#the green bean really has some bad luck...
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soundcrusher · 1 year ago
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Talking with Tachy about how eating Dark Energon could affect a Cybertronian in TFP sure enough was fun! And it lead to many more ideas that involved Flinch witnessing the destruction of his home world, being forced to ingest Dark Energon, because a group of Decepticon scientists were tasked to find out how much harm it could do, getting adopted by two Minicoms, escaping to earth, befriending Breakdown, and befriending a group of six Vehicons that decided to ditch the war and just live on earth. (Said Vehicons also end up kidnapping Ratchet at one point, becaude he's a medic and Flinch needs medical attention.)
All the while Eda helps him with his painful recovery.
So, a fun time over all.
Also! Some sketches of TFP Flinch, @tachyon-omlette's TFP Eda, and Flinch's Vehicon friends.
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changingplumbob · 7 months ago
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Chopra Household: Chapter 6, Part 8
The birthday continues! Most of the family have appointments to attend afterwards leaving Savannah and Viola under the care of nana Lavina. I mean it's not like she could be any worse than Alana the (insert your favourite swear word for mean nanny)
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BTW it was daylight savings here so that's why my posts may seem an hour shifted for you...
If Viola is attempting to say something it will be in brackets, otherwise you can assume it's just trying out sounds Mercedes has a speech delay and may get words wrong, correct wording will be in brackets if that is the case Savannah aka Honeybee Mercedes aka Little Ladybug Viola aka Green Bean
Mercedes: Hey nana
Lavina: Happy birthday kiddo
Mercedes: I have bad news, papa went to the doctor and they found out he’s sick
Lavina: What? Oh why didn’t he tell me? I can’t lose him
Mercedes: Kidding!
Lavina: That’s not very funny young lady
Bizarre thing happened. Mercedes had rolled a like of deception but after this got a prompt saying she felt mischief was wrong? I like the game to have some say so while I did not add a dislike of mischief I changed her like of deception to silly behaviour to match her sister.
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Milton: Oh hey you have cake
Savannah: Of course Milton, it’s a birthday party
Milton: That’s uncle Milton to you
Savannah: Mama do we really have to call him uncle? He’s only 2 years older than us
Cassandra: It’s important to be polite to family honeybee
Lavina: And respectful! You girls could learn more respect
Mercedes: *sighs* It was one joke nana
Cassandra: Lavina I have an appointment and Rahul needs to take Mercedes to one. Could you watch the kids for us please?
Savannah: I can watch the house mama
Lavina: Of course I can dear, take all the time you need
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Savannah: But nana I can do it
Lavina: You’re six, you couldn’t take care of a fire. Now I hear your sister crying, go play outside or learn something
Savannah: Oh maybe I can find some cool bugs!
Lavina: Just don’t bring them into the house
Poor Viola has been trying to get to sleep but is still a bit overwhelmed by the party.
Lavina: Now what’s all this? You are making a habit of crying every time you see me Viola
Viola: *cries* ge da noo lu (I'm so tired, clapping took it out of me)
Lavina: Is nana scary huh? Big bad nana. Close your eyes and sleep, big bad nana can defend your crib from the monsters huh
Following some soothing Viola does manage to fall asleep as Lavina watches over her.
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Outside Savannah isn’t having much luck. But around by the garden she spots some locusts, perfect, papa will approve of catching them! She grabs at them and manages to get hold of 2. Perhaps she can convince mama and papa to take her and Mercedes to Granite Falls so she can find more! Back inside she decides to tackle some homework.
Milton: Why are you holding your pencil like that
Savannah: Like what
Alexander: Don’t be rude Milton, not everyone does things the same way
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Milton: Did you never use crayons
Savannah: *gruffly* I have a motor delay actually, pencils are hard
Milton: Oh, sorry
Alexander: That’ll teach you not to be rude
Savannah: I think I’ll go see if mama is back
Milton: I am sorry!
...
Cassandra is pumping in the spare room when Savannah finds her.
Savannah: Mama, can I still go to OT now I’m a child
Cassandra: Of course you can honeybee. It might be called something different but any support you need, we’ll find for you
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Savannah: Then Uncle Alexander told him off
Mercedes: Nice!
Savannah: So what did the brain doctor say
Mercedes: They want me to do… Papa how did they say it?
Rahul: Your sister is getting referred to another type of doctor to see if she needs extra help at school
Mercedes: Can I not go to school?
Rahul: No! Whatever you need we can sort but you’ll be best having your first day with your sister
Savannah: Yeah. You don’t want to leave me alone do you? We do everything together
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Mercedes: Except OT and word class
Cassandra brings Viola to the table and the family begin eating. For some reason everyone is migrating away from Viola?
Mercedes: Mama did your point tent (appointment) go okay
Cassandra: Apparently I have ADHD which I guess is a bit of a surprise but I’ll be fine. Everybody’s brain has to work in its own way
Rahul: Exactly! Now Viola, how about some peanut butter puffs? Nice and yummy
Viola looks at her papa, confused. Why is what he holding bigger than the things on the plate? It can’t just be her eyesight playing up, can it?
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Savannah: Mama, can we have a trip to Granite Falls? I’d love to see some more bugs
Cassandra: Actually papa and I have been talking and we’d like you two to join scouts
Mercedes: Scouts? Why
Rahul: Nature is important to us, we want you both to learn to love it
Cassandra: Plus it will leave after school times free for OT and word class
The girls remain skeptical but agree. Meanwhile Viola is unsure about the taste of peanut butter puffs (and their creepy resemblance to banana once she picks them up) but one thing is for sure, they are fun to play with!
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Savannah: Do we have to go to bed mama
Cassandra: It’s getting late honeybee, and don’t you want to check out the new bunk beds
Mercedes: I call dibs on the bottom one! That way you can still tuck me in mama
Cassandra: *smiles* alright but we need to clean up dinner first
Savannah: I got the plates
Cassandra: Mercedes could you put the leftovers away before they spoil please
Mercedes: Yes mama
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Rahul: How do you two like the bunks
Savannah: It’s great papa. I can be up high just like butterflies are
Rahul: Good night rugrats, I love you two
Twins: Goodnight papa
Savannah climbs up to the top and snuggles in while Cassandra tucks Mercedes in.
Cassandra: Goodnight Mercedes. I love you both, have good dreams
Twins: Love you mama
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snkts · 22 days ago
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Mikoto had to look up the recipe for daifuku and decide if the work, and the risk of screwing it up, was worth making them for scratch. She could order the confection from Japan and have it shipped, almost fresh, to New York for a reasonable price.
But then thought about it and realized homemade was better, even if it was bad.
She bought canned red beans and rice flour from the Asian Market, and followed the recipe she found online for making the red bean paste, forming the mochi, rolling it out, and forming the daifuku. The first few were misshapen, or torn, but Mikoto had earned enough cooking experience to not become discouraged. Instead she persevered and managed to make twelve (four white, four pink, and four a pale green) nice looking daifuku. She placed the daifuku in a sealed treat box and left the box, along with a pricey tin of green tea from Japan, on the desk in his office so he could find it after his class.
On a note, left under the box, she wrote, "Happy birthday, Logan. From Mikoto."
He’s been busy today. Busier than normal. Not too busy, of course, that he forgot what day it was. He could never forget. Creed hadn’t let him. Every year was the same. This year, Logan supposed he should be resting easier. Creed had allegedly been ‘dealt with’ not that long ago. Well, forgive him for not celebrating. 
He didn’t buy it. 
Just because Sabertooth ran afoul with a terrorist group, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be back on his feet by now. Hell, Logan was counting on it. Creed never missed today - much as Logan wished he would. Just once. One year where he could kick back with a couple of brews instead of worrying about ripping some nutjob tearing him apart. No such luck. 
The worst part of it was, Logan was still at the Institute. He should’ve been on the road days ago, far away from these walls and everyone in ‘em, and yet, here he was - a goddamn sitting duck. Drawing the threat into what was supposed to be a safe zone, a sanctuary. Their home. God fucking damnit. 
He should leave. 
He should get on the road and go. Travel fast and travel far and keep them safe. Keep Creed away. Keep his family safe. (Can’t lose anyone else-) Things keep coming up. People keep needing help. And he is losing his goddamn mind. He’s trapped here. Trapped with the people he loves. Trapping them. Damning them. Dragging them down with h-
Huh? 
Logan stopped his frustrated patrolling of the mansion outside of his office. Why is his door open? Had he left it open…? No, no, he never did. He was careful. He has to be - he’s got booze in the fridge, smokes on the night stand, weapons on the wall.  had to be - he had booze in the globe, smokes on the nightstand, weapons on the wall - and half-graded assignments on the desk. Couldn’t let the kids get in there. Sure, a locked door wouldn’t technically stop most of ‘em, but it set a boundary. Let the squirts know this was off limits. His office. Keep out. But someone hadn’t kept out. Logan tilted his head and furrowed his brow. Who the devil had been poking around his space? He scented the air. Nothing smelled too strange… (Nothing smelled like Creed.) Still, Logan is cautious when he opens the door further and steps inside. (It’s not paranoia when you’re usually right.) 
Nothing seemed immediately off- There. On the desk. He hadn’t put that there. But it still didn’t smell wrong. In fact… One smell stood out as fresher than the rest. Logan felt his shoulders start to relax. It was just her. Skippy. She was okay. He was less cautious and more curious now as he approached the package. And he can smell food, too. It’s a nostalgic scent. And nostalgia is so strange for him, when he only has dregs of the memories the scent is trying to bring back - but they’re good memories, he’s fairly sure. Yeah. They feel good. And the box smells really good. He takes the lid off carefully, using his claw to slice the ribbon and setting it aside to study the contents. 
“Oh, shit.” He mumbled to the empty room. These weren’t store-bought. Was that why she’d looked so tired earlier-? “She better not’ve skipped out on sleep for this.” He picks one of the green daifuku out of the box and gives it an experimental bite. It’s good - sweet, but not overly so, with just enough chew that he can work his teeth against it without it being too dense or tacky. Yeah, she did good. He finds the note, eyes it for a second, then turns back to the present - more specifically, the smaller box beside it. Tea. Real tea, by the smell of it. Fuck, it’d been a while since he’d been to Japan - a while since he got a fresh tin. 
