#stuff is still running in the background but

[wol-fica]

i know you’re working on stuff atm, but could you do a little drabble idea i have?

pov: r is sabrina’s younger sister and is taller+stronger than her sisters due to being in lacrosse. sab is home visiting along w sarah and shannon, and david(their dad) gets drunk and puts his hands on sabrina, r steps in and defends her which surprises her cause r isn’t close w any of her sisters cause of the age gap (r just turned 18)

if not i understand, this has been brewing in my head for awhile, love your writing!

an - since you asked so kindly, and since the prompt you gave me is so delicious, i cooked something up for you <3

summary - sabrina is home to visit for christmas, and as much as you resent your older sister, seeing your father lash out sparked a protective nature inside of you…

warnings - domestic abuse, shoving, slapping, collar-gripping, swear words, punching (disclaimer: i respect sab’s dad, this is just for the plot)

sub an - felt a tad unsure about this writing, but i know you all need a little something so i just left it as is, i hope it’s enjoyable!

——————————

“Yes Kiara, I am having such a greeeaaaat time.” You deadpanned into the phone, rolling your eyes.

It was Christmas break for you in Pennsylvania, snow falling in thick flakes that covered the grass in a fluffy blanket of glittering white. Your family was all home for the holidays, which normally would be exciting if you weren’t on such tense terms with one of your older sisters.

Sabrina, who had become an international sensation overnight, was someone you never really clicked with. You didn’t dislike her or argue with her; the opposite actually, you truly did love her and enjoyed hearing about her success through social media, but the two of you just never had that…spark.

Your mom tried to get you to connect with her, being that Sabrina IS your sister and you were pretty solid with your other older sisters, but it didn’t work out that well in the end. She was on tour too much, and left for publicity and fame when she was young, which in turn bruised your relationship so early that it was hard to try to rekindle a flame that was never lit.

It also didn’t help that you had a 7 year age gap with her, compared to your sister’s 2-3 year age gaps with each other.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Kiara, your recently found best friend cooed, “It’s only for two weeks, and she won’t be around for all fourteen days.”

“I know she won’t, that’s not the problem.” You groaned, rubbing your face with your hands, “It’s my dad, he’s being an ass.”

“How so?”

“You know him and how Sabrina feels about what he did; imagine how awkward it is to be in the house with both of them around.”

Kiara chuckled, the sound of water running in the background indicating that she was finishing up her skin care routine, “Well just avoid, avoid, avoid. That’s what i’d do.”

You grumbled a complaint but silently agreed, knowing she was somewhat right. It sucked having to stay cooped up in your room all holiday break just to avoid the awkwardness with Sabrina and your father, but it was waaaaay better than awkwardly sitting around her or arguing with your dad, so hide away you will.

“Well mopey, i’m gonna get going.” Kiara said after a moment of silence, bringing you out of your thoughts, “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah probably, if i’m free.” You replied, reaching for your phone to end the call, “Good night!”

After a swift farewell, you hit the red button and flopped back onto your bed, sprawling your arms and legs out into a starfish position to stretch your limbs out. Your body was still sore from lacrosse conditioning camp that ended just before break, but those handful of sweaty days had paid off in your favor, as now you were more muscular and toned than you had ever been before.

Gaining that muscle was something that you had been working towards for awhile, partly because of your self confidence, but also because of your father and his slightly abusive tendencies. See, ever since you had come out to your parents on your 18th birthday, your dad had not been the supportive parent in the situation.

He had used some nasty language towards you, and ended up getting physical towards you in his anger. You didn’t want to say it was anything drastic, just a shove, but it was enough to push you to be stronger, and enough to cause a disturbance in your family unit.

Your mother was not happy at all, chewing out your dad after you had hurried away to your room and forced him to apologize to you in the morning. Sarah, the closest of your older sisters, had immediately called you to check in and almost drove in from Michigan if it wasn’t for your stubbornness of her staying with her boyfriend. Your other sister, Shannon had sent messages and called as well, making sure you were safe and secure and even offering her place for you to crash at if you needed.

Sabrina was the only one who came home, flying in from LA and postponing a pretty big talk show she was scheduled for just to see you. She had dropped in as a surprise, hoping to talk with you and confirm that you were both physically and mentally okay, but you were keen on keeping to yourself and pretty much shut yourself off from everyone’s attempt at checking in.

Fast forward to now, the only time Sabrina has been home since that incident. Currently, your entire family was downstairs, drinking their hearts out and laughing to dirty jokes or whatever they were saying. You had excused yourself a while ago, feeling uncomfortable under your dad’s judgmental gaze during dinner, and had opted for curling up in your bedroom instead.

Big mistake unfortunately.

You were scribbling on your sketch pad now, ignoring your clocks flashing of ‘12:45’ and focusing on shading in whatever drawing you had procured in your boredom. You felt like it was almost done, but before you could lean back to get a good look at the final product, the sound of shouting from downstairs caught your attention.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You think you can talk to me like that, you are very mistaken.”

“Dad, you need to relax, like right fucking now!”

“I wasn’t talking to you!”

The sound of a slap jolted you upwards from your desk, and you moved swiftly toward your door. After yanking it open, you could clearly hear who was saying what, and it definitely didn’t sound pretty.

“What the fuck David?!” Your mother’s voice, scared and strained.

“Jesus Christ!” Presumably Shannon, fear and confusion thick in her voice.

“Sabrina are you okay?!” Sarah, that protective instinct always coming out of her.

It almost felt like a surge of anger rushed through you, and before you knew it you were bounding down the stairs and rounding the corner into the living room.

The scene before you wasn’t something that you had ever expected to see in your household, yet here you stood. Your mother and your sisters were crowded together, Sarah and Shannon consoling someone while your mother was in a yelling match with your father. He was clearly drunk, his eyes droopy and his speech slurred as he threw out insults in their direction. A certain word came out of his mouth that personally stung, and Sarah had whipped around so fast that you thought she was going to fall over.

“In what world do you put your hands on your own daughter?” She screamed at him, throwing her hands up.

That got you a good view of Sabrina, and you felt your stomach drop at the sight of her. She was clutching the left side of her face with both hands, her eyes bloodshot and tear filled from the injury she had just received. She looked so…defeated, and afraid, and that just wasn’t going to sit with you.

You moved quickly and precisely, maneuvering your mother and sister out of the way before taking your father’s collar in one fist and swinging your other into his jaw. The impact was loud, the room falling silent from the moment’s severity.

“Fucking hell!” Your dad stumbled backwards away from you, falling against the back of the couch.

He cupped his face, looking down at his hand as blood dripped out of his mouth, and then looked up at you. Your chest heaved up and down, your shoulders square and your jaw set as you stared him down.

“You think you can hit me, huh?” He sneered, pushing himself upright and moving towards you, “Think you’re all big and stron-.”

You silenced him with grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him towards the front door, watching as he almost tripped in the process. He stood up to go at you again, but you were swift with dodging his swing and pushing him out the open doorway.

“Touch my fucking sister again and I’ll kill you.” You said lowly, watching as he struggled to stand on the snowy front porch, “Find somewhere else to stay tonight.”

