#and i started reading it thinking it would just be a normal post

[violetcamryn]

OMG HII I READ THE UR RECENT FIC ABT SNOTLOUT AND I NEED MORE OF HIMM!!

Just an idea maybe an enemies to lovers trope w him and they got together bc he got jealous over smth?

thank you for the request. i hope this is sort of what you were looking for 🤭

“SOMETHING UNSPOKEN”

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x reader

Trope: slight enemies to lovers (they just don’t know how to communicate)

Warnings/ heads-up: use of “Y/N” literally twice (i’ve heard some ppl don’t like to read fics that use “Y/N” so here’s your heads-up). Other than that, none!

AN: this is literally my first fanfic ever, please be kind. i’m so nervous to post this. anyways i hope you love it! as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated

You were pacing around your room, thinking about everything that had gone wrong earlier today.

First, Hiccup had accidentally stepped on your heel during dragon training which made you get distracted and end up getting eliminated in front of the students (he apologized profusely afterwards).

You had been late to teach the younger dragon riders and ended up only getting half the lesson done, which would set them back even farther than they already were.

But the cherry on top was Snotlout being in the way every time you needed to do something.

Every day there was the constant flirting, which was so poorly executed and poorly timed all it did was annoy you. He knew it too, he just wanted to get a rise out of you.

Then there was the fact that every time you had a moment of peace and quiet, he had to go off on some tangent about how “nobody else knows how to ride dragons like he can” and “he should be teaching his own class”. Everybody knew it wasn’t true, because nothing would ever get done if he was teaching his own class, but he believed it nonetheless.

The worst of it was when he’d kick your shins under the dining table, and then deny it was him. You weren’t sure why (or how) you ended up sitting across from him almost every meal, but I guess the fact that he showed up late to every meal and just happened to sit down across from you would account for it.

After pacing your room for what felt like hours, you finally laid down to get some sleep after a rather agitating day.

In the morning, you made your way to the mead hall to have breakfast with everyone. Fishlegs had brought along the dragon manual to study, and everybody was completely engrossed in it.

You slid onto the bench in between Astrid and Fishlegs, and they welcomed you by sliding you a plate of breakfast. You probably should have paid more attention to the seating arrangements, you realized after a few seconds.

Directly across from you was Snotlout, who was unsurprisingly causing a ruckus. Him and Tuffnut were pushing eachother across the bench and knocked into Ruffnut, which didn’t help the noise level after she shouted at them to stop.

When they finally started to eat breakfast like normal people, you were able to focus on the day ahead.

The day was going to be busy— dragon training in the morning, lunch and study sesh with the gang, fence repair in the afternoon (the sheep got out again, shocker), and then dinner at the lookout in the evening.

“So, who’s teaching the class with me this morning?” you asked the group. You had checked the schedule and Astrid was supposed to be helping you, along with some new guy, but the schedule was always changing.

“Well, there’s been a slight change of plans. I know I was supposed to help you today but I have to help Gobber with this stupid project he’s started, so we figured we’d send Snotlout with you today” Astrid said hesitantly.

You looked her dead in the eyes with an “are you serious right now” glare, and all she could do was shoot you an apologetic smile.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise” Snotlout chimed in with a smile, taking a quick pause from his extremely messy eating.

“You better be” you replied.

After everybody had cleaned up their breakfast, you all made your way out of the hall and off to your morning routines.

——————————————————————

The arena was full of younger dragon riders, all eager to learn the new skills you had planned to teach them.

The new trainer, some guy whose name you didn’t know yet, was there and greeted you with a smile. You smiled back but didn’t have time to chat. Not that you cared for small talk anyways, you were there to teach.

You anxiously checked the time, and everyone except for one person was at the lesson on time.

“Great way to start the lesson” you mentioned when Snotlout finally showed up, late.

He gave you an apologetic smile but that didn’t make up for the fact that you had lost 10 minutes of valuable teaching time.

You got over it quickly though, because your mind became preoccupied with just how incompetent these younger dragon riders were.

One of them couldn’t even get his dragon to sit still for more than 5 seconds, so for the majority of the class time there was no hope of him learning the new flying skills you had planned for the day.

The other dragon trainer, whose name you now heard from one of the kids was Leif, managed to get the kid onto his dragon after 15 minutes of him trying on his own. Thank Odin.