He really should  be getting on the move. 
Grab his bag and go. 
But, fuck. The tea smelled so good, and if she’d put that much effort…
Maybe he had time for a cup.
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pbandjesse · 4 months ago
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24 hours now since we have seen Crabcake. I am really torn up about it. I know he will show up eventually but man. Today was not amazing because I had a lot of stress thinking of my missing voy. I'm just so sad about it. I am trying to remain positive but I am still sad.
And how the day started wasn't helpful. I would sleep okay. But when I woke up I was frustrated. James had apparently looked for an hour with no luck. And once I was dressed I would look as well. I got snippy with James and they spoke not very nice to me. Basically the first time they have ever done that. And I know we were both just overwhelmed with stress but it still upsets me. They apologized and we see okay. We just want Crabcake back.
I would have to leave for camp. I left ten minutes later then normal but it was fine. I would struggle on my drive in. I was enjoying a podcast but I was also just so tired.
When I got to camp I would set up for the day and worked on cutting bears. I would end up giving myself a blister on my finger from cutting so many bears out of felt. It was painful, still is hours and hours later.
I would go sit in the office for a little to cool down. It was a really really nice today. The heat has finally calmed down. And we could all breathe. I would chat with Heather about Crabcake and how sad I am. And she really thinks he'll come out soon and everything will be okay. I really hope she's right.
Manny would ask me if two of his boys could hang out with me this morning because they didn't want to go tubing. I said sure. And not long after they would come up to join me.
I was in my hammock. But I would get them set up with paper and coloring material. I would also get them some tasks so they wouldn't be bored. It was very helpful when they would count out the bears we've cut out so far. And I should have enough for the first two days at least. Excellent.
I wish I could say I was able to put everything to the side and be the best teacher. And I think at points I did okay. But I was way quicker to be frustrated then normal. And I was just disappointed in myself for being snippy when kids were just not getting the instructions. Some were better then others at the art. But the ones who just didn't seem to listen to instructions and were wasting all the ink made me really upset.
Some kids impressed me though with their understanding of the materials and techniques. And it was fun! Those parts made me feel more positive.
I would not love lunch but I was starving. We had Mac and cheese and green beans with lots of pepper. But it was a little boring. I would have some egg salad and lettuce too. But pretty quickly I decided I wanted to go lay down in the cabin.
I walked down there and was happy to be in the AC even if it wasn't to hot outside. I really enjoy spying on that bed. And it's nice and dark in there. I would pick out some clothes for tomorrow and Monday. And got a piece of chocolate. I took some old food out of the fridge and bagged it up to take to the trash (morning our building to avoid buggies), and laid down for a half hour.
I think that made my afternoon a lot better. I was feeling kind of ugly and bad today but the rest and the dark made me feel a little bit more like myself. It went perfect but it was something.
The day campers would make me feel a little crazy though. Throwing my toys and breaking things and just upsetting me. Thankfully when Emily came back she would hold them accountable and would impose a 15 minute time out for them on the field. I appreciated the effort.
Second day came was better. Still crazy but more interested in the art. And their councilor and YLP were excellent. I felt very supported.
My tipis kids were here too and finished their service hours and would help with a few things. It was nice to chat with them, always is.
Stockade was my last group and we would have a lot of fun metal casting and I was just really enjoying them trying so hard. Mix success for sure. But it was fun! Jorge was the councilor and he was so sweet to me. And Jeci was goofy in the best way. And Kamal came back to get his piece again even though it kept not working, he was trying and I admired that a lot.
But I was glad to be done in the end. I really wanted to go home. So after collecting my things I drove home. Enjoyed a podcast. Was starving all of a sudden. But was very happy to go home.
I would get stuck in a little traffic but it wasn't bad at all. And I was home by 415.
No sign of Crabcake though. I had really hoped he would just be right there but not yet.
I would do a loop to look for him. Then went to take a shower. And then sit on the couch to have a snack and wait for my James to come home.
When they did I was very happy to see them. They would clean up and we decided to go to the diner and get sandwiches.
This was a good call. I was very happy walking around with them. The drive out was just fine. And we were very very excited to sit in the side of the restaurant we have never been sat in before! I was so excited I almost told the waitress how excited I was. It was very silly.
And we had some absolutely huge laughs. We were just being so silly and I was having so much fun. The food was good but the company was better.
We decided to make a stop at target before we went home. I needed a new toothbrush and wanted frozen cream cheese wantons. We would get a couple other small things. But we were just having fun walking around and looking and talking and I was feeling a lot nicer inside.
We would head home after that. And that is where we are now. I have been hanging out on the couch. The AC is working really well and I'm thrilled about that. But I am also really tired. Physically. Emotionally. It was a long day. I am still full of worry. But I just have to have faith that it will all work out.
I hope that the last day of the week goes well. I hope my groups are nice and I can just having a nice time. I hope you all have a great night. Take care of eachother. Good night. Until next time
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marvel-and-dc-geek · 2 years ago
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Thor: Record of Ragnarok
Chapter 10
-Just stay still and it won’t hurt -it seemed like the Hulk couldn’t fit their healing equipment , so Loki was ordered to try. Why just not turn him into Banner ? Simple: those scratches would heal better if it was the green giant who got treated first.
-HURTS !-The monster roared as Loki tried to heal the scratches he had: Sekmeth had caused him great harm, and he had claw marks all around him, even some bites.
Loki got slightly frightened, as his yelling brought really bad memories to the god, but he couldn’t really blame him: feline scratches hurt, and more so if it has been that goddess that made them. Kara had gone to fetch some alcohol for her, and beans that the emerald giant had asked for, and also doctor Banner’s glasses, just in case.
-I am almost done -Loki promised, but it really wasn’t the truth: it was hard to heal the hero. Not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t stay still.
-Are you a nurse now, my dear ?- That voice again…luck really seemed to hate lucky.
-Penguin god !- Hulk laughed, as Hermes’ suit reminded him of the flightless bird
-Shh, don’t make him get angry -Loki mumbled to the green giant. His ex unfortunately was aware of the Norse complot, tho he didn’t know how much he had told the other pantheons.
-Hush, monster…-Hermes didn’t have q reason to worry about a hurt participant -My love, are you really reduced to this? -
Loki ignored Hermes, he’d rather focus on continuing with his job.
- I spoke to you -Hermès wasn’t pleased -are you deaf?-
-I’m busy, please leave -Loki tried to fetch some of the healing cream, but the Greek grabbed his hand
-I hadn’t seen you in some thousand years…-Which Loki was thankful for -you’ve grown more beautiful, my dear Loki -
Let me go - Loki demanded angrily
-Wouldn’t you rather return with me, my dear ?-Hermès ignored the last words the Norse spoke
-No, I’d rather marry a draugar -Loki tried to get free, but his grip was to strong
-I think you believe you got a choice…- Hermès tried to drag Loki closer to him, but suddenly had to let go of him
-PUNY GOD SAID NO, PENGUIN MAN!-Hulk roared after grabbing the Greek god, angrily shaking him. Hermes attempted to move before, but wasn’t strong enough get free
-Let me go, beast -it was few time that’s Loki had seen him angry, and every time he was terrified, but Hulk completely ignored him.
-LEAVE PUNY GOD ALONE !-Hulk roared again.
Loki had to admit he was shocked, as every single avenger seemed to hate his existence.
-Thank you-he said softly as he went back to healing the green man.
Hulk simply nodded, but wasn’t letting the Greek god go.
-Could you please order the monster to let me go ?-Hermès felt humiliated: a mortal who wasn’t even at his peak at the moment was preventing him from going away
-Get two things clear, my dear -Loki used the tone the other god loved to tease him -in the first place, you are the monster -which he knew better than he would like to admit- and secondly, you can go when Hulk feels you can go -
- you two will pay for this - Hermes threatened, but his words didn’t mean much when he was trapped
Hulk laughed and shook Hermes again while Loki healed him. Karma did exist, thankfully
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celestial-requiem · 1 year ago
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@plaidypus tagged me in some thing so I guess I'll do it
Three Ships: In no particular order other than the first three that come to mind.
Sora x Riku - Kingdom Hearts: The ship of my childhood. Pretty sure the only fandom ship I have ever written fanfic for (when I was in high school....it has almost certainly been lost to time now). I fell off of KH for nearly 10 years but picked up Dream Drop Distance a couple years ago and MY GOD the gay pining. These bitches gay, good for them.
Luck x Ludovica - Tiger, Tiger: I love them, your honor....Complete nerd who's so far in the closest even she doesn't realize she's gay meets flirty eldritch god beast with a massive ego. It's a perfect combo.
Buggy x Crocodile x Mihawk - One Piece: Listen. I'm not even at Cross Guild stuff yet but the fanart. It's so spicy. It's like 75% of the reason I even started watched OP in the first place. I can pinpoint the exact piece of fanart that made me go :eyes: maybe I should watch this show... And here I am, over 300 episodes later and still going. I'm fully aware that I'm not getting to Cross Guild any time soon but I'm hooked without it anyways rip in pieces to me.
First Ever Ship: This for sure was not my first but it's the oldest one I can think of. Kovu and Kiara from Lion King 2. I have always been a sucker for the misunderstood bad boy(/girl/NB/person). Also One of Us is literally Disney's best song don't @ me.
Last Song: Tot Musica by Ado I have been listening to nothing but Ado for three weeks now and it's almost entirely because of One Piece kjahsf although my buddy introduced me to her music before the movie came out so I was already into her stuff.
Last Movie: Rocky Horror Picture Show at a Halloween party lmao. We also watched Us and Coraline.
Currently Reading: Pretty sure it was Isles of Abandonment by Cal Flyn. Very interesting read about the impact that humans have on a place after they've abandoned it. I really need to get back into listening to audio books while I'm at work...
Currently Watching: You might be surprised to hear it's One Piece. But I have slowed down a bit because Water 7/Enies Lobby broke me a little bit ;_;
Currently Consuming: Water and some mini cookies n cream bars...(my mom sent us so much fucking Halloween candy help)
Currently Craving: Nothing. Had a delicious dinner of fish and chips with some green beans that Py made and I am satisfied.
I ain't gonna tag anyone because I'm a lazy fuck. Fill this out if you wanna. Or don't.