With that, you slammed the door shut in his face and locked it, ignoring his yells and insults of your character. You returned to the living room and approached your family, who was now seated around Sabrina on the couch who had an ice pack clutched against her face.

“If he ever, and I mean ever, puts his hands on you again,” You started, glancing around all four of them, “I will be much less merciful.”

Your mother stood first, pulling you into a tight hug and murmuring something about how she would fix this nonsense, before hurrying outside to where your father was probably moping in the cold. Shannon followed after her, setting her hand on your shoulder as a silent acknowledgement of appreciation and disappearing around the corner.

“Glad that you hit him and I didn’t, cause I don’t think I would be able to stop.” Sarah grumbled, her arm still wrapped around Sabrina’s shoulders, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She responded, a small smile gracing her face, “Could you get me some water though?”

Sarah nodded, glancing at you before standing and heading in the direction of the kitchen. You rocked on your feet awkwardly, looking at anything in the room except your older sister. Sabrina hummed, and patted the spot next to her.

“Can you sit?”

You dropped into the cushions gingerly, interlocking your fingers and choosing to stare at the ground. She sighed next to you, proceeded to toss the ice pack on the table, and leaned herself against you with her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” She murmured, reaching for your hand, “For doing what you did.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” You responded, feeling insecurity rise in your throat when she intertwined her fingers with yours.

“I know, but I did it anyway.”

You grimaced, tensing your body before relaxing against the couches pillows. Sabrina felt that, and began to stroke the back of your hand with her thumb as a soothing method.

“I’m sorry for not being here when you needed someone to be.” She whispered after a moment, closing her eyes when you rested your head on hers, “It wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

“I didn’t need someone Sab,” You muttered, “I needed you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.”

She nodded, squeezing your hand gently before standing up. She turned to look at you, her blue eyes shining under the overhead light.

“Just so you know, you’ll always be my baby sister, and I’ll always love you.” She said, running her finger tips against your cheek before taking the ice pack and leaving the room.

“Dammit.” You cursed to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Why does family always have to be so hard?

———————

again, v unsure about this one, but i wanted to attempt something different. i’d love to hear your thoughts!

[boomgun]

I wish we met Claude's parents so much. I think about them sometimes and go 'wow.' Like, it is crazy how Claude is- I mean this affectionately- kind of like a fankid. What I mean is, most background Fire Emblem Lord Parents are just there to die tragically, they do not often feel like characters in their own story (okay, Griel and Chrom are the rare exceptions, in that they are fleshed out with lore and stuff, but Died Tragically is still in both of their stories). Which makes sense, they are the parents of the protagonist, this is not their story!

But, like, Claude's parents. What happened between the two of them? Romeo and Juliet if they managed to dodge the tragedy of their narrative, literally that joke about Doomed By The Narrative -> They Escaped The Narrative! They escaped the narrative (this almost feels like a joke about how they LITERALLY DO NOT SHOW UP)! They must have manuevered through so much interpersonal drama and political intrigue. You could- you could write a whole story about Claude's parents, you could! Which is why Claude feels like a fankid in this sense (affectionate, affectionate). Claude feels like the protagonist of a sequel series or a fanfic about their plucky son who wants to go back to Leicester and fix the cycle of violence between their two nations. But this is not a sequal series, this is not fanfiction, this is in fact Claude's story he just happens to have the most well developed parents (THAT WE NEVER SEE).

It is an aspect of Claude that it fun to play with, his legacy! Claude is the son of an adventure, of hope for a better world, of love triumphing over all! Claude is so optimistic because he cannot afford to despair! I wanna meet his mom and dad so badly.

I completely understand why Claude ghosted Fódlan at the end of Verdant Wind. He has not seen his incredibly cool and thematically relevant parents for five years. I would not keep him from them, he deserves to run back home and tell them the good news. You got an A+ on the math finals, and you unified a long-fractured continent under principles of peace and coexistence. Great job, kid, your parents are going to put your copy of Fódlan's new constitution on the wall.

It is rare for a healthy and functional family in fiction to get me this riled up.

[billygoat26]

CRK AU Idea (name suggestions anyone?)

I’d like to apologize first to anyone who tries to read my handwriting. It sucks. So imma type it out below the cut with more explanation!

(Random Student 1): “Mister Shadow Milk Cookie!

(Random Student 2): “Tell us a story!”

(Random Student 1): “Cmoooon, please? What about the ‘Fount of Knowledge!’ (Other Students): “Yeah!”

(Pure Vanilla Cookie in the background): “Go ahead.”

(Random Student 3): “Tell us!!”

(Random Student 4): “Pleaseeee?”

(Shadow Milk Cookie): “Fine… let’s start at the beginning”

And here we are with the lore! The story! I’ll just be rewriting the stuff I wrote in the sixth(?) image honestly but if you guys have questions feel free to ask!!

After the events of Beast Yeast, Pure Vanilla and his friends returned to Crispia. After reporting the details to the people of the Vanilla Kingdom, an agreement is reached. In the event of the Beasts’ return, everyone must know how to protect themselves. They even got the support of the Witches, and thus the school came to be.

However... its original purpose was soon forgotten when the Witches sent the Beasts there as punishment. They still had their powers, but in the school run by the Witches, nothing could be done. And so, the Beasts became teachers… much like the Ancients had.

[rosierin]

volleyball shenanigans │ atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; atsumu just wants to blow off steam, osamu wants a free meal, suna wants to stir the pot, and (y/n)? she just wants to go home.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was alive with the sounds of a lazy afternoon. The low whirl of the washing machine hummed in the background, accompanied by the gentle rustling of fabric as freshly laundered clothes were folded and hung up. The faint buzz of a documentary played on the TV, filling the space with a monotone narration, occasionally interrupted by the distant honk of a car outside their open window.

At the laundry rack, (y/n) and Osamu worked in an easy, practiced rhythm. She passed him a shirt, and he clipped it up without looking. She handed him a pair of socks, and he tossed them over the line with minimal effort.

Osamu worked leisurely, half-focused, while (y/n) was a bit more meticulous, straightening out creases before passing him the next item. Every so often, their hands brushed briefly, but neither acknowledged it, too used to their shared routine.

Meanwhile, Atsumu had claimed the couch, stretched out like a king, tossing a volleyball into the air and catching it with practiced ease. He’d been doing mini sets against his fingertips for the past ten minutes, shifting positions every now and then, rolling onto his side, then his back, then propping himself up on his elbow just to keep himself entertained.

Across from him, Suna had made himself comfortable in the armchair, legs stretched out over the armrest, hoodie half pulled over his face. His eyes were locked on the TV, where a true crime documentary played at a low, almost eerie volume.

The narrator’s voice was flat, clinical.

"At approximately 3:42 a.m., the body was discovered in the alleyway—"

Suna tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing as crime scene footage flickered across the screen. His fingers idly tapped against his knee, his only real reaction to the gruesome details being described.

Atsumu suddenly spoke, cutting through the stillness.

"Dunno what it is, but I feel alive today. Like I could take on the world. Know what I mean?"