The rest of the lesson went smoothly, and soon enough it was time to clean up.

You walked over the Leif and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks for your help, I’m not sure what that lesson would’ve looked like if you hadn’t got that kid on his dragon” you said.

“No problem, anytime” he replied with a smile.

You turned to leave the arena, and you saw Snotlout standing with Hookfang, looking…upset?

“Jeez, who pissed in his drink this morning?” you thought to yourself as you walked out of the arena.

The rest of the day went by quicker than you anticipated. Lunch + study sesh with everyone was the same as usual, except for the fact that Snotlout was nowhere to be seen.

You chalked it up to him not wanting to study and skipping out again. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Fixing the fence was a pain, especially since the twins (who were the only other people assigned to help) were absolutely useless. They so much time fighting about who would fix it better, that neither of them actually helped fix ANY of it.

You were so thankful that dinner came as soon as it did. You strolled up to the lookout where everyone had planned to meet up for dinner.

You and Snotlout just happened to be the first people there.

“I see you’re actually early for something for once” you half-joked.

He didn’t say anything back, which surprised you. Normally he would take a jab at you any chance he got, but not today.

“I guess skipping out on the study sesh earlier really must have given you some time to get here early” you tried again.

Still, nothing.

You sat silently for what felt like hours (it was literally 5 minutes), before the rest of the crew showed up. Fishlegs was the first to arrive, and he immediately noticed Snotlout’s quiet demeanour. He was not going to be the one to complain though, he was going to enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted…

It lasted a total of 15 seconds before the twins showed up and started talking loudly about everything they did (or didn’t) do that day, which included NOT helping you fix the fence (you were still bitter about it).

Once everyone else had arrived, everyone began eating and chatting. Not Snotlout though, he was quiet. None of the usual kicking your shin or pushing Tuffnut off the end of the bench. Just…eating silently.

You wondered what had brought on this sudden change of character, but you were soon preoccupied with the group conversation.

Dinner went by quickly, and you were thankful for it. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to be back in your bed. You had hoped that after a nights rest, tomorrow’s dragon training lesson would go better.

You usually stayed behind to clean up, as it gave you something to do to wind down from the day before you went home.

Everyone else made their way down from the lookout and started to head home, thanking you as they left.

But one person had stayed behind.

“So you and Mr. Dragon Trainer must be pretty close then, huh?” Snotlout asked suddenly.

You turned around with a confused look and didn’t know how to respond.

“I saw you two at the end of the lesson today, you seemed like you REALLY enjoyed his company” he said.

“I was thanking him for getting that kid on his dragon, that’s all. Plus, why do you even care?” you responded. “It’s not like you offered up a helping hand much today” you added before scooping up the rest of the leftover food and tossing it to the dragons that were lying below the lookout.

“Well I would have if I had a chance to, but you seemed to busy with good ol’ Mr. Dragon Trainer to notice if I did” he said.

“Why does it matter if I notice? You’re there to teach a class Snotlout, not show off” you replied, sitting down on the bench across from him.

“Why do you think I even took up teaching that class? I knew he was going to be there, but do you really think I enjoy teaching a class with that guy? No I certainly don’t” he retorted.

“What are you getting at, Snotlout?” You were completely lost about where this conversation was going.

“I took up teaching that class because I would get to teach with you” he blurted out. He immediately looked like he regretted it, and looked down at the floor.

“What do you mean you wanted to teach with me? You treat me like you can’t even stand me half the time. You’re constantly trying to annoy me and get me to be frustrated with you, why would you want to spend MORE time with me?” you asked, sincerely confused.

“You ever think about the fact that maybe I don’t want to annoy you? Maybe I just wanted the attention that came from it?” he asked softly, still looking at the ground.

“What- huh?” you stammered, trying to compose your thoughts.

“You really thought I wanted to annoy you because, what, I disliked you? No, I wanted you to notice me.” he said.

You took a moment to process what was happening; the man who had spent the past who-knows-how-long pestering you, teasing you, and picking fights with you, wanted you to…notice him?

“I didn’t think that being nice would make you notice me. I thought I’d just seem like every other guy in the village. Which apparently seems to be your type, seeing as you were buddying it up with Leif earlier…” he mumbled at the end.