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southeastasiadiary · 1 year ago
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Day Twenty-One, Part One: A Day of Wats and Wandering
The description for today on my itinerary reads, “Free time to wander around and free visits. Overnight in Luang Prabang.” Now, as a lifelong overthinker, my natural response to a statement like this is, “Wander around? Where? And how will I know when I’ve wandered enough? How many free visits does one make?” It’s the typical Paradox of Choice. Having too many options, I tend to freeze. For example, the first time I ever went to the DeKalb Farmers Market outside Atlanta, I emerged empty-handed because, seriously, how do you know which of the 396 varieties of green beans to buy? And, after last night’s story, I’m loath to buy beans at the market now anyway.
So, today’s dilemma was: Should I stay in Luang Prabang or go to the Pak Ou Caves? Should I take the bullet train to Vientiane or, as Pindar suggests, “Seek nearer home.”
In the end, inertia made the choice for me, as inertia is wont to do. I slept in late, having gotten up early for the alms ceremony the day before and then having gone back into town for the Garavek Story Telling Show. That meant that it was too late to go to the Pak Ou Caves or Vientiane, each of which would’ve required an early start. So, after a late-ish breakfast, I read the guidebook, chose a few destinations, and took the hotel shuttle to the center of Luang Prabang, and began my own personal Great Wat Tour.
The town of Luang Prabang is about the size of Statesboro, Georgia, where I spent eleven happy years in the 1990s. Actually, the comparison to Statesboro is not at all a bad one. If you simply replace every church of any denomination in Statesboro with a wat (i.e., a temple, a monastery, or a combination of the two) here, you’d end up with much the same thing. I’ll spare you photos of every single wat I took pictures of today (suffice it to say, there were lots), and just give you the Reader's Digest version. Even having just been there, they do start to look a bit “samey” in snapshots. And, if you haven’t been there in person, I doubt it’s easy all to tell one from another. But here are a select few.
I’ll start with the Wat Mahathat (“The Temple of the Large Stupa”) mostly because, while I was there, one of the novices dashed out and rang this large bell to signal that it was time for chanting to begin.
The bell also serves as something of a town clock. You can always tell what time of day it is in Luang Prabang by whichever bell is being sounded in whichever monastery. Even more impressive than the bell is a massive drum that’s hung nearby and played on certain festive occasions.
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The large stupa that gives the wat its name can be seen in upper left of this picture. I photographed it almost accidentally since my attention was really drawn to the beautiful, but far less significant golden stupa to the right.
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The temple building is quite ornate and, y my eye, very Laotian in style.
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A long row of spirit houses lines the rear of the property.
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Some of the senior monks are given residences that almost look like tourist cabins.
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The steps leaving the wat were littered with frangipani blossoms, a flower that has become a national symbol for Laos.
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Since the Laotian word for frangipani is champa, and I’d just come from two countries where the Champa Kingdom was very important, this term can be confusing. In fact, however, the Laotian word champa has absolutely nothing to do with the Champa Kingdom. It’s just a linguistic coincidence.
Recalling that an early name for this territory was Lan Xang, “The Million Elephants Kingdom,” another common symbol is that of the elephant, which also appears nearly everywhere.
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By the way, elephant trunks are a little like horseshoes in Southeast Asia. In depictions, they should always be raised, otherwise the luck “runs out.”
Even though I’d been to Wat Mai (“The New Monastery”) the other day, I knew I hadn’t seen everything that was there. So, in my free wandering today, I returned to Wat Mai and saw a building that served as a classroom for instruction in the tenets of Buddhism.
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pockymun · 3 months ago
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2024 Garden - Week 10 (8/11-8/16)
Surprisingly, there were hardly any cucumbers on the plants Monday that were close to ready. I'm starting to see where my pruning has caused too much damage. The plants aren't producing what they used to, and the leaves aren't looking better.
Someone helped themselves to the large cucumber at the top of the plant. That's getting frustrating.
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The big dills get plenty of little bees in their flowers, but no signs of seeds yet. I did find some dills in the community plots that have gone to seed, for when I next pickle!
Some baby dills have emerged again, along with what I'm assuming is some basil. Finally another herb decided to grow, after all that rain.
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What was also surprising is that not many tomatoes split after all of the rain last week. More leaves are yellowing and wilting, but the fruits look fine.
The carrot stems are filling out more. I hope that means I will get actual carrots this year. I've never had luck with them before.
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The top of the green bean plants have gotten knotted together on the cucumber trellis. The flowers were really pretty on Monday!
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The gym was closed this week, so I spent two days after work weeding a section of the garden space where some apple trees were planted. Everyone is supposed to do an hour a month of volunteer work at the garden, but I suspect most don't. The weeds have gotten pretty bad in some areas. It took 2.5 hours to clear out the apple tree corner. Everywhere else is easier, and someone else can pitch in now.
As awful as my cucumber and tomato plants look, at least the fruits are easier to find now!
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The carrot stems keep getting bigger. Some are growing too close together, so it will be interesting to see what I end up with. I'm thinking of planting them alongside some onion next year.
The baby dills and basils are getting more established, too. I hope it's not too late in the season for the basils.
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By Thursday night, the green bean flowers were less noticeable. I think a lot have dropped off. The plants had another surprise instead.
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I did not think the green beans would be ready to pick tonight. I expected them to need another week. But I found some large ones on the vines that were ready! I still haven't counted how many I picked. It wasn't much; enough for a side dish. But there should be plenty more next week!
Four cucumbers were ready to pick tonight. I left one on the vine to overripen. It seems to be hidden by leaves....
I cut all of the seed heads of the dead cilantro plant finally, as well as some sprigs from the big dills. They are in the paper bag.
Two tomatoes are changing colors. Hopefully everyone else will follow soon.
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mothandpidgeon · 8 months ago
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The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 1
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Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!
SERIES MASTERLIST
pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)
wc: 2.8k
summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.
tags: old west au, train robberies, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, assuming Ellie’s gender, reader has backstory, no use of y/n
authors note: it’s been a really long time since I’ve had the confidence to post a new series here. But these two have taken over my brain and I’m excited to share them with you. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and generally cheering this idea on.
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You’ve found yourself in some spots before but never one as tight as this. You’re seated in the passenger car of a train bound for Chicago. If you make it there, you’ll hang.
Your knee bounces anxiously. You’ve been wracking your brain for hours now. There’s got to be some way to escape but you’re fresh out of ideas. Unless you can smash the window and jump out of a moving train, you’re screwed.
“Quit that twitching or I’ll give you a real shiner,” Brown says from behind his newspaper. He’s sitting on the aisle, between you and freedom. There’s a holster on his hip, his fancy pistol a promise that you won’t get far if you try to run.
As you suck your teeth in response, he chuckles to himself, and you wish you could punch him again like you did back in Laramie. 
Six years in Wyoming and your luck has run out. It’s bad enough that you’re getting hauled back east but being pinched by a Pinkerton man in a silly bowler hat and that ridiculous tin badge is humiliating. He’s actually twirling his fucking mustache, the bastard. 
“I’m hungry,” you tell him as he neatly folds his paper. You’re not but you’re grasping at straws now, trying anything that might get him to give just an inch. 
“That’s too bad,” he says. He pulls a little paper bag of jelly beans out of his coat pocket and pops a few into his mouth.
Fucker. 
You chew on a hangnail, pressing your forehead against the window. Your best chance of getting off of this train is Brown dropping dead. You’ve been wishing for him to have a heart attack for the last 35 miles but no luck yet. When the train stops in Cheyanne, you might be able to make a break for it but it’s too risky. There aren’t a whole lot of elegant solutions left.
The landscape of the west rolls by as the train chugs along. Wide, churning rivers, thick forests, and mountains dusted with snow. It was beautiful back when this was your refuge. Now, it’s just something else to scowl at while you listen to Brown munch his candy. 
Your sigh fogs the glass. All you can do now is hope for a miracle. 
The train reduces speed to take a curve and all you can see are thick, tall trees with branches that shade the tracks. They go from a blur of green to clutches of pale, white trunks and you realize you’re seeing more and more details on each branch. The locomotive’s slowing. It’s huffing and puffing with effort, sparks flicking off from the wheels as the hulking thing crawls along. Soon it’s so slow that you could run faster. There’s no station in sight, you’re still deep in forest here. Something’s amiss. Maybe the train is broken, maybe they ran out of coal. How trains work is a mystery to you to begin with but they must break down sometimes. 
You chance a look at Brown. He’s all suspicion, sitting up a little taller, eyes searching around for the answer to the same question that’s on your mind. What’s going on here? 
Suddenly the train lurches to a halt. A hat box falls off of the overhead shelf and a few passengers brace themselves against the seats with grunts and complaints. 
“Are we stopping?” a man a few rows ahead of you asks no one in particular. 
The locomotive answers with a long, tired hiss. 
“You got something to do with this?” Brown asks you in a hushed tone. 
“How could I stop a train all the way back here?” you ask him. 
“Maybe one of your compatriots,” he says. 
You give a laugh. If there’s one thing you’ve never had in your life it’s scruples and if there’s two, it’s compatriots. You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen and there sure as hell isn’t anybody in the world that loves you enough to stop a train for you. 
You don’t feel sorry for yourself, never have. RIght now, in fact, you’re feeling pretty pleased. Any delay on this trip means more time to think. Hope blooms in your chest and you have to keep yourself from grinning so Brown doesn’t get the wrong idea.
The train is motionless for a while, murmurs of speculation from your fellow passengers. 
Then the car door slides open and in walks an outlaw with a pistol in each hand.
He’s slight. Short and scrawny and youthful, maybe sixteen years old. The bottom half of his pale face is covered by a dark red bandana, mousy brown hair under a worn hat.
“Ladies and gents, I regret to inform you that this here is a hold up,” he says, tone so cheerful, you’d think he was a carnival barker. But his voice isn’t as deep as you expected. In fact you’re skeptical that’s a boy under there. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em and nobody gets hurt.” 
The other passengers gasp and whisper, nervous looks shared about the car. Your foot begins to bounce again as your mind races to figure a way to make this new wrinkle work in your favor. 
“That means you, too,” the kid says, sidling up to Brown. Now that she’s closer, you’re almost certain this outlaw is a girl. “No need for heroes here.” 