Suna barely looked away from the screen, too engrossed, nose wrinkling ever-so-slightly at the gory reconstruction of the crime scene.

"When don’t you?" he muttered.

Atsumu sat up, bouncing the volleyball once against his palm. "Nah, I’m serious! I got so much energy, I need to let off some steam. Let’s go to the gym.”

Suna finally peeled his gaze from the TV, glancing over with a slow blink. His expression was idle, half-lidded with disinterest.

"And do what? Run a few laps?"

Atsumu rolled his eyes, catching the ball with a sharp slap against his palm. "No, dumbass. Let’s play some volleyball. Get some light practice in."

Suna’s lips quirked at that. He considered it for a second, then shrugged, stretching his arms over his head.

"I’m down. After I finish this, though."

He then winced as the documentary replayed real-life crime scene footage, a woman’s piercing screams filling the room.

"Jesus Christ..."

Atsumu grimaced, glaring at the TV. "I dunno how ya watch this stuff."

Suna just smirked, unfazed, and went back to watching.

Atsumu chose to ignore the massacre on-screen and instead leaned over the couch, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Oi, ‘Samu, (y/n)! Me and Suna are headin’ to the gym for some v-ball practice. You guys comin’?"

Osamu, still folding a pair of sweatpants, popped his head into the living room.

"Sure, I don’t mind."

Beside him, (y/n) paused, pressing her lips into a thin line as she clipped up the last of the shirts.

"Guys, you know how much I suck at volleyball. I’d hardly call it practice."

Atsumu waved a hand, already dismissing her concerns.

"We don’t expect an Olympic-level game. S’just for fun."

(Y/n) gave him a weak stare, flicking a few droplets off a damp sock.

"I don’t even think I’d class it as high school level..."

Atsumu, grinned, completely undeterred.

"Then it’s just some light cardio! C’mon, get ready. I’ll buy ya dinner afterwards."

Osamu perked up at that, eyes glinting with interest. He turned to (y/n), his voice suddenly way too persuasive.

"C’mon, (y/n), don’t ruin a free meal."

(Y/n) groaned, throwing her head back in exaggerated defeat.

"Fine, I’ll play. But no making fun of me. You know I’m not very good."

She heard Suna's condescending chuckle from the next room.

"No promises."

Atsumu clapped his hands together, triumphant, and bounced off the couch with a 'whoop!'.

He whizzed past (y/n) and Osamu with a grin, earning a quiet laugh from (y/n). She had to admit, his energy was contagious, even if it was exhausting to witness at times.

Osamu shook his head, chuckling as he grabbed the empty laundry basket.

"He’s such a kid, ain’t he?"

(Y/n) smiled fondly, smoothing down a crumpled towel before stacking it neatly.

"I know. He’s so cute, bless him."

Osamu’s movements stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, he turned toward her with a knowing smirk, one eyebrow arching.

"Yeah?"

(Y/n) froze.

She could practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"Oh, hush up. S’not like that."

Osamu chuckled, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go, stuffing the last of the laundry into the basket.

As they finished up, Suna finally stood, stretching his arms overhead with a sigh.

"Let’s go before golden boy dies from pent-up energy."

(Y/n) huffed a laugh.

Atsumu’s voice echoed from his room.

"I heard that!"

The familiar scent of polished wood, faint sweat, and rubber sneakers filled the air as they stepped inside the gym. High ceilings loomed overhead, the bright fluorescent lights buzzing faintly, casting a stark glow over the smooth volleyball courts. In the distance, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers and the hollow thump of a bouncing ball echoed from another section of the gym, but otherwise, the place was quiet—just the four of them and an open court.

Bags hit the ground with various levels of enthusiasm. (Y/n) let hers slip from her shoulder with a sigh, while Osamu lazily nudged his toward the bench with his foot. Meanwhile, before she could even straighten up, Atsumu had already bolted.

Practically sprinting onto the court, his sneakers skidded slightly as he came to a halt, already bouncing on his toes, rolling his shoulders, practically vibrating with anticipation. His energy was almost tangible, buzzing in the air as he rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms, stretching like a fighter about to enter the ring.

(Y/n) watched in amusement, arms crossed as she took in the sight. “He's really in his element, huh?"

Osamu, moving nowhere near as quickly, stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, his shoulders popping audibly. "He’s like a dog that ain’t been walked all day."

Suna smirked, his pace unhurried as he wandered toward the court. "Better to let him run it out now than deal with him at home later."

(Y/n) followed them onto the hardwood, watching as Atsumu immediately launched into a full, intense warm-up. His movements were fluid, controlled, every stretch and pivot a reflection of years of training. Suna followed suit, dropping into a deep, effortless stretch, his body moving with the kind of ease that made (y/n) question if he even had bones.

Meanwhile, she just… stood there.

“…What am I supposed to do?” she asked, blinking at them.

Osamu, who had barely moved, shrugged. "I usually just do a couple arm circles and call it a day."

Suna, mid-stretch, tilted his head at him. "That’s why your knees crack every time you stand up."

Osamu shot him a flat look, but before he could fire back, (y/n) squinted at the two professionals. Their stretches looked… excessive. Atsumu had just dropped into an impossibly deep lunge, one arm hooked under his leg, his face set in complete focus.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked, watching him twist slightly to the side. "I mean, it's just practice, right?"

Atsumu didn’t even look up. “Don’t matter. Stretches are important.”

His head turned toward Osamu, eyes narrowing. "’Samu, yer barely movin’! Coach would be appalled."

Osamu let out a dramatic sigh before plopping down onto the floor. "I don’t even play volleyball anymore. I don’t have a coach."

Atsumu, suddenly straightening up like he was about to give a TED Talk on sports performance, pointed at him with conviction. "Today, I am yer coach. Now stretch."

Osamu groaned, throwing himself backward onto the court in defeat. Eventually, after a few seconds of staring at the ceiling, he sat up and begrudgingly pulled his arm across his chest.

Atsumu, satisfied, then turned to (y/n).

"You too."

(Y/n) hesitated, then glanced at Osamu for guidance. He was barely trying. That seemed like a solid approach. Mimicking his movements, she half-heartedly stretched her arm out, rolling her shoulders a little.

…It was not going well.

“God, I’m so stiff,” she groaned, trying to press her arm further but feeling like her body was just not made for this.

Suna, still in a perfectly relaxed stretch, looked over and smirked. "Old lady."

Osamu, now sitting with his legs stretched out, attempting to reach his toes, let out a deep groan. "I ain’t as fit as I used to be."

Atsumu, watching the mess unfolding before him, looked absolutely offended. "Guys, c’mon. Ya both look terrible."

He pushed himself to his feet and marched over to (y/n), who was sat like Osamu, also struggling to lean forward in a simple stretch.

"Yer supposed to get lower," he announced, placing his hands on her shoulders.

(Y/n) barely had time to react before he pushed her forward, forcing her into a deeper stretch.

Instant regret.

“OW—OW—OW—”

She immediately flailed, slapping his hands off her. “STOP, STOP, STOP—WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”

Atsumu took a step back, hands raised in defence. “What? I was helpin’!”