“Please for the love of Thor, enough about Leif! I don’t care about him. In fact, he didn’t even know his name until today. That should show you just how little he matters to me” you responded, slightly irritated.

“Sorry. I just..I don’t know. Seeing you with him today, touching his shoulder, I got jealous. I wanted you to notice me but you were too busy with him” he admitted.

You almost couldn’t believe the words you were hearing.

He finally looked up from the ground, and took a deep breath.

“I guess I’m too far into this now not to get it all out, so I might as well just tell you. I’ve been into you for a long time, Y/N” he said, while scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I took the shift today because I wanted to finally show you how I really am, that i’m not just some obnoxious guy and I actually know what i’m doing. This is obviously not how I planned for the day to go, but here we are” he said.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you or show you how I felt. I don’t like annoying you, I just thought it was the only way I’d get your attention. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think it was because I disliked you” he said sadly.

You looked at him for a moment before getting up to go sit next to him.

You didn’t touch him, you just sat silently next to him and listened.

“I want to show you that I’m a good guy, and—“ you cut him off.

“Look. Now that I know all of this, there’s some things I need to say too” you started.

“You didn’t have to do all of…that to get me to notice you. I really liked being around you, but you just made it so difficult and I thought you didn’t like me.” you said.

“You know, I was into you for a while too…it started around a year ago” you admitted quietly after a moment of silence.

He looked surprised.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice my focus on teaching for some feelings that I was pretty sure weren’t going to be reciprocated. So, I started to ignore you, and then you started to do…whatever all that was to get my attention” you looked at the ground as you said it.

“You should’ve just told me” he said.

You looked at him for a moment, analyzing his face to see whether he was being sincere or not.

“I’m serious. I wouldn’t have made fun of you. Gods, I was already crushing on you back then. I would’ve been ecstatic if you just told me” he said with a smile.

“Look, I feel like some apologies are in order. I’ve been an asshole. I shouldn’t have tried to get your attention the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have gotten so jealous today. I’m sorry, Y/N” he said, turning his body to fully face you.

You took a moment to appreciate the apology before answering.

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did either. I just shut you out instead of dealing with my feelings and I just made everything worse” you said.

You both sat silently for a moment, trying to process everything that had been said in the last few minutes. Everything was going to change now.

“Can we…start over? I want to show you who I really am, not just some obnoxious guy who can’t flirt to save his life” Snotlout said.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that actually” you responded. “But can we skip the part where we pretend we don’t have feelings for eachother? I mean, now that’s it’s all out in the open anyways…” you asked.

“Yes, please” he said with a smile.

You smiled back and inched closer to him on the bench. You gave him a very light smack on the arm.

“That’s for all the times you tried to get on my nerves” you joked.

You quickly leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s for everything after”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AN: Omg this is my first fanfic ever, i hope it’s not too bad. Feedback is appreciated (pls be kind though)💗💗

More coming soon! I have a few WIPs cooking in my drafts waiting to be finished to get ready for more Snotlout x reader content

[mentalbreakdownsarenormal]

"The carefree shamelessness of a kid." That... entirely recontextualizes her relationship with Lancer in chapter 1, doesn't it.

(Long rant about the two under the cut)

I mean, consider what chapter 1 must have been like for her. The human freak she hates has just caught her eating school property, and if they report it it'd be the last straw that gets her expelled. Considering what she said to them in The_Newist_Girl post, they will probably do so immediately and remorselessly. It is only because of their mother and her kindness towards her that she doesn't cause a major incident on the spot. She begrudgingly agrees to just get some more chalk and head back to class.

(She also drops the line "If you haven't gotten it by now... Your choices don't matter" which uh. Speaking of internalization.)

Of course, it isn't that simple. The closet is both impossibly dark and impossibly big. And when the two of them go to leave, the door is slammed in her face and locked. The floor collapses under her and she falls through. The drop is impossibly far.

She wakes up in a new world that does not make sense. The first person (barring the freak) she sees starts shooting at the two of them. She finds an entire abandoned town, complete with a castle. And, perhaps the strangest thing of all, she meets a hooded figure who tells her about a prophecy. One she is a part of.

One that calls her a hero.

She doesn't believe it. When asked to accept her destiny as one of the Delta Warriors, she refuses. The hooded guy is knocked away by a kid on a bike. And he's the first person to finally give her a clear answer when she asks a question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm... The Bad Guy!"