The Pinkerton man’s hand is laying on his revolver. 
“I suggest you move along to the others, young fella,” Brown replies. 
“Don’t be an idiot, buster,” the kid says. She cocks a pistol. 
There’s a long standoff between the two and nobody in the whole car dares to even breathe. 
The door slams open and you jump. 
A second outlaw enters. There’s a noticeable shift in the air. He’s imposing and dark, stalking in like a big dog, spurs jingling with each step. 
“What’s taking so long?” he asks. His voice is a cowboy drawl. He adjusts a canvas mail sack on his broad shoulder, no doubt stuffed full of money from the train’s safe. 
He’s dressed like any other outlaw, and you’ve seen your fair share. Shabby shirt, black waistcoat, a leather belt heavy with bullets around narrow hips. He’s got on a black hat and beneath it you spy dark curls threaded with silver, much older than the other robber. 
All you can see of his face are two brown eyes that flit between the standoff in front of him. He whips his colt 45 out of its holster with practiced ease. 
Brown’s outnumbered now. This is your chance. 
“You’ve got to help me, mister,” you say, rising from your seat with your hands up in surrender. 
Your sudden movement draws all of his attention. He points the barrel of his gun at your chest and your breath catches. There’s no point in being afraid, though. Odds are you’re going to die on the gallows anyway.  Maybe he’ll shoot you but at least you tried. Your heart’s thrumming in your ears.
“I ain’t on this train of my own free will,” you explain. 
“Quiet, you,” Brown growls.
“He’s a Pinkerton man. He’ll shoot you dead if you let him,” you say.   
You're sure Brown would love to glare at you if he didn’t have his attention trained on the man in front of him.
“Don’t worry about her,” Brown says. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, friend.”
The outlaw’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit.
“I’ve got a bounty on my head,” you say. All of your words are coming out fast.
“How much?” the outlaw asks.
“Enough,” Brown says. His hand stays on his gun. 
“He’s taking me to Chicago and I’m facing the rope,” you explain. “There’s a warrant in his breast pocket. It’s the god’s honest truth,” you say. 
The outlaw thinks for a moment and you tense. It never ends well for you when men think too much. 
“Take it off him. And the gun,” the outlaw says to his partner. Then he turns back to Brown and says, “Hands up.”
“I don’t intend to interfere with your business so long as you don’t interfere with mine,” Brown says.
“If you think you’ll have that gun up and shooting before I’ve put a bullet in you, you’re sorely mistaken. So I’ll give you one more chance to get your hands in the air,” the outlaw warns. His cold words light an exhilarating heat in your belly. 
Brown clenches his jaw but with two guns drawn on him he has no choice but compliance. You feel some vindication as he slowly raises his hands. 
With some fancy flips, the kid holsters one of her guns. Brown lets her take his pistol and pull the paper from his coat though he frowns all through it. 
You watch the outlaw skim the words on your warrant. His eyes bounce between you and the page. 
“She don’t look like the murdering type,” he says.
You suppose he’s right. You’re still rough around the edges but in your straw hat and prim, full skirt you might be mistaken for a school marm. That you certainly aren’t.
The kid looks at you with new interest.
“That’s up to the judge,” Brown says. “My job’s just to bring her to the law.”
“I’d be much obliged if you prevented that from happening,” you say. 
“Why should I?” he asks. 
You swallow. You’ve had to sing for your supper before but it’s never been a matter of life and death. 
“You’re going to steal her necklace and his wallet,” you say with a nod to the other passengers. “What’s the difference between that and little old me?” you ask. 
“Aiding and abetting is the difference—“ Brown begins indignantly. 
“You give her that black and blue?” the outlaw asks and there’s a new edge in his voice that thrills you.
You’ve almost forgotten about the mark on your cheek, when you and Brown came to blows that first encounter. He got you right in the under your eye where a big ugly welt remained. 
“She struck first,” Brown says with a smug little smile.
You want to knock his teeth out and it seems the outlaw has the same fancy. He whacks Brown right in the nose with his pistol. Brown wails and grabs his face, blood pouring between his fingers. Some of the other passengers gasp and a woman cries out in horror. 
You laugh so hard that it hurts the bruise.
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As you step off the train you’re so flooded with relief. You’ve never been closer to catching a rope and your narrow escape, the pure fate of it all, is invigorating. The leaves look brighter than before and the air feels fresher even though coal smoke hangs all around you. 
You’ve got a second chance. Well, more like a hundredth chance. Anyone with an ounce of sense would see this divine intervention as a sign to change their ways, do things right. Not you. You just thank your lucky stars that you’ve put off meeting your maker by one more day. Whoever’s up there, you’ve managed to outsmart him so far and sometimes you’re arrogant enough to believe that you might avoid judgment day altogether. 
It takes you a moment to notice there are no other outlaws on standby. The tracks are obstructed by a pile of railroad ties which explains how such a small party could get aboard but other than that, it’s just deserted forest. The coal man and engineer must be tied up in the locomotive. An impressive feat for five men, let alone an aging cowboy and a teenage girl. 
“Keep moving,” the outlaw says and leads you away. 
He whistles uncommonly loud and two saddled horses— one the color of whiskey, the other nearly black— trot out of the tree line. 
A gun’s report echoes from the train. 
“Shit!” You duck. Brown and a Marshall stand on the caboose, aiming in your direction. 
The outlaw returns fire. A direct hit. He strikes the Marshall in the chest and his body topples over the rail onto the tracks with a great thud. 
“Come on!” The kid calls from the saddle of the brown horse. She’s got her hand out to you. 
You pull yourself onto its back behind her as more bullets whizz by. The kid shoots without taking time to aim. Her shots ping off the metal train car and Brown takes cover long enough for her partner to mount his horse. 
“Giddy up, Shimmer!” She kicks the horse and you’re carried off down the tracks, back west. 
The gunshots quiet and eventually stop and soon the train has disappeared from view when you’re around that bend. The horses take you off the gravel shoulder of the train tracks and into the trees, hooves picking carefully through the brush. They don’t stop until dusk is falling, miles away from where you started. Their hideout is a cave along the banks of a deep river. 
The kid hops out of the saddle south a celebratory holler and pulls the mask off to reveal delicate features removing her hat allows a long braid to tumble down her back. So you were right, that was a girl under there. 
“You see that shooting back there?” she asks her partner. 
He gives a gruff kind of chuckle but says no more. 
For the first time in days your whole body relaxes and you can’t help but giggle to yourself. You made it. 
“I’m Ellie,” the kid says after you’ve got your feet on the ground.“This here is Joel Miller.”
You’ve heard the name. The man notorious for robbing stagecoaches, banks, and trains stands before you. He tugs down his bandana revealing patchy stubble and a full set of lips that look like they’ve never seen a smile. It might be that he just saved your life but you can’t help but find him handsome. He’s rugged and square jawed, his neck dotted with beads of sweat. 
“As I live and breathe. I suppose I owe you one,” you say. 
You put out a hand for him to shake but instead your wrist is clamped in iron. He’s locked a handcuff around you. 
“God damn it!” you snap. You yank your arm back but he holds the other cuff in his fist. 
“Joel! What the hell?” Ellie says. 
He fixes his own wrist in the other cuff. You’re locked together with only about a foot of chain separating the two of you. 
“If you’re worth $10,000 I don’t need you wandering off on me,” he says and tugs back. 
All of the good will in you evaporates and you feel fire rise in your gut. You’ve never expected honor amongst thieves but this is more than treacherous. 
“You son of a bitch. You’d turn me into the law? I bet there’s a bounty on your head three times the size,”you gripe. 
“Four,” he tells you. 
Your face is hot and you’re ready to fight but Joel Miller isn’t just some city detective. 
“You’re a wanted man. How do you figure you can just waltz into the sheriff and ask for the reward?”
“You don’t worry about that, missy,” he says. 
The little moniker makes you want to slap him right in the face. 
“Joel, no,” Ellie says, features painted with disgust. 
“Don’t start with me,” he warns her. 
“We don’t need the money,” she protests. 
“Ellie.”
“Fuck you, you ugly lily-livered bastard!” you say. 
“Hey!” he barks, pulling the chain taught. “Listen here, missy. That handbill said ‘dead or alive.’ If you can’t be quiet, ain’t nothing stopping me from putting a bullet in ya.” 
His words send a shiver down your spine. There’s no reason for you to believe that’s an empty threat. Angry tears brim in your eyes but you’ll be damned if he sees you cry. You’re capable of violence, too, but unarmed, outnumbered, and imprisoned, you’ve got no choice but to shut up. 
You don’t go down easy, though. You spit at the ground between you and the frothy wad of saliva lands on Joel’s boot, then slips into the dirt. His nostrils flare and for a second you think he’s got mind to put you over his knee. You stand your ground, glaring into his dark eyes. 
There’s a twitch in his jaw and Joel turns away, working at the strap on his saddle, taking you with him. 
“Ellie, get that fire going,” he orders. “We’ll ride to the Boot tomorrow. Lay low for a week. Then we’ll go to Jackson and deal with her.” He nods at you. 
“You serious?” Ellie asks. She looks at you with apology in her expression. 
Joel tosses her the reins and she sighs. He shoves his saddle bags into your arms. 
“Make yourself useful,” he says. 
Your mind is already working again. You made it off of a moving train, you’ll find a way out of this new predicament. You’ve got one week to slip out of Joel Miller’s clutches. 
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Chapter 2 - Series Masterlist
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Asks always open and I don't bite (much).