Suna, now leaning lazily against the net, watched with an amused glint in his eyes. "Alright, that’s enough for now. You’re gonna break her."

(Y/n) shot a heated glare at Atsumu, still rubbing her back. “I told you I don’t do this sports stuff.”

Atsumu, completely unfazed, just shrugged. “Yer not dead. That’s progress.”

Osamu groaned as he rolled onto his feet. “Can we start already? The sooner we finish, the sooner I get my free meal.”

That, apparently, was enough to get Atsumu back on track.

He grabbed a volleyball from the pile and tossed it at (y/n), who—somehow—actually caught it.

"Alright, lemme see ya serve."

(Y/n) stared at the ball in her hands. "...Oh, boy, here we go. Prepare to be blown away."

She took a deep breath, lifted her arm, swung—

—and completely missed.

The ball dropped to the floor with a sad little bounce.

Silence.

Then, (y/n) barked out a laugh, brushing off her shoulder like she was the next big volleyball prodigy.

Suna laughed at her antics. "Guys, I think we found the next Yuji Nishida."

Osamu burst out laughing. Atsumu chuckled despite himself, but he still dragged a hand down his face like he had just witnessed a crime.

With an exhale, he walked over to retrieve the ball before tossing it back to (y/n).

"Okay. New plan. We teach (y/n) how to hold a ball first."

(Y/n) whipped her head toward him. "That sounds awfully condescending."

Suna, barely looking up from where he leaned against the net, scoffed. “It was.”

Atsumu planted his hands on his hips, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was preparing himself for battle. He squared his shoulders, then began pacing in front of (y/n) like a coach about to deliver the ultimate game-changing strategy.

“Alright, listen up,” he announced, pointing at her like a novice soldier. “Clearly, ya got no idea what yer doin’, so we’re startin’ from the basics.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."

Atsumu ignored her completely. “Hold the ball like this,” he said, palming the volleyball and tossing it up effortlessly. The ball landed back in his hand with a smooth rhythm, perfectly controlled. “Ya gotta make sure yer toss is clean, controlled, right in front of ya—so ya ain’t chasin’ it all over the place like some sorta stray cat.”

(Y/n) grabbed the ball and mimicked his movement, but her toss was wobbly and off-center, the volleyball floating through the air with zero sense of direction. It landed nowhere near her striking hand.

Atsumu blinked.

Suna, watching from the side-lines, let out a low whistle.

Osamu chuckled under his breath, but (y/n) was too focused on Atsumu’s expression—which was slowly morphing from patient teacher to deep, internal suffering in real time.

Atsumu rubbed his temples. “Okay. Again. But better.”

(Y/n) huffed, adjusting her stance before trying again. This time, she threw the ball too high.

Atsumu, quicker than she expected, snatched it out of the air before it could even come back down.

His eyes narrowed. “No. Stop. What was that?”

(Y/n) threw her hands up. “I don’t know! A toss?”

Atsumu inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose like a bull trying to contain its rage. He placed the volleyball gently back into her hands.

“One more time,” he said, his voice tight, his patience hanging on by a fraying thread.

(Y/n) pouted. She could tell he was five seconds away from completely losing it.

Atsumu was never known for his patience.

This time, she managed an okay-ish toss, but when she went to swing—

She completely missed the ball. Again.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened. (Y/n) braced herself. Then, he snapped.

"ARE YA EVEN TRYIN’?!"

(Y/n) flinched. “YES?! STOP YELLING AT ME!”

Atsumu threw his hands in the air. “I’M NOT YELLIN’—” He paused, caught himself. Realized he was yelling. He took a deep breath, pressed his fingers to his temples, and lowered his voice.

“I’m just… deeply, deeply concerned.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, glaring. "You’re a terrible teacher."

Osamu, who had been enjoying the entire trainwreck, finally stepped in, shaking his head. "Yeah, don’t be an ass, ‘Tsumu. She’s tryin’ her best."

(Y/n), sensing an opportunity, pouted, playing up the victim act. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu,” she mimicked, voice full of mock hurt. “Why are you bullying me? I’m just a girl."

Suna, joined in on the pity party, playing up the theatrics. "You’re really gonna yell at the worst player here? Have some tact, 'Tsumu."

Atsumu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god. Fine. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

(Y/n) turned her nose up with a prim little huff. Then glanced at the blonde twin. "Apology accepted."

Atsumu exhaled sharply. He already regretted agreeing to this.

But after a few more painful attempts, something finally clicked. (Y/n) managed a decent toss, swung her arm properly, and—miraculously—made contact with the ball.

It sailed over the net, wobbly but successful.

"OH MY GOD, SHE DID IT!" Osamu gasped dramatically, hands flying to his head like he had just witnessed a divine miracle.

Suna nodded slowly in approval. “Hallelujah."

(Y/n) held one hand to her chest, pretended to wipe a tear from her eye with the other. “Guys—I’d like to thank my family, my supporters—”

Osamu and Suna snorted, but Atsumu cut her celebration short with a single clap of his hands.

“Alright, that’s enough. We’re movin’ on.”

Finally, with (y/n) just barely competent enough to participate, Atsumu finally deemed her worthy of playing a real game.

He rubbed his hands together, grinning like a menace. "Alright. Time to pick teams. ‘Samu, you take (y/n). Me and Suna’ll go together."

Osamu let out a long, suffering sigh, hands on his hips. "Wow. Stuck with the weakest link. Love that for me."

(Y/n) gawked. “How’s that fair?! You two are PROS, hello???”

Suna, rolling his shoulders as he got into position, smirked. “Prepare to get dominated.”

(Y/n) let out a dramatic groan, dragging her feet toward Osamu like she was being led to the gallows. She turned to him, hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“‘Samu, I’m sorry in advance. Please be more patient than your brother.”

Osamu huffed a laugh, shaking his head, but his smile was easygoing. "Yer all good, (y/n). Let’s just have fun."

(Y/n), feeling slightly reassured, nodded.

From across the court, Atsumu—hands on his knees, practically vibrating with anticipation—called out with a cocky grin.

"Alright, let’s see what ya got, rookies."

(Y/n) inhaled sharply.

This was going to be a disaster.

Game on.

The game started exactly how anyone would expect—with Atsumu and Suna absolutely wiping the floor with them.

Atsumu was everywhere, light on his feet, quick with his reflexes, and—more annoyingly—running his mouth the entire time.

"C’mon, (Y/n), ya gotta move faster than that!"

"‘Samu, I thought ya used to be good at this!"

"You guys suck! You call this a match??"

He was having the time of his life, grinning ear to ear, bouncing on his toes between plays like he was born for this.

Suna was calmer but no less ruthless. His plays were, smooth, calculated and frustratingly effortless. He barely looked like he was trying—he just moved instinctually, flicking the ball into just the right spots like he had a sixth sense for openings. Every spike, every set, perfect placement, no wasted effort.

