

As Ochako fawned over the whole incident Izuku drew back and smiled, gently thumbing the USB drive.

‘Things might just turn out for the better’

[yellowocaballero]

ugh what you said about jon just helplessly missing deisha and despite being able to connect, still ultimately grieves alone forced me to think about this one book that said something like “grief is a room you enter alone” and I just ;_; something I love about your metas so much is that you rlly pick apart how it can be true that multiple things can be happening at once - he’s being understood, but he can’t be understood, he’s monstrous, but he’s human etc. basically I adore these essays and just reading how you build and present flaws in characters I think is genuinely making me a better writer

THANK YOU...I think we all grieve alone, just a little bit. With people, and maybe especially with more intangible things - when we move to another city or country, when we live alienated from our home cultures, when our bodies fail us, or when relationships fail. It’s inherently such a solitary thing.

And yeah, so often in life we’re feeling so many contradictory things!! Maybe even ALL THE TIME! I’ve loved and hated simultaneously, I’ve never wanted to see someone again and found myself constantly seeking out contact. You ever never want someone to text you, but you’re sad that they don’t text? I want to go back to my workplace but also I want to keep working from home forever. So it’s a real, legitimate feeling, I think.

But that’s also not why I write it that way. Stories inherently kind of have to work on both a literal and symbolic/metaphorical level. You said that you were interested in the writing bits, so I’ll get specific - I determine what happens in layers. Some things are the most essential aspects of the story, and everything else has to warp around that. Hope Etc is a very weird and bad example because a) I put no thought in this story and b) the nature of daemons is that they literalize the metaphorical. So basically every physical thing that Jon does is metaphorical for something. 

So what a story is ‘about’ is the most important thing, and this can change and shift throughout the story as you realize what keeps cropping up time again and again (which is kind of oxymoronic). I use monster vs human a lot for this specific fandom, because monsters can have whatever metaphorical significance you fucking want them to, but other stories such as hope vs desolation, optimism vs pessimism, wanting to die vs choosing to live, etc, work too. The second thing is tone - which determines the message of the story dramatically. What a story is ‘about’ can’t be pessimism when you have a light-hearted and comedic tone. Unless you’re getting REALLY creative. You can add a lot of additional themes to that, but a bunch of themes together make is what something is about. Also very important is that for me what something is ‘about’ includes genre. 

Then what’s kind of wrapped around that is the metaphor. Literal things happen, which have metaphorical meaning, which advance what a story is ‘about’. Not everything that happens is metaphorical - sometimes things have to happen to advance the plot - but things that happen need to advance something. Either plot, or a character arc, or they need to have metaphorical significance. In my opinion the most deft writing is when everything that happens has all three. 

I think over metaphor is character arc and character. When something happens in a story it has to advance the plot and advance the character’s arc. The character’s arc forms a trajectory that spells out the theme. A character arc for me frequently means the relationship between two characters, which often really really work to highlight theme. I think people push each other to change and grow a lot. If it’s a romantic relationship I push that ‘growth instigated by the other’ hard. Also, foils. I think the best romantic relationships are foils. I love foils. I always write foils. Just adore them, they’re so easy to write. Just make someone the opposite of someone else but give them the same theme. It’s great. This is also why I’m always saying that I don’t really sit down and ‘make characters’, characters just happen based on what needs to happen. I don’t decide anything about a character when I start out besides “haha exact opposite of canon character” or “haha amnesiac PI” or “haha roleswap”. And that’s coming from someone who rarely uses canon characterizations and who writes everybody as a thinly veiled OC...and maybe that’s why everybody kind of ends up a thinly veiled OC...

Over that is plot. Plot is what has to happen to make all of these other things happen. I can’t plot. I think I can’t plot because I’m too worried about these other things and I forget ‘oh yeah, Things Have To Happen’. Maybe there’s other people who plot first and then figure out these other things based on what happens in the plot? ....why...

So I kind of made that a gumball, layered thing, because that’s how I build the story. And I shouldn’t have, because these things all feed each other. What a story is ‘about’ is highly dictated by what you’ve decided the character arc to be - highly - and it creates a feedback loop as both of these things get changed and twisted and tangled during writing. A story never ends how I intended, because different things crop up. But there is a ‘priority list’ for me, and that’s kind of the layers - these characters have to act in X way because that’s one of the cornerstones I need to hit for the genre, so I have to have their character arcs match this. Characters can’t act in a certain way just because the plot makes them - granted, sometimes they do, but that means that you have to go back and tweak their character arc to match. You cannot have something metaphorically happen that goes completely against the theme, unless that has repercussions. Plot isn’t the story for me, the about is the story. None of this is hard and fast, and there is nothing that you can’t do, you just really have to view all of these things in a complex interplay that constantly affect each other.

I think of it like gears? They all work together and churn together to make the story work. But if you twist one gear, the others move too. You first imagine it this one way, but then you keep on tweaking and tweaking and tweaking, and then everything else has to change too, so then you’re like why did I even bother to outline, outlining is stupid, and also I have this funny joke so I have to go back and change everything, and...

Wow, maybe that’s why I’m so bad at planning shit..

My...goal? Is to make it so that Everything works on every level. You should be able to read a story completely literally and completely miss the metaphorical meaning and still vibe. But unfortunately the way it turns out for me sometimes is that the symbolism outweighs the literal. When I write absurdist/surrealist stuff it’s just me being lazy and not having to have things be literal, lol. What you get when something only works on a symbolic level and not on a literal level at all is Utena. And I’m writing trashy fanfic so I can’t do that. What normally happens in practice is that things happen literally for a bit, and then I’m like ‘oh I’m Sensing a Theme’ and then I start playing into the theme, and then things happen because it’s thematic. Plot is...plot should be more important to me...

And then of course there’s grounding all of this in human emotion and making sure there’s a climax (me, shaking hope etc: THERE’S NO FUCKING CLIMAX), and dealing with all of that stuff that makes it actually emotional and impactful instead of just abstract and dumb. 

I chose not to use examples for all of that because I wanted it to just be broad writing advice? I can kind of point out there examples of that line of thinking in my writing, and I probably can for Hope, Etc, but it would be a bad example - both because the NATURE of that story is that the literal is INHERENTLY a metaphor so you really cannot view anything in that story as literal, nothing in it is literal - also because I put no thought into it. 

Of course that’s not my process. That’s not my process at all. I don’t sit down and figure this shit out. I didn’t read any of that anywhere, it’s just me bullshitting, that entire thing was just me bullshitting relentlessly I am so fucking sorry. My process is that I joke about ideas with friends, I sit down at a computer and I kind of thump a keyboard for a few hours, I live my life and daydream stuff and kinda make little movies in my heads, I go home and slam the keyboard some more, halfway through I walk up to my beta and go “hey what’s the plot of this?” she helps me figure it out by giving me very bad ideas, I kind of slam my keyboard some more, and then it’s done. And then I kinda edit it a little maybe whatever and then I post it. 

There’s not a lot of thought involved. I really can’t stress enough how I don’t think about all of this when I write. I’m really brain empty. When I do these analyses what I’m doing is that I’m looking back over my story and then I’m like...Oh That’s What I Was Doing! Huh! Neat!

Haha that got long. I’m not a good writer. Thanks for the ask!