190 notes · View notes
whiskeynovember · 1 year ago
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All the new plants are potted up. the roots do look really nice. some of the plants had tiny new growth closer to the base, like the chocolate mint.
it's really nice today. it shouldn't get higher than 87° and earlier it sprinkled a bit, so I don't feel too bad about keeping the new seedlings in the back. i really wish the weather would stay out of the hundreds, but no luck. it will be up to 102° by Saturday. 💀
the plots look nice. something happened to the squash vines, but I can't tell what, exactly. like they might of fell due to the weight. 😂. they look nice, as does everything else, today. even the cucumbers have new leaves, so I'm going to go through and remove some of the old ones and the ones touching the ground.
the yellow squash has flowers! diamond watermelon is vining out like crazy. the green squash looks like it's starting it's second set of mature leaves and 2 of the 3 baby bush watermelons plants are getting bigger.
i did a light fertilizer on the peppers. harvested one yard bean and pulled some more dill seeds. i have so many dill seeds, now... too many, in fact. i went ahead and put the dill pots in their place. a few sprouted but I noticed they tend to creep up unexpectedly, so I won't bother with filling in more seeds.
my basil seedlings are a bit better. the first day and full sun killed a few seedling, but I still have a decent amount. the Siam Queen only has 4 now, so I need to be careful with that one.
sweet basil is a little tired today. only 4 of the fenugreek seeds have sprouted from soil out of the 12 sprouts I potted and 2 extra seeds I popped in. pine berry seeds haven't sprouted from soil either. one lemon balm has, none of the Korean mint or extra cucamelons from soil.
need to water the herbs, check the propagation station, and then call it for the day.
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from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years ago
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iv. couch.
read on ao3
To Lena: r u busy??? U didnt answer my calls. Dinner later?
To Lena: my place.
To Lena: Or yours! Can totally go to urs. If u want.
To Lena: Lena????
To Lena: where are u??
To Lena: Answer my calls
To Lena: Pls?
Kara rounds the corner of her hallway, keys bitten, dangling from her lips, as she types with both hands. Her 67th text message of the day to an MIA Lena Luthor sent. She fails to notice the creature lurking around the front of her door; dark fur shining under the cheap LED lights of Kara’s corridor.
She’s still deeply absorbed in her phone with worry, in the middle of jamming her keys in with one hand, when something furry brushes against her legs and Kara yelps.
She pulls the knob clean out of the wood in shock, her phone dropping to the floor loudly, the cat doing a duet with her with a startled yowl of her own.
Heart hammering and adrenaline racing, Kara looks down and sees the cat for the first time.
“Oh! Oh!” she gasps, “I didn’t see you there, buddy. I’m sorry for startling you!! I didn’t mean it.”
The door knob clatters loudly to the ground as it falls out of her grasp. And Kara sheepishly feels guilty for the hole in her door. But the cat meows loudly, catching her attention, as if in response to her apology.
She crouches down low, and reaches out a hand to touch the furball. She snaps a quick pic, sends it to Lena and pockets her phone.
To Lena: KITTY!!
“Oh, oh come here,” she coos, “where’s your collar? How’d you get here huh?”
The cat reminds her of Streaky. The first stray who ever took to her kindly. Although upon closer inspection, Kara realizes this one has striking emeralds for eyes, Streaky’s eyes were a more softer blue.
The cat surprisingly seems friendly, immediately leaning into Kara’s touch. Nosing at the inside of Kara’s wrist and it’s such a familiar gesture but she can’t seem to remember why.
And...oh, a small rumbling echoes through Kara’s palm!
Oh, they’re purring!
Kara doesn’t know how long she stays there crouched low exactly, but eventually, she stands up, takes her hand away, and picks up the damaged doorknob.
“Well, time for you to go home now, buddy,” she tells them, giving their head one last pat before dusting off her hands on her jacket.
“Go on, shooo. Shoo. Go home. I’m sure your human is looking for you.”
But the cat remains unmoving. It looks like they’ve decided to sit firmly in front of Kara’s doorstep, casually licking a paw, as if waiting for Kara to open her door.
“Are you actually waiting for me to open my door?” Kara makes a mental note to thank Rao that none of her neighbors can see her trying to hold a proper conversation with a cat.
“Look, kitty,” she says firmly, “I’m not your human.”
The cat just blinks owlishly at her. Eyes too green, too intelligent and-
Kara makes up her mind.
She turns her face skywards, takes a deep breath (This will probably backfire, she already knows. But she's always had a soft spot for strays.) and then she pushes her door wide open.
The cat races inside, cutting through Kara’s legs and almost tripping her.
“Well, somebody’s excited,” Kara mutters under her breath, she watches the cat head for her living room couch; watches as they pause all of a sudden, changes course and jumps onto Kara’s coffee table instead.
Where the cat then proceeds to knock down everything in close vicinity, even the picture frame of her and Lena together.
“Hey! No! Bad kitty-”
But the cat is already hopping down from her pedestal, landing on the frame directly.
And then things get weird.
The cat proceeds to stomp all over it, meows loud, like really loud; insanely loud for a cat their size.
Her paw seems to be almost pointing? At the other person in the frame.
“I-” Kara seems taken aback by the bizarre behavior, sure she knows cats are vastly different from dogs, but this…
This is just weird.
The cat’s meowing only seems to get louder.
How you land yourselves in these situations, Kara. I really just don’t know, at this point. She can almost hear Alex say.
“What are you- Are you- are you pointing? That’s- That’s Lena, yeah. That’s my best friend.”
At that, the cat seems to vibrate. They start clawing at Kara’s pant leg, meowing and meowing and meowing—
And then it hits her.
"-but it turns out that she’s a witch. And apparently, so am I."
The green, green eyes.
A pink nose nuzzling against her wrist.
“Lena?”
******
“Oh, Rao! Lena you’re a cat! What happened?! Oh, no, baby what did you do?”
Lena-
Lena The Cat—and okay, so she’s still wrapping her head around that one—just stays silent. She’s sitting on her lap, looking regal than any cat has any right to be. A judgmental look in her eyes.
Lena’s a cat. Cat’s can’t speak. Can’t answer Kara’s questions.
“Right. Sorry. Only meow,” Kara murmurs, embarrassed. For some reason even in cat form Lena manages to be intimidating.
“Okay so, uh d-does that mean you still understand me? Two meows for yes. One meow for no.”
Kara gets two meows.
“Okay, cool, cool. Great. You can still understand me, that's good.” Kara runs a hand down her spine, “Gosh, your fur is just so soft.”
She hears Lena give a small growl, body tensing, “Right. Right. Sorry. Not the time for pets.” Kara retracts her hand away.
“Uhm, so next question then, I guess? D-did you become a cat this morning? Were you testing out your uhm...gift?”
Lena meows twice. Kara nods, clenching and unclenching her fist underneath her chin. Fingers itching to run themselves through Lena’s soft fur again. Lena seems to sense this, and nuzzles her face into Kara’s hand, bumps against her repeatedly.
“Really?” Kara double-checks, giddy. If she were human Kara bets Lena would be rolling her eyes like she always does when Kara does something particularly dorky, but she just pushes her head firmer against Kara’s hand and meows twice.
“So uhm,” she starts, cautiously, noting Lena’s increasing purr, “is there like a spellbook for this or something? Something that can help you transform back?
Lena meows yes.
“Is it in The Tower or back at your place?”
There are no responses.
“Sorry, sorry lemme rephrase, is it in The Tower?”
She gets two consecutive meows.
Okay, to The Tower it is.
******
“Are you going to tell me why you’re cradling a cat in your cape or??” Alex raises a brow at her, a hand on her hip, left foot tapping impatiently. Her sister was heading out for the day, it looks like. It was just tough luck that Supergirl landed one minute before the elevator took Alex.
Crap. Now they have to explain. They didn’t talk about this. Lena still hasn’t told her if it was okay to tell people about her gift.
“I-I rescued it,” Kara says.
Well, that isn’t so far from the truth, right? She stares at the bundle in her arms, Lena the traitor staying silent all the while—green eyes shining all innocent at Kara.
Alex’s stares intensifies.
“From a tree,” Kara flounders, and Lena The Cat has the audacity to yawn, squirm and jump away from her arms. She lands gracefully, tail swishing up in the air and heads straight for the lab.
Alex eyes the cat suspiciously before turning back to Kara. She jabs a finger to her chest. “It better not have any fleas. It better not touch my training mat.”
“She won’t.”
Alex just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, grabs her helmet and walks to the elevator.
Before she goes though, Alex says, “You know, this is gonna sound weird, but I swear I think I saw that same cat slinking out of The Tower earlier this morning.”
“Alex, she’s literally a black cat. There are hundreds of black cats in the city.”
“You're being weirdly defensive about this. Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not.”
Alex seems like she wants to say more, but the elevator dings, and she’s never been more grateful that Kelly makes Alex pick her up from work. Alex huffs out breath, before conceding and disappearing into the lift.
******
The camera flash is what gets Kara busted.
But is it really her fault if she walked in on a cute kitty, hunched over, meowing adorably, trying to flip over the pages of a thick spellbook, with her teeny-tiny bean paws?
Lena hisses at her, teeth-bared and fur puffy.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you were just really, really, really cute okay?” She walks closer to the desk, carefully lifts a hand and scratches Lena behind the ear.
The hissing slowly devolves into purring, and Kara grins triumphantly. Lena lets herself be picked up after a few moments, Kara leafing through the pages for her.
“So, found anything yet?” She asks, cradling Lena close to her chest. A warm weight on Kara’s arms, and as much as she wants to get her real Lena back, she also isn’t too eager on giving up this version anytime soon. Then again, Kara thinks, it would be impossible for her to give up any version of Lena Luthor.
“Spell? Charm? Anything? Do you need to make a potion? Are we gonna get to make a potion? Oh, oh do you need a wand? Do you have a wa-”
Kara’s words get muffled as two black paws press against her lips. Lena’s green eyes narrowing at her. She meows at Kara. Loudly.
“Mkay, mkay. Shut up. Got it.”
Lena removes her paws, and Kara makes a gesture of zipping her lips together. This seems to appease Lena enough because the next second, a pink tongue darts out and she...licks Kara's nose.
“Did you- did you just lick me?” Kara gasps out.
Lena doesn’t even acknowledge her with a meow, just turns away and jumps out of her arms again. Before Kara can do anything about it though, her phone rings.
The screen lighting up with Andrea’s name.
“Danvers, I’ve got a story for you.”
******
“Alex, please, I’ll be quick. I promise. I’ll only be three hours at the most. Please just look after her,” she pleads, pouting and puppy eyes in full power.
It also helps that the cat burrito in her cape looks to be cooperating. Lena The Cat staring at Alex with wide round eyes.
Apparently, some governor was found dead downtown, and now Andrea wants her on the scene. She can’t just leave Lena all alone in The Tower. No matter how hard Lena’s been protesting, this is brand new territory for both of them. Nobody knows the extent of Lena’s powers.