Osamu, to his credit, wasn’t bad. Once his body shook off the rust, he moved sharper, hit cleaner. His blocks were strong, his sets precise, and every now and then, he even shut Atsumu down at the net, much to his twin’s frustration.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he had (y/n) on his team.

And (y/n)… was a disaster.

She wasn’t completely useless—there was effort, for sure. But her reactions were a half-second too slow, her footwork an uncoordinated mess.

She wanted to contribute, she really did. But—

The ball sailed right past her.

She twisted to follow it—tripped over her own foot—

And hit the ground with a graceless thud.

Atsumu was caught between bursting out laughing or shouting at her lack of athleticism. "I can't even—"

(Y/n) pushed herself up, glaring, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment and frustration. "Don’t you dare laugh at me!"

Suna, watching the whole thing unfold, jogged over to her to, concealing his grin. "You okay?"

Osamu sighed, rolling his shoulders. "S'all good, (y/n). We’ll get ‘em next time."

Spoiler: they did not get them next time.

The onslaught continued.

After a solid fifteen minutes of absolute destruction, (y/n) was gasping for breath, hands on her knees.

She wasn’t built for this.

"This is abuse," she wheezed.

"This is fun!" Atsumu corrected, barely winded, cheeks flushed with the thrill of the game.

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes at him. Sadist.

And then—

The miracle happened.

The ball hurtled toward her like a meteor.

She braced herself. This was it. Her moment.

She swung—

—missed entirely—

—but the ball ricocheted off her foot.

It soared over the net, completely by accident, and landed in Atsumu and Suna’s court.

Atsumu, Suna, and Osamu stared at the ball.

(Y/n) blinked, her jaw going slack with utter disbelief. “...Did I just—?”

Osamu was the first to break.

He broke into loud, infectious laughter, slapping her on the back with such force it nearly knocked her over. “Holy shit, way to go, (Y/n)!”

Suna snorted, shaking his head. "What a fluke."

(Y/n), still processing whatever just happened, pumped a fist in the air anyway. “A point’s a point, baby! Let’s goooo!”

Atsumu scoffed, torn between being offended or impressed.

"Yer tellin’ me… that's how ya score on us?"

(Y/n) grinned, crossing her arms over her chest with pride. “Yup. Suck it."

Half an hour later, the game ended exactly how it was always going to end.

With Atsumu and Suna winning, obviously.

Atsumu ducked under the net and strode over to the losers, hands on his hips. He looked at the duo with a condescending grin— toothy and frankly quite slappable.

“How’s defeat taste, guys?”

(Y/n) blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Hmph. Nothing to be proud of, Miya.”

Osamu stretched his arms over his head, unbothered by their loss like it had been written in the stars.. "Was hardly a surprise, was it?"

Suna nodded solemnly, pulling somewhat of a pained expression. "You can say that again."

(Y/n) threw her hands up. "Guys, I’m literally right here."

Osamu gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Suna, on the other hand, draped an arm over her shoulders with practiced ease, leaning in just enough to feel cocky about it.

“How ’bout me and you this time?” he said, tone casual, but his smirk said otherwise.

(Y/n) tilted her head up at him and smiled—too fondly, too easily.

Behind them, Atsumu froze mid-swipe, towel stalled against his cheek, suddenly forgotten.

His gaze flicked toward Suna’s arm, lingering a second too long.

His jaw clenched—barely. But just enough to notice.

Then, with a heavy roll of his shoulders, he huffed, clearly unimpressed but playing it off.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Me ‘n Samu, then.”

As they headed to their new sides, Osamu shot his twin a sideways look, smirking.

“Yer not jealous, are ya?”

Atsumu scoffed. "What? No. S'just teams."

Osamu chuckled as he got into position. “Whatever ya say, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu’s eye twitched.

The game started again, but this time, something was… off.

Atsumu’s plays were different now—harder, sharper, more aggressive. His serves weren’t just fast; they were shockingly precise, almost cutting, the kind that would leave a stinging echo in your arms if you tried to receive them. And yet, it wasn’t the intensity that stood out.

It was where he was aiming.

Or rather, who he was aiming at.

Because every single one of his serves, his spikes, his attacks—all of them were directed at Suna.

At first, it might’ve been coincidence. A hard serve straight at Suna? Okay, that happens. Another spike in his direction? Fine, sure. But then another. And another.

(Y/n) had barely even touched the ball.

By the fifth or sixth clearly targeted attack, Suna was starting to feel it. His breath came out heavier than before, hands dropping to his knees as he wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. When Atsumu sent yet another bullet-speed serve at him, he barely managed to receive it, hissing slightly at the sting in his arms before finally standing up straight, eyes locking onto his opponent.

“The hell, Atsumu?” he exhaled, stretching out his wrist. “You good?”

Across the court, Atsumu only grinned—a grin that was just a little too sharp, a little too forced, his golden eyes gleaming with something downright sadistic.

“Just playin’ the game,” he said casually, tossing the ball between his hands like he hadn’t just been hunting Suna down.

(Y/n) watched from afar, narrowing her eyes.

Osamu, perched near the side-line with a towel draped over his shoulder, caught onto it immediately, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

(Y/n) folded her arms, stepping forward. “You’re totally targeting him.”

Suna pointed at Atsumu, letting out a dry and breathy laugh. “Exactly. What gives?”

Atsumu only shrugged, playing coy. “Just tryna keep things interesting.”

(Y/n) didn’t buy it for a second. “No, you’re being weird.”

Suna ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, eyeing Atsumu curiously before his expression flattened. “Yeah. Why do I feel like I just pissed you off somehow?”

Osamu chuckled under his breath. "I can think of one reason."

Atsumu shot him a warning look.

And that was when (y/n) saw it—the exact moment Suna put the pieces together. His initial irritation melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

A slow, smug smirk curled at the corner of his lips. He let his eyes flicker back to Atsumu, observing him for a second longer before turning his gaze onto (y/n).

“Oh, I get it,” he murmured.

(Y/n) frowned. “Get what?”

Instead of answering, Suna just chuckled to himself, then jerked his head toward him in a silent beckon. She hesitated for a beat, but curiosity won out, and she padded toward him.

The moment she was close enough, Suna leaned down, his palm cupping over his mouth as he whispered something into her ear.

(Y/n) barely had time to process the words before she let out a giggled reaction.

Atsumu snapped.

A ball came flying toward them with way too much force.

Suna, completely unfazed, deflected it effortlessly, then went right back to whispering something else to (y/n), his voice lower, slower, just for effect. She covered her mouth to stifle another laugh.

Atsumu couldn't take his eyes off them.

Suna leaned back, letting his gaze settle on (y/n) with a mischievous glint. She returned it with ease, a silent agreement passing between them.

And that's how the war begun.

At first, they played it cool. Small things. A little extra laughter at each other’s jokes, lingering glances that lasted just a second longer than necessary. Nothing drastic. Nothing overt.

But when they got back into position on the court, the teasing went from subtle to lethal.

Suna propped his hands on his hips, scanning the court before humming in appreciation. “Y’know, (y/n), your form’s actually looking real nice. You’re almost a natural.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “Aw, really? You think?” She let out a dramatic little sigh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe I should get you to train me instead of Atsumu.”

Atsumu nearly choked on air.

“EXCUSE ME??”

Osamu, standing nearby, turned away immediately to hide his growing smirk.

Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his grip tightening on the ball as he muttered under his breath, “Like he’d know how to train ya properly.”

Suna’s grin widened as he overheard. “Dunno, man. She’s already lookin’ better than you.”

Atsumu spiked the next serve way too hard.

And missed.

(Y/n) gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow. Maybe you should let Rin train you too, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu looked like he wanted to throw her into the net.

And yet, that was only the beginning.

Every time (y/n) and Suna scored a point, they launched into some ridiculous, over-the-top celebratory handshake—the kind that was way too long, obviously improvised, and filled with unnecessary twirls and high-fives.

Suna kept leaning in to whisper things into (y/n)’s ear, his lips just barely brushing against her skin. Each time, she laughed, and each time, Atsumu saw it.

At one point, (y/n) flicked some imaginary dust off Suna’s shirt, her hand lingering against his chest for a touch too long.

Atsumu stiffened.

Osamu could barely contain his laughter despite the murderous vibes radiating off his twin. “Those two are evil."

Then came the final, fatal blow.

Suna was standing behind the net, hands protecting the back of his head as (y/n) prepared to serve. But instead of doing so, she stopped. Pursed her lips, and thoughtfully tapped her chin as if she was appraising fine art.

“Y’know,” she mused, eyes raking over him with exaggerated admiration, “I never realized it before, but your shoulders are really broad."

Suna glanced back at her with a smirk, highly entertained. Then he looked over at Atsumu, relishing his gobsmacked reaction.

How could he not play along?

“Oh? Only just now noticing?”

Atsumu's voice boomed around the gymnasium.

“OH, COME ON—WHAT IS THIS?! ARE WE PLAYIN’ VOLLEYBALL OR GOIN’ ON A DAMN DATE?!”

(Y/n) and Suna turned to each other in perfect sync, as if genuinely considering the question.

Osamu, who had been holding it together by a thread, eventually cracked—bracing himself on his knees as he broke out into a fit of laughter.

Atsumu saw red.

Without thinking, he launched the ball straight at Suna. No mercy.

It shot over the net like a bullet—but Suna didn’t even flinch. He raised one hand and once again deflected Atsumu's attack with ease, sending it right back with a bored flick of his wrist.

“Wow,” he said dryly, his voice flat with mock disappointment. “So aggressive.”

(Y/n) bit her lip, eyes glinting like she was genuinely impressed. She drifted toward him with the kind of deliberate slowness that made Atsumu's blood pressure spike.

Then, with all the flair of a soap opera star, she pressed herself lightly to Suna’s side, trailing a single finger up the front of his shirt.

“Y’know,” she purred, tilting her head to look up at him, “I’ve always had a soft spot for middle blockers.”

Atsumu nearly passed out on the spot.

He stared, slack-jawed, hands twitching at his sides as his brain completely failed to form a rational response.

Osamu was already doubled over nearby, half-giggling and far too distracted by his friends silly antics to actually play the game.

Then, without straightening up, he lifted both hands to his face in mock embarrassment, peeking through his fingers.

“Guys,” he gasped between laughs, “yer almost makin’ me blush.”

Atsumu threw his head back with a tortured groan, dragging both hands down his face.

He hated them.

He hated this game.

He should've invited Bokuto instead.

Between Atsumu’s absolute meltdown and Suna being a total ASSWIPE, (y/n) and Suna somehow won the game.

(Y/n) threw her arms into the air, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “WOO! FINALLY!”

Suna flashed her a lazy grin, lifting his palm for a victorious high five. “Good teamwork.”

Their hands smacked together with a satisfying clap, and for a second, the smugness in the air was palpable.

On the other side of the net, Atsumu stood frozen in disbelief, hands braced on his knees, panting. His bangs clung to his forehead, sweat dripping down his temple. His expression radiated pure betrayal.

“WHAT EVEN WAS THAT?!” he demanded, flinging his arms out. “YA WEREN’T EVEN TAKIN’ IT SERIOUSLY!”

Osamu glanced down at him, failing spectacularly to hide the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess they just had better chemistry.”

Atsumu whipped his head up, glaring in a way that screamed, shut the hell up.

(Y/n) giggled, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder as she sauntered over beside him. “Yeah, don’t be a sore loser, ‘Tsum.”

Suna lurked behind her and leaned into her again with zero shame—shoulder brushing hers, voice casual. “Yeah. Guess we’re just a perfect match."

Atsumu’s blazing stare could have set the whole gym on fire.

“I’m never playin’ with ya again.”

Osamu stretched his arms over his head with a relaxed yawn, the picture of calm. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Maybe next time, we can try teams based on actual skill.”

(Y/n) hummed to herself, mischievous eyes drifting up to meet Suna's before giving a little shrug. “I dunno, I kinda like this setup. Me and Rin just… get each other, y’know?”

Atsumu inhaled deeply, eyes closed, head tilted back back as if praying for patience. His fingers flexed like he was physically restraining himself from strangling Suna.

Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and stomped toward the bench.

“Aight. Practice is over. Let’s head home.”

He yanked his duffel bag off the floor with enough force to rattle the water bottles beside it and aggressively slung it over his shoulder.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Actually, Suna, ya can stay here.”

(Y/n) and Osamu immediately cracked up—their laughter echoing through the gym like a victory bell.

Suna, completely unbothered, just shrugged. “Yeah, nah. I’m comin’. Don’t wanna miss whatever tantrum you're gonna throw at dinner.”

Atsumu let out a loud, theatrical groan and shoved the gym doors open with far more force than necessary. The metal squeaked in protest as he stormed through, and the trio trailed after him, now snickering amongst themselves.

The cool night air swept over them as they stepped outside, cutting through the leftover heat clinging to their skin. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance. The sky had that soft, bluish tint that only came after dusk—quiet and calm, in contrast to the chaos they’d just left behind.

(Y/n) nudged Suna with her elbow, smiling. “That was fun. We make a good team.”

Suna hummed, returning the sentiment. “Mhmm. I'd say so."

Up ahead, Atsumu stomped along like the brat that he was. His duffel bag bounced against his back with every step, his whole body radiating the energy of someone who had suffered a deep and personal injustice. He refused to look back.

Osamu watched him with a grin, then jogged a few steps forward to sling an arm around his brother’s shoulders. He gave him a firm shake, deliberately jostling him.

“Aw, c’mon, ‘Tsumu. What’s wrong with you and me, huh?”

Atsumu didn’t answer.

But the way his shoulders eased, just barely, said enough.

(Y/n), walking behind them with Suna, watched the interaction with a fond smile. Then, on a whim, she looped her arm through Suna’s. With a little tug, she pulled him along as she skipped ahead, her sneakers thudding softly against the pavement.

Before Atsumu could protest, she grabbed his arm too, linking them all together in one warm, swinging chain.

“Aw, don’t be mad, ‘Tsumu,” she cooed, leaning her head against his shoulder with exaggerated sweetness. “You still played amazing. Like, really amazing.”