Point is, Kara would feel a lot better if she were to leave Lena under the care of someone she trusts. Even if said someone, accuses Lena of being a stray with fleas. It's still better than leaving Lena all on her own.
“Ugh.” Alex groans and Kara knows she’s won. “If this cat causes trouble I will throw it out the window, Kara.”
“No!” Kara yells, distressed. “Don’t do that. She’ll behave. She promises.”
She puts her hand under Lena’s arms and raises her up to eye level—Simba style. “You promise to be good for Alex, don’t you?”
All she gets is a lot of squirming and screaming, there were also a lot of attempts at scratching Kara’s nose.
“See?” Kara says, chuckling nervously. “She’s telling you she’s good.”
Alex looks skeptical, her arms crossed against her chest.
Kara sets her down on the couch, and crouches down low.
She tries to pet her head, but Lena bites at her finger, she catches her teeth on the skin of her supersuit’s thumb slot. She bites deeper, her teeth accomplishing nothing but a few dents.
And oh, Rao she thinks she’s such a feral little cat but her pink adorable gummy snarl says otherwise.
“I’m sorry, I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers, careful not to let Alex hear. “And then we’ll figure it out later, okay? The safest place for you right now is to be with Alex.”
She really doesn’t want to go, and based on Lena’s protests she doesn’t want Kara to go either. But well, Andrea had finally threatened to fire her if she disobeyed...which is...fair.
She’s aware she’s been doing a less than stellar job at being a journalist lately. Rao, what an understatement. This is basically her make it or break it.
“Look, I’ll be quick, promise. Be good to Alex,” Kara murmurs. She presses a kiss on Lena’s furry forehead. Lena finally unclenches her jaw and lets Kara go. The little whine she lets out, letting Kara know that she knows the battle’s lost.
“Both of you, be good,” Kara tells them sternly. “Alex, please don’t yeet my cat out of the window.”
Alex shrugs, staring at the cat with suspicion. “I make no promises.’
Lena is staring at Alex just as hostile. Great. They both deserve each other.
Kara sighs exasperatedly. Well, at least she tried.
******
She gets a very angry Alex Danvers on the line, right after she’s finished talking to some sources. It’s nighttime now, and when she checks her watch—yep, she’s left Lena in Alex’s care for more than six hours.
Crap.
“Hey, Al—”
“KARA IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THIS THIS THIS GODDAMNED HAIRBALL RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SEE IT EVER AGAIN.”
There is loud meowing, and then, “What the- Get off! Get off me right no-”
The line clicks dead.
Kara Danvers quickly changes into an alley, manages to break the sound barrier.
******
It’s Kelly who opens the door.
“Hey, Kara,” she greets her. Kara is impatiently rocking on her heels, trying to peer past Kelly’s shoulders.
The place was quiet; ridiculously quiet, and Kara feels fear swoop in her belly.
“Please, tell me my cat is still alive,” Kara bursts out, Kelly just gives her a pained smile and oh, no, oh no.
She muscles her way past Kelly to a brooding Alex on the couch.
Lena is nowhere to be seen.
“Alex, Alex where’s my cat? Where is she? Where did you put her?”
Alex finally looks up at her, Kara taking notice of the red marks on her arm.
Oh no, Lena, what did you do?
“Calm down, I didn’t throw the little demon away. She’s-" Alex sing-songs before finishing, "on time-out.”
“Time-out?” Kara asks, voice shaking. Rao, does she really want to know.
Alex takes too long to answer, taking a swig of her beer first before pointing to a corner in the living room.
And there, she spots it.
It, being a small pile of laundry on the floor, next to an upside down hamper. A big white hamper housing one Lena Luthor. There's a crude cardboard sign stuck on it; "Kitty Jail". Alex has also stacked a few encyclopedia on top of it, no doubt an attempt to keep Lena from escaping.
“Oh! Oh, Lena!”
Kara superspeeds her way and scoops Lena up, the cat meowing immediately and curling into Kara’s chest.
“You named the cat after Lena?!”
Crap.
Kara turns around slowly, “Uhm yeah?”
Alex just shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”
“Her eyes reminded me of Lena, okay?!” Kara yells defensively, pressing tiny kisses onto Lena’s fur.
“I’m sorry that Alex has been such a meanie to you," she coos, "I know you didn’t deserve it, baby."
Alex seems to perk up at that, because she raises up from the couch. “That,” Alex jabs a finger in their direction, Kara cradles Lena protectively, “That baby ruined my couch and she so totally deserves all the mean! All the mean in the world, Kara!”
Lena hisses in her arms.
“No, no. That’s not true. Lena is baby and she’s perfect and you’re just a meanie.”
“She ruined my upholstery! She left hair all over the place and that’s not even to mention the scratching!”
“Because you were mean to her!”
Alex scoffs, eyes bulging wide in disbelief.
“Get out,” Alex says, her brows pinching comically, “Get out of my apartment before that little devil causes more damage.”
“Gladly,” Kara says, and Lena meows her assent. They make their way past Alex, Kara unaware that Lena has stuck out her little tongue at Alex over her shoulder.
“And she’s not a little devil!” Kara calls out.
Alex slams the door in her face.
******
That evening, Kara pores over a thick spellbook, eyes swimming with Latin symbols with a purring machine on her lap.
By midnight, Kara has managed to pass out on her couch, a black cat curled on her chest.
The spellbook lay open on her coffee table, forgotten.
******
The first sight that greets Kara when she wakes up are green eyes.
Green human eyes.
And then it hits her.
“Lena!”
The spell had blessedly wore off by morning, and Kara’s never been more glad to see the sunlight lighting up Lena’s face.
For a moment, Kara’s assaulted with the mental image of laying in a pool of sunlight with a black cat stretching leisurely next to her.
“Good morning,” Lena purrs, and oh Rao, that sound is much, much better than her meowing.
“You’re back!” Kara gasps in awe.
“I’m back,” she whispers, she’s still draped fully over Kara on the couch. A blanket covering them both.
“Rao, I missed you.” A palm comes up to cup her cheeks, Lena automatically nuzzling into the inside of her wrist.
“Mm, I missed me, too,” Lena tells her, face breaking into a small smile. Kara traces her fingers up and down Lena’s spine. Oh, how she’s missed touching Lena’s skin.
Wait-
Skin.
Is she-
“Lena,” Kara begins, swallowing. Her nerves not going unnoticed.
Lena raises a brow at her. “Kara?”
“Are you- uhm- ah. Are you naked right now?”
Lena’s eyes light up like a cat’s and Kara knows she’s in trouble.
“Mm. It seems that I am,” Lena says, and all Kara can do is gulp.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
special shoutout to @mike-wachowski, @sexybread-png and @thebreakfastgod for their cat expertise without whom this silly little fic would not be written.
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skylarsblue · 3 years ago
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Random Our Life Headcanons
Cove:  -He’s terrified of large flying bugs. Like cicadas and beetles. -He has a real bad concept of time, which often leads to him staying up too late, spending too much time on one thing, etc. -Unless he just happens to see it on TV, he’ll never get around to shows/movies you suggest. It’s not intentional, he just always forgets.  -Cove cannot handle sour food. 
Derek: -Derek is obviously the sporty type, but he’s also a book worm. He owns tons of books. He’ll read just about anything. If it’s raining or it’s too cold to go out, he likes sitting with tea and a sweater. He likes to truly immerse himself in whatever book he’s reading. -He’s kind of a mom friend. He always carries bandaids, tylenol, etc. If he has his bag with him, it probably has some water bottles and snacks in it. -He actually needs reading glasses, but he only wears them when he’s reading books, and he stops needing them by the time he’s 18. -While he much prefers loose clothing and warm weather, during older seasons, he enjoys big sweaters and fluffy blankets.
Baxter: -He struggles with caffeine addiction. Several times, he’s managed to get off things like coffee and energy drinks, stick to water or tea. And then he falls right back into it. -Baxter can eat about anything, but he can’t stand green beans. Ever since he was a kid, he could never stand them. -He’s actually really good at cooking, his specialty usually falls into soups. You sick? Have him make you chicken noodle soup. You’ll never be able to go back to the canned stuff. -He’s always dreamed of having and driving a motorcycle, but he doesn’t know how to ride a bike, and honestly at this point? He’s afraid to ask. Lizzie: -While she’s decent at cooking, she cannot bake. No matter how hard she tries, what recipe she uses, it always turns out wrong. Most often times, it comes out burnt. -Lizzie can actually play the harmonica. She had a real intense obsession with it when she was around 8-11. So now she’s very good at it. -She has oddly remarkable hearing. About nothing gets past her, purely because she’ll hear it coming. Sometimes she uses it to mess with people. -The amount of spice she likes in her food is ridiculous. She’d add spice to desserts if someone didn’t stop her. Pamela: -The main reason you can’t have pets, is because Pamela has bad fur allergies. But as for things like reptiles? She’s creeped out by them. Fish might be okay, but she usually worries that someone would forget to feed them. -While she doesn’t really believe in ghosts, for some reason, paranormal-based horror movies scare her the worst. -While she’s an excellent driver, for some reason, she’s been in the most wrecks/accidents. She just has the worst luck in cars it seems. -Before meeting Noelani in college, she actually didn’t know how to swim, and avoided places like the beach out of embarrassment.
Noelani: -Noelani is actually pretty artistic. She decided to ditch paint when she got MC and Lizzie, so it wouldn’t end up all over the couch or something. But she still really enjoys coloring with her kids.| -She can’t stand most alcohol unless it’s very fruity. But the ones she hates the most is whiskey, tequila, and vodka. She says they taste like paint stripper. -She’s actually the cleaner and most organized between herself and Pamela. But she’s not the type to get angry if she comes home to a mess. She actually finds the process of cleaning therapeutic. -While Pamela is great at it, she is awful at keeping track of time. She has about a 30 alarms set just to remind her of basic things. Miranda: -She struggles letting go of things, because a lot of the time, she finds sentimental value in them. It’s why she still has so many stuffed animals, even if they’re clearly dirty or damaged. -Miranda can rarely find jewelry she can wear cause she has an allergy, she needs metals that are hypoallergenic or just straight plastic. It’s why she prefers bead bracelets/necklaces. -She can’t dance for the life of her, but it never stops her anyways. -She has a very selective memory. Will she remember a very important date? Possibly, if you remind her enough. Will she remember half the lessons she got from school? Not at all. But every sign in her cousin’s astrology chart? For some reason, yeah!