Atsumu huffed, glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

(Y/n) giggled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “And, y’know… I think you were the most fun to play against.”

That perked him up a bit.

His steps slowed a fraction. He didn’t say anything right away, but his grip on his duffel loosened, his jaw unclenching. His scowl remained fixed in place—but (y/n) caught the way his lips twitched at the corners.

“…Damn right I was,” he muttered, voice lower now, almost bashful.

Behind them, Osamu snorted. “So easy to please.”

(Y/n) laughed, hugging both boys’ arms tighter. “C’mon, let’s go home. I dunno about you guys, but I’m starving.”

Suna hummed in agreement, casting a side glance at Atsumu. “Yeah. Someone owes us dinner.”

Atsumu groaned but didn’t argue, grumbling something under his breath about betrayal and snakes and whether they even deserved a treat.

But even as he complained, he let (y/n) keep her hold on his arm, allowing himself to be pulled along without resistance.

And if his pout wasn’t quite as deep anymore…

Well.

She wasn’t gonna call him out on it.

[artsy-hobbitses]

Heyo! Gotta say I love your Au sm!!

Could we perhaps get some head cannons abt Windblade and Starscream as parents?? Theirs beans are so ughhhh I wanna squish them so bad 😔😔

Hehe ofc!!

Admittedly they do not have a standard ‘parent’ dynamic — Starscream/Stefan was terrified of the idea of being a dad and specifically chose Skybreak/Suzume because she was insistent that she didn’t want a dad, she just wanted to stop being returned to the orphanage for not conforming to what people expected of a little girl, and that was why he picked her initially!

Though he does grow into the role as her mentor/ ‘dad’ as time passes, and by the time they adopt Galestorm/Gabriele, he’s completely in (gremlin) dad mode.

Windblade is very much Boss Mom and Starscream is Italian Way of the Househusband.

On a normal day, Windblade usually helps them get ready for school while Starscream makes breakfast. Windblade sends them off, and Starscream picks them up (and sometimes takes them to have lunch with mum if she’s free in the afternoon). Starscream makes dinner for them and Windblade helps with prep/washing up. Both tag team to get these beans to bed.

Saturdays are family days, and on Sundays, Windblade and Starscream usually let Bumblebee or Chromia babysit while they go on date nights.

Starscream is the one who’s pedantic about the children’s meals like he’s serving at a Michelin star restaurant with a nutritionist on the payroll, though he can be cajoled into fast food as a treat for special occasions or after sports day. Windblade’s turn to cook dinner usually entails the greasiest comfort food gyoza, hamburg steak and karage (don’t ask her how much msg goes into them).

Due to Windblade’s schedule, Starscream is usually the more ‘physically present’ parent, and the one who usually makes it to all the PTA meetings, bake sales and recitals. Starscream Facetimes or records all of them for Windblade so she can be a part of it on her work break or catch up when she’s home!

Windblade still makes it to big events and their annual classroom reviews though! At which point she’ll hear extensively about all the shenanigans Starscream and Skybreak have been up to while she’s busy being First Delegate (not Galestorm, Galestorm is mommy’s sweet baby boy).

Though only because Galestorm is smart about utilising his cuteness! Skybreak often corrals him to ‘distract’ mother while she’s plotting stuff around the house.

Skybreak respects Windblade as the baddest of baddies and knows she can’t get away with a lot of nonsense with Madame First Delegate. Which is why she hangs around ‘dad’ more often. He’s her level of gremlin and… easier for her to push around.

Windblade caught Starscream framing up Skybreak’s detention slips for picking fights with bullies in his office, and moved them to the living room instead so they can both fistbump to them.

Windblade gets Skybreak her first sword and gets her into martial arts. Starscream gets Skybreak journals and glittery stickers for her plans for revenge against those who wronged her and school domination. Mother has given you the weapon to carry out your deeds, but you still have to stay organized when plotting against your enemies and sorting out your allies!

Skybreak is Starscream’s Underboss for their Girl Scout Cookies team, which Starscream runs like a mini mafia. The Girl Scouts in their division love this and look forward to their little mafia meetings with The Godfather theme playing in the background while they dig into freshly-made cannolis and discuss their weekly reports on the ‘hold-outs’ in their neighborhood as well as sales figures with Starscream at the head of the table.

Skybreak has Oppositional Defiant Disorder which she’s working through, and she really doesn’t do well with being told “No” or “Because I said so”. Windblade and Starscream’s tactic to manage their ambitious little Type A Azula is usually through praise and to “Sure, but…” her, focusing on the consequences ie. “Sure you could stay up till 12 on a school day, but if you wake up late, you’re going to miss P.E and your chance to crush your enemy for the fifth time in a row in dodgeball… or worse, you could be too tired, and they might win. You have to be prepared to face the enemy and support your allies, and adequate rest is important isn’t it?” or “Sure you don’t have to do your homework, but won’t it set back your plans for class domination if you get a C in geography? And geography is really important for your future plans to become president, isn’t it?”. And let her deal with the fallout within reason. She’s EXTREMELY independent which is a double-edged sword for them, one they’re learning to handle with care.

Galestorm is more of a diplomat politician like his mum, and is usually the one who tries to talk himself out of a situation as opposed to his scheming sister. Which means Windblade and Starscream often have to block out their schedule to sit down for his ‘family senate meetings’ that come with drinks, PowerPoint presentations and printed handouts with graphs and charts to debate for things like a bigger allowance for his chores or why he should be allowed to go to a concert with his friends with no chaperone.

Galestorm loves affection and is quite clingy with Windblade and Starscream since he was raised by them from the time he was two. Skybreak is not… for most part. Like Starscream, she doesn’t have a solid track record with ‘good touch’ even at seven, so it takes a while for her to be alright with a hug. It’s something Windblade and Starscream have to ask her about ie. if she’s okay with a hug, if she wants to be held for a bit (she’s been known to shove or hit people who do so without prior consent or warning, usually out of shock/instinct). When she actually holds hands with her parents while outdoors is actually a huge milestone, and she’s come to accept hugs and being held now, though one still has to ask (she hates her space being invaded with no warning). She doesn’t hug Galestorm, but she does give him pats and hold his hand to lead him around when it’s just the two of them and she’s got to be Responsible Older Sister.

[theuniverseofchaos]

Cass smirked at Elio’s sarcasm, shaking his head as he leaned back against the booth. “Ain’t my job to sell you on the place,” he drawled, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “But if you’ve been here long enough to complain about the cold and still ain’t packed up, means somethin’ else is keepin’ you here.” His dark eyes flicked over Elio, reading between the lines, but he didn’t push. The kid had his reasons—everybody did.

Hearing Elio mention his parents’ background made Cass nod slightly. “Mexican and Colombian, huh? Good mix.” His smirk twitched. “Bet the food at your place was better than whatever the hell passed for Latin food in most of Virginia when I was growin’ up.” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “My mom tried to keep the culture in the house—food, traditions, all that—but it was a different world where I grew up. You had to fight for every inch of who you were.”

His fingers tapped idly against his coffee cup as he listened to Elio talk about the horses, the business, the way he was building something new while still holding onto his roots. Cass could respect that—not just throwing money at a place, but actually putting in the work. He actually gave a shit, which made Cass give a slight nod of approval.

“Western stuff, huh?” he mused. “Ranch riding, cutting—so, real work, not just prancin’ around for a damn trophy.” He smirked faintly. “Good. If you’re gonna have horses, least you can do is let ‘em be horses.”

The mention of staff made sense. A place like that wasn’t a one-man operation. But Cass liked that Elio wasn’t shying away from the dirty work either. A lot of guys in his position would’ve kept their hands clean, let someone else deal with the mud. “Sounds like you got a decent setup,” Cass said, nodding slightly. “Smart not to run yourself into the ground tryin’ to do everythin’ alone.” His gaze flicked back to Elio, assessing. “Plenty of people talk about puttin’ in work, but when it comes down to it, they don’t wanna get their hands dirty. Seems like you don’t mind.”

At the mention of getting covered in mud, Cass smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, ain’t much you can do about that. Nature’s got a way of remindin’ you that you don’t run shit.” he muttered.

His dark eyes flicked back toward him, considering. “You ever second-guess it yet? Whole new life, whole new routine. That ever make you stop and wonder if you bit off more than you can chew?”

Cassius listened, taking in the way Elio talked about his upbringing—tacos, seafood, growing up Latino in California. It was familiar in a way, even if their backgrounds weren’t exactly the same.

“You’ll get used to the cold,” Cass said, smirking slightly. “Or you’ll just complain about it every damn year like the rest of us.” He took a slow sip of his coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. “Ocean’s different up here. Less about beaches and bikinis, more about working docks and the kinda wind that’ll cut through whatever coat you think is keepin’ you warm.” His smirk twitched. “Ain’t California, but it’ll do.”

He leaned back slightly, considering. “I get what you mean, though. I’m Venezuelan. A lotta arepas, pabellón, empanadas. My mom ran her own business, my dad worked construction. No boardrooms, no spreadsheets—just a whole lotta long days and work that stuck to your bones.” His dark eyes flicked toward Elio, something knowing behind them. “They expected me to take up a trade or help with the shop. Instead, I enlisted soon as I could.” His smirk faded slightly, but there wasn’t regret in his tone—just fact. “Worked out how it worked out.”

At the career shift question, Cass exhaled slowly, stretching an arm along the back of the booth.

“Nah, never did Military Law,” he said, shaking his head. “Served my time, got out, figured I’d put the discipline somewhere useful.” He smirked slightly, voice edged with dry amusement. “Turns out, criminal law ain’t all that different. You read people, figure out who’s lyin’ to you, and keep your head under pressure.”

The bit about horse racing made Cass nod slightly. “Yeah, never saw the appeal,” he muttered. “You grow up around workin’ people, you see enough animals put down after they break somethin’ that ain’t gonna heal. Ain’t much of a sport when it’s just watching shit get used up.”

Cass smirked faintly, tapping a finger against his coffee cup as he considered Elio. “Figures,” he muttered. “Property law, contracts—sounds like a headache.” He took another sip of coffee, setting the mug down before tilting his head slightly. “But I’m guessin’ runnin’ a ranch ain’t just paperwork and ridin’ horses all day. What’s the part they don’t tell you about before you sign the damn deed?”

His dark eyes studied Elio, curiosity laced with something sharper. “You got a whole team runnin’ things, or you actually out there every day gettin’ your hands dirty?” His smirk twitched slightly. “Bein’ the boss is one thing. Bein’ the one covered in mud at the end of the day? Whole different deal.”

[asgardianhammer]

჻ϟ჻

[untitledrockstar-if]

What things are canon about MC that we can know for now??

they're 27 years old

they come from a small town but moved around a lot

they couldn't attend college due to a family emergency

they grew up around ???? but lost touch around the time R and mc hit it off

they have a younger sibling

their dad is dead

their mom warned them against leaving with R for good

they've always wanted to escape the mundane life their parents had and have longed for the excitement of a big city and making something of themself

the time between the death of their dad and meeting R were some of the worst months of their life

[plusultraetc]

I just realized that in the psychic au, Dark Shadow is a spirit that is tethered to Tokoyami ('haunts' is such a strong word).

on their first day of high school, Shinsou couldn't stop staring at him (because… hello???) and after class Tokoyami walked up to him, looked him dead in the eye, and said 'you can see him too, can't you?'

what makes this somehow funnier is I don't think Tokoyami is a psychic. he can see Dark Shadow, because Dark Shadow is tethered to him, but he can't see other spirits. Dark Shadow claims it's his job to protect him from other supernatural threats (Shinsou: what kind of threats? Dark Shadow: threatening threats), but this also means that Tokoyami has just accepted that for his entire life he's been haunted, sorry, protected by some kind of benevolent bird demon no one else can see and who he's never seen anyone or anything like.

(I now desperately need Tokoyami & Shirakumo to meet so Shirakumo can be like 'WHAT THE HELL IS THAT' and Hizashi just says 'a high schooler… don't be rude :/' while Dark Shadow smiles at him as much as a shadow being with a beak can smile and Tokoyami sits there with a perfectly neutral expression)

[wildstar25]

MiqoMarch Day 20 - Town

Once the centre of a great, academic city, the recently resettled town of Idyllshire is always bustling with life. The chattering of fellow adventurers, the whistling of steam from the goblins' workshop, the carefree laughter of children who know they have a warm bed and meal waiting for them... it never fails to bring a smile to Arsay's face.

[huginsmemory]

Where's that one Ford art post thats like I'm in the best years of my life clutching a hot pink thermos thingy with hot gurl juice when he's clearly not. cause damn . Yeah

[abluescarfonwaston]

It's one of those days we're you just gotta

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[keeps-ache]

and i Don't need to be detailed or very realistic with my worldbuilding! because L. ron hubbard existed at some point and

[mechahero]

I worked on this thing all day, just take it.

[daz4i]

got an ad for a course that looks right up my alley (like, too-good-to-be-true levels of up my alley) and toyed with the idea of possibly signing up. asked my mom what she thinks, including abt the price and such, fully expecting her to shut me down and say it's too expensive or isn't a good direction to take, but no even before i started listing the actual cool stuff you get from it she already got so excited and told me to sign up and that it sounds perfect for me and such. so i guess we'll see

[quibbs126]

For some reason I’m now convinced in my mind that in Kingdom at least, the ice village that Captain Ice, Ice Candy and Ice Juggler are all from is somewhere up north of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. Like, close enough that the climate isn’t too different (though it’s probably even colder considering the amount of ice), but far enough that it’s not considered part of the country

And also Snowfall Village is somewhere in the middle of the two areas, being technically within the boundaries of the Dark Cacao Kingdom and thus under its protection, but on the outskirts and probably closer to the ice village

I don’t know why I’m making this post, it’s just that for some reason I believe this to be canon. And that if we get a Dark Cacao centered Special Episode update like we did for Hollyberry, we would visit this town