Terry: -Terry can’t stand sitting in silence. It makes him jumpy, paranoid even. He needs some kind of white noise. Problem is, he’s also easily distracted. -No one knows why, but he is obsessed with crustaceans. Lobsters, crabs, etc. He finds them very fascinating for some reason. -Back when he was younger, he was great at timed reading, and was honestly a few grades above of the rest of his class. Now? It’s rare to see him reading much of anything. He can’t find something that holds his attention. -Terry actually doesn’t like sweets all that much. Occasionally, yeah. But most of the time he prefers salt/savory food. Cliff: -This man can speak fluently in spanish, purely because it was one of the only classes he actually enjoyed in school. -While it got better, he used to have super bad asthma as a kid. Which is part of the reason he likes getting out and being active now, he missed out on quite a lot as a kid. -He loves the ocean but he absolutely hates eels. They freak him out. -Cliff has a low alcohol tolerance, surprisingly. You’d think he’d have a better tolerance from being so taller or his “training” in college. But no. About three beers and he’s drunk. Kyra: -She grew up with dogs, but Kyra is actually more of a cat person. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like dogs though. Her dream cat is a maine coon. -Kyra’s the one Cove got the bad eyesight from. Though she usually uses contacts, since she feels glasses often get in the way. -She loves trying new foods from places, and she often tries to support local restaurants. Even if she didn’t like the first dish she got from a place, she’ll still gives them a shot a few more times before deciding she won’t go anymore. -Brand loyalist? Nah, the opposite. There are some brands she will utterly refuse to buy. Usually it’s because the corporation has done something bigoted.
Lee: -While you’d never expect it, she actually really likes alternative/punk music. Though for the most part, she’s willing to listen to any genre. -Do not even try to make her watch a horror movie with you, she will outright refuse. Lee can’t stand them, she’s often prone to nightmares. -Lee went through a phase where she wanted a tongue ring, but then she saw how they were actually done, and quickly decided she didn’t want too.  -Lee is actually pretty skilled at skating. She likes going to skate parks and busting out her roller blades, though she often gets her knees scraped up too. 
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izusun · 3 years ago
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Goblin anon here absolutely screeching over feral quirkless Midoriya, it's everything I wanted
I would like to also introduce a brand (my brand) of feral to Midoriya: pyromaniac.
Imagine Midoriya getting through the entrance exam by saving people, but also by bringing makeshift Molotov cocktails and wrecking almost as much shop as Bakugou.
Imagine the battle trials where Bakugou tries to blow up the building because "that's the only way to keep this little shit down" and in response Midoriya dodges and then sets the building on fire.
Imagine the USJ incident, which goes about the same, but his first instinct is to set the Noumu on fire. Yes he does so. He also nearly sets the stadium on fire at the sports festival so much that they had to evacuate sections of the stadium.
Midoriya (say it with me now) sets Stain on fire. When Tsukauchi meets with the murder trio after the Hosu incident, he just sighs and is like "Midoriya, really?" And this is when we learn that Midoriya has a history of coming across random villains and setting them on fire. When Inko arrives to pick him up she's just like "You're grounded."
There's theories about what Midoriya's quirk, everything from increased intelligence to extremely shitty luck to the ability to make anything he touches explodes (due to his inane ability to make a bomb/lighter out of the most insane things). When it comes out that he's quirkless, it just makes everyone even more afraid, as Midoriya can make a bomb out of some LSD and a rubber duck quirkless-
Pyromaniac quirkless Midoriya.
- Goblin anon
GOBLIN ANON IT’S BEEN AGES IM SORRY IM JUST RESPONDING NOW (ive been so bad at responding asks my god i struggle but thank u for ur au dumps, i love loVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!)
IM IN LOVE WITH THIS AU
feral quirkless gremlin midoriya going through shit by setting things on fire is just the way to go im duwldjwksk
i read midoriya with molotov cocktails and i have not stopped simping for and thinking about this midoriya
genuinely swooning at this ver of him
midoriya probably has a collection of lighters and basically does those hand tricks to calm him down or to take his mind off of things
bakugou and midoriya being more familiar with each other in their middle school days compared to canon and bakugou gifting midoriya with personalized all might lighter god that’s adorable
ok but they’re talking about their favourite heroes and bakugou goes, “shocking that you don’t like endeavour.”
and midoriya just shrugs, twisting his hand and fingers to orchestrate the fire’s dance from his lighter, his viridian eyes brighter and says, “his fire feels wrong.” and they leave it at that
midoriya being inspired by bakugou’s explosions and attempting to copy those so bad that bakugou thought midoriya’s trying out for support classes
OK BUT FIGHT WITH SLUDGE VILLAIN?
he yanks out makeshift molotov cocktails from his bag, lights them up and throws them at the bastard. the sludge villain screams and retreats slightly because not only was he facing the fires but also the exploded glass shards. it gave enough time for bakugou to explode the villain and escape enough to allow him to breathe. in the end, all might still defeats the sludge but he misses bakugou and midoriya who escaped. no ofa for firey green bean.
bakugou helping midoriya create more explosions.
“but kacchba i want fire, not explosions!”
“same difference you pyro asshole!”
midoriya learns them anyways and enjoys it.
THE EXAM!!
i have two ways:
one: midoriya appealed to the staff that he needed support items and they allowed him and they watched in shock as this little boy explodes the arena worse than the explosion-quirked student. of course he passes and aizawa took him on as his student.
two: midoriya appealed to the staff that he needed his support items but the staff did NOT allow him because they’re considered weapons (as if quirks are not genetic weapons but i DIGRESS) and so when the exam starts, he stays at the very back of the other examinees. this was so that when he arrives at the scene, there are already spare parts for him to scavenge so that he can build makeshift explosions (foregoing whatever shit he learned from katsuki because all that’s on his mind right now are molotov cocktails)
so that’s what happens. he scavenges parts and hides inside one of the buildings so that he can focus more on making explosions and be less worried about being attacked. when he was fully geared, he steps out and begins to retaliate.
he works fast as to not waste his time and the makeshift explosions. because of this, others (ahem-aoyama-ahem) had no opportunity to steal his score.
same thing happens: uraraka gets caught and midoriya explodes the zero pointer. this time, however, the robot is utterly destroyed.
aizawa and majima saw midoriya’s performance, adored it, and began fighting for midoriya.
“majima, he’s here for the hero classes.”
“great. now give him to me.”
nezu pretends that he’s not planning on splitting midoriya’s schedule anyways.
BATTLE TRIAL OH MY GOD rip all might i bet you keeled over so bad, you were one second from turning to small might there and then.
all might: ok so one explodey kid to look out for. that’s not bad.
all might, one minute later: this green kid looks familiar…
all might, ten minutes later: what the fuck.
NO BECAUSE bakugou and midoriya being excited to explode things (well, more like midoriya’s excited and bakugou just wants to fight midoriya) and having a blast when fighting each other.
1a’s probably thinking “oh no” followed by “they’re hot” (literally too because yk the building’s on fire.)
MIDORIYA EXPLODING THE NOUMU??? king shit
midoriya saw this monster running to aizawa and he just points a more eloquent looking flame thrower (thank u mei for working with midoriya with that) at this beast and sets it on fire.
it effectively slowed the noumu and gave the others an opportunity to pull aizawa from the hit zone. it also granted all might more freedom when fighting the noumu because it was slowed enough that all might didn’t have to worry about exceeding his time limit.
the fire damaged some of its nerve processes that the scientist and afo had not accounted for. of course this review is returned to them and many of the noumus become fireproof because of this incident.
OK BUT DURING THE SPORTS FEST
midoriya crushing on todoroki because fire.
he was actually very interested in todoroki prior to sports fest but something about todoroki’s fight against sero sparked something more in midoriya. midoriya saw the anger from his ice, now he wants to see the same intensity from his fire.
his spiel of “that’s your power, todoroki” goes differently. todoroki still pulls him aside and trauma dumps on him but this time he goes, without missing a beat, “that fire is a waste on you.”
todoroki full body pauses because that’s not something he’s ever, well, considered to hear after trauma dumping.
“what?” he croaks, confused at the bubbling feeling. it’s a miasma of anger and hurt, but to a scale so unfamiliar.
midoriya shrugs. “fire is unique, more so as an elemental quirk. you think it doesn’t make half of you—well, i mean you’re right. it doesn’t. you make it. you control it. fire is often uncontrollable and yet here you are, having it as your power. it’s yours to control, so control it. use it.”
todoroki’s ears are ringing.
“you have it as your power.”
“so control it.”
and so he did.
midoriya watched todoki’s fire; watched the way the flames lick up up up and leaves no air bathed in heat. midoriya sees the rawness of anger and determination and thinks, “this is how fire should always look like.”
unconsciously he also thinks how todoroki’s fire is far more beautiful than endeavour’s.
midoriya loses and he’s not as sad about it. losing to something sentient (fire, not todoroki), for him, is a blessing.
todoroki advances along with bakugou.
bakugou who is jealous of todoroki because he saw how midoriya eyed todoroki’s fire and knew todoroki’s a competition in other more ways.
bakugou wins again, this time less angry because todoroki used his fire against him.
STAIN THINKING MIDORIYA’S JUST THIS WEIRD HERO STUDENT WHO HAS NO SPECIFIC QUIRK UNTIL HE FEELS FLAME KISS HIS SKIN AND SCREAMS BECAUSE DAMN IT GREEN EYED KID JUST SET HIM ON FIRE
todoroki full on pausing because he thought he’s the one who set stain on fire unconsciously only to follow the fire’s trail and sees it’s from one of midoriya’s many support items.
“shoot i didn’t mean to burn him that fast!”
“that’s your issue!?”
midoriya gives them a “duh?” look and todoroki feels himself warming up (HAH another fire pun) at midoriya’s ease.
flying noumi still comes and picks him up but midoriya also sets this thing on fire. the difference between a winged noumu and a normal noumu is that the wings are far more flammable and midoriya had quite a bit of fun at setting it on fire and hearing the crackling of flames on rubbery wings.
endeavour casts him a glance that speaks of approval and midoriya doesn’t know if he hates it or not.
tsukauchi arrives and sees not only stain, but the noumu and heaves up a very big sigh. “midoriya, really?”
GOBLIN! PYROMANIAC QUIRKLESS MIDORIYA IZUKU IS A FAVE IM SCREAMING
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alldayangst · 3 years ago
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lovebug (Tom Holland)
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GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!
A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.
“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.
Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.
Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”
Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”
And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”
Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”
Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”
“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”
It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.
He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.
“When life was beginning, I saw -”
“When life was-”
“When life was be-fuck!”
“When life was beginning, I saw you.”
Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”
“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”
You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.
“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 
“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.
You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.
“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.
Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 
“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.
“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”
Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”
“The whole crew?”
Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.
Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”
“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-
Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”
Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.
“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.
“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”
A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 
“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.
“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.
Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.
You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”
Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.
“You have a beautiful laugh.” 
You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”
“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”
You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”
By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 
“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.
“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.
The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.
“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 
You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.
It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 
Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.
Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”
The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.
A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.
You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.
The scene wasn’t working.
The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.
“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”
And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”
Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”
Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”
“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.
“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”
Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”
Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 
Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.
“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 
They’d been over this already twelve times today.
“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”
Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 
Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”
Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.
Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”
And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”
When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”
Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”
“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”
“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”
“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”
“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.
“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”
“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”
Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 
“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”
“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 
You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.
Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.
“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”
Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.
The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”
“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 
He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.
Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?
“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”
Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”
He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”
Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”
You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.
It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.
Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 
“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”
“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”
“What?”
“Lovebug.”
Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”
“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”
And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.
It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.
“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.
“Alright, everyone take five.”
“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.
“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.
Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.
“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.
Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.
“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”
When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 
Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.
“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”
“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.
“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”
“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.
“What did they say it was?”
“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.
Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.
“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”
“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.
“I just miss you, that’s all.”
“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 
“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”
Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.
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stylistiquements · 4 years ago
Text
The Sorcerer pt. 1
Corpse Husband x gn!reader
Reincarnation AU | Summary :
The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞
You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.
☾ Words : 6009.
☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 
Masterlist | Next 
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What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.
“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.
“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.
“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.
Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.
Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.
Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.
He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.
See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.
Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.
His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.
His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.
At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.
When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.
23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.
The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.
Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.
Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.
That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.
Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.
Fuck, not now please.
Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.
It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.
Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.
He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.
“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”
Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.
“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.
Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.
He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.
“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”
“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”
They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?
Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.
“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.
“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.
Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.
The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.
The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.
Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.
Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.
Dear you,
Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.
As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.
I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.
I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.
Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.
Yours truly, Corpse Husband
The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.
Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.
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A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.
Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.
Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.
After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.
One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.
In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.
His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.
Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.
Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.
[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]
Huh.
He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?
Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.
Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.
Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.
However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:
[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]
Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.
[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]
[Who told you shit like that anyway?]
[I just know someone.]
His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.
[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]
[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]
Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”
What a weird day.
Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?
[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.
[A sincere fuck you.]
[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]
The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.
[Fine, tell me what you need.]
[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]
Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.
[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]
[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.
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Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.
“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”
“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.
Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.
“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?
Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.
“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.
“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”
“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.
“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.
“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”
He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.
“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?
“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.
Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.
“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”
Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.
“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”
“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.
“He never answered me," you mumble.
“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.
You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.
"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.
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When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.
That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.
“Honey, I was waiting for you.”
Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.
Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.
“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”
With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.
“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.
“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”
The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.
“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.
“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”
Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.
In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.
When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.
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☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)
☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;
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pockyxx · 4 years ago
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“ seijoh 3rd years as boyfriends ”
oikawa toru x reader, iwaizumi hajime x reader, matsukawa issei x reader and hanamaki takahiro x reader
genre: fluff
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oikawa
would be the type of boyfriend to send you those lovey dovey good morning texts 
even if they were cheesy as hell you’d know they were sincere 
he’d always be there to reassure you when you felt insecure 
this includes when you’re insecure about all his fan girls constantly giving him attention 
tight hugs 
this boy may be scrawny but I know he’d squeeze the life outa you
you’d bully him along with iwa-chan 
he’d text you at ungodly hours with new alien conspiracy theories 
would take you to instagram-able places for dates 
definitely would initiate the cuddles 
would force you to wear his jersey on game days 
his love language is words of affirmation 100% and will always remind you how much he loves you
“Hurry up shittykawa, you were suppose to be warming up five minutes ago!” Iwaizumi scolded him in the hallway of the recreational center that the volleyball tournament was being held at.  Oikawa stuck his tongue out at his childhood best friend. 
“So mean iwa-chan, can’t you see I’m with n/n-chan.” He called you by the nickname only he called you. Your cheeks begin to heat up as Iwaizumi had caught you mid kiss. The ace rolled his eyes and went back to join the rest of the team. 
“Where were we? Oh right, my good luck kisses!” He snickered, waiting for you to get up on your tiptoes to plant a handful of kisses on his lips. 
“You heard him shittykawa, you’re game is starting soon!” You denied him, dragging him towards the court he was to be playing on. 
“Not you too!” He whined in an over dramatic fashion yet he couldn’t help but think how cute you looked dragging him, his hoodie draping over your figure perfectly. 
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iwaizumi
tries to act tough and manly but is really a big ole baby 
wouldn’t be much for pda except for the occasional hand holding and waist grabbing 
in private tho... this man would cling onto you like no tomorrow
loves when you touch/ play with his hair--its softer than it looks 
forces you to watch his godzilla movies but in return you can make him watch whatever you want
his love language is definitely physical touch 
he loves idle touches, just feeling your skin against his 
walks you home and waits for you to step into your house before leaving 
great big bears hugs, no one can tell me other wise 
hits the ball extra hard when he knows you’re watching 
always wants to know about how your day’s been 
You cuddled up to your boyfriend’s side, as his eyes are glued to the screen; as if someone was going to kill him if he looked away. Yawning slightly you lay your head in his lap as you grab his hand to play with his fingers. 
You’d lost interest in the plot, finding Hajime’s reactions much more enjoyable. Watching his expressions change from excited to sad to anxious was enough to make you laugh. 
“What’s so funny babe?” He looked down at you, finally taking his eyes off the movie. You looked up at him as his larger hand was still in yours. 
“You’re really cute Hajime. Did you know that?” You giggled, making his face blush a deep shade of red before he snapped his head away from your gaze.
You sat up, forcing him to lock eyes with you, laughing again at the sight of such a macho man being so flustered just by words. 
“Don’t act like it’s a bad thing.” You leaned forward and kissed him softly on his lips, “you’re a softy deep down.”
Iwaizumi’s heart went into overload. He brought you into his arms, in a bone-crushing and laid back down on the couch to finish the movie.
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matsukawa
definition of dating your best friend 
enjoys listening to you talk about your day 
would send you really funny memes in the middle of class just to see you get red as you try to hold into your laughter 
your laughter is like music to his ears 
loves pda, as long as you’re okay with it 
would take you to mcdonalds anytime of the day, just say the words 
besides memes and reaction pics, his camera roll would be filled with stupid pictures of you 
surprisingly good at cuddling 
place things high out of your reach just so you can ask him to get it down for you 
silly pet names; like that are overly absurd
he would get involved with your interests/ hobbies or a sport you play  
Class was just so boring, especially with your teacher being a rude old fart. You sat near the front and as your sensei wrote something down on the chalkboard you looked behind to catch a glance at your boyfriend, Issei. 
He was looking at his phone as per usual, probably messaging his friend Makki in the class next to you. His dark eyebrows had been raised, his lips tugging into a half smile and you could tell he was up to something. 
On your desk, your phone buzzed and you could only attribute it to your boyfriend sending you a message. Of course you were right and went to check it out. 
matt-sunshine: *attachment one photo* this could be us but you playin 
You looked back at him hesitantly but Issei had gone back to paying attention to the lecture. Biting your lips, you opened the picture your boyfriend had sent and you then proceeded to pray that you’d be able to keep your mouth shut. 
The picture in question had been two feet mimicking holding hands, except it was toes. For some reason that picture with what Issei had captioned it had sent you over the top. You let a loud, ugly laugh slip past your lips.
As you excepted, your teacher had issued you three days of after school detention for that. You glarred at your boyfriend, upset with him getting you in trouble but it was soon forgiven after he offered to take you out to eat after your detention. 
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hanamaki
similar to mattsun: he’d be your best friend and lover 
when you’re feeling down he’ll do/ say funny thing to make you feel better 
you dye each other's hair 
lots of teasing on both ends 
this boy is always hyping you up no matter the occasion 
is mutual to pda, it all depends on how you feel about it 
loves to kiss all your ticklish spots just to see you giggle 
convos with him would be like you saying something funny, then makki following it up with something even more funny and so forth until you’re both about to pee your pants 
no matter what’s happening, he’s got a meme for it
religiously quotes the ‘ily bitchhh, and i ain’t ever gonna stop loving you, bitchhh’ vine when talking to you 
You sat in Takahiro’s room, waiting for him to come back up with snacks for your video game session, something you and him took very seriously. You leaned back in the bean bag, thinking about what the loser’s punishment would be and right as an idea popped into your head, your boyfriend walked in. 
He placed the candies, chips and sodas on the small coffee table and passed you the Wii remote. 
“So my precious booger,” cue the disgusting nickname he swore on his grandfather’s grave was suppose to be endearing, “what will the looser have to do this time?” Takahiro flopped down next to you. 
Pressing your lips together, cautiously bringing up what you had in mind.  “Loser has to dye their hair hmm... green!” he laughed and agreed to the idea. 
The two of your then wiped off the cutesy faces before starting the game: Mario Kart. You looked at him, a competitive glaze coating his eyes. You knew for sure you didn’t want to loose. 
After a grueling final race, the winners slides popped up and to your surpirse you were the winner. 
Makki threw his control in disbelief, “it’s rigged, I swear!” He huffed, crossing his arms but you only got up in his face, teasing him with your victory. 
“Now you’re going to be the booger-head, Hiro!” He rolled his eyes, gentally hitting your face with a pillow before standing up. 
“Where are you going?” You wondered, drinking some of the soda he’d offered you earlier. 
“That hair dye won’t buy itself.” 
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