This is the first and only thing she has understood in the last few hours. He's a bad guy. He's getting in her way. Someone's getting beat up. After the fight, two facts make themselves clear. One, she needs to go east. Two, people are gonna try and stop her.

So she goes, alone, and makes herself a menace of the enemies. Beats them up, steals their stuff, and other sorts of things you would do in a normal RPG. That's what the enemies are for, after all. Why would she be nice to someone trying to kill her. Eventually, she's blocked by a door she can't open alone until the other nerds show up. She needs to follow them, but like hell she's actually gonna help them or change her behavior at all. There's no point. Kris and Ralsei are good and she's bad. They fell right into their roles, being all nice and stuff, but she's not like them. She can't think of anything good to say about someone trying to kill them like they can. She isn't delicate. She isn't skilled at anything. But she can smash things. And so smash things she shall. Just like she always has, and just like she always will. Don't know why anyone's expecting anything else.

She won't, she can't grow as a person like they can, not now not ever.

Susie's arc where she grows as a person begins after two rooms. It's the scene where Lancer mistakes Susie trying to intimidate him as advice on how to be scary and thanks her for it. His praise surprises her and having someone who appreciates her motivates her to become better. That's the basic reading anyway. But in hindsight...

Lancer is a child. A young child. Why? Lancer's age, for the most part, is irrelevant to his character. If you wanted him to parallel Susie, why not write him to be the same age as everyone else? How does the relationship between the two of them benefit from Susie needing to babysit the kid half the time they hang out?

She's his mentor. The one she never had herself. Lancer is bad at being scary. His evil laugh sounds like a baby Santa Claus. He has no idea what he's doing, he's just trying to be "scary and badass" like his dad. And it just so happens being scary is one of the few things Susie knows how to be "good" at. And with that in mind, Susie's words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

Susie interrupts with a single word. "Stop." What Susie says next, about wannabe tough guys and bitten faces isn't her trying to scare him. It's her trying to crush him. The same way she was when she tried to play. You need to stop because you're bad, now here's someone who can do it better. But unlike back then, the person who told the kid to stop was the better person. The kid got the chance to see it be done properly and was told what exactly needed improvement.

And the next time they meet, Lancer acts far more intimidating. He's still not good, to be sure, but he did improve. He then immediately asks for feedback to try to improve more. He doesn't even have guys, he just wanted to practice.

And this shatters Susie's world view. This kid, this young, carefree kid who's just playing around improves. The kid who's the only person around she could understand or relate to, the kid who introduced himself as "the bad guy" *improved*. Whatever was wrong with this kid that made him a bad guy, that made him an outcast, didn't end up mattering. The support around him did.

In the very same scene Lancer shows improvement, he realizes your team doesn't have a name. To fix this, he asks everyone to drop a name in his bucket to be randomly selected. Kris doesn't and they "look like they don't care." But Susie does add a name. She might not put a lot of effort into it, but she plays along. Susie, who walked through puzzles, who disobeyed commands, who left the party behind, who repeatedly complains about you being slow, who refused help stop the very world from ending, put a name in the bucket.

And in every following scene the two are together, she encourages everything he does.

She expected to be able to play it because she was. She wasn't trying to be good: she liked the piano and she wanted to play it, so she did. Playing for the sake of playing with the carefree shamelessness of a kid.

But because someone thought she was "bad", they told her to stop. It's a role she's been assigned all her life. Without explanation, without justification, without fault, something as inherent to her as her voice, her claws, her skin.

So she internalized it. "Good" must be a role too, right? No one's ever cared enough to teach her about practice or training or perseverance. "Good" is something Susie would simply never get to be.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Going off anon bc i wanna get notifs to be less paranoid idk DAMNIT I KNEW IT GOT EATEN IT ALWAYS HAPPENS ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ tumblr hates me ,,

Sooo my request was um . sfw headcanons for Angstrom x soft tboy reader (soft in both ,, physical and mental sense <33) . Preferably post-canon if you've read the comics, like after he actually starts getting his shit back together when he moves back to the og universe? Maybe having reader to help him through it, getting used to living a normal life again and helping him feel better about his body AND LIKE GENERALLY WITH HIS MENTAL HEALTH <//3 idk he just. Deserves a big tiddy boyfriend to lay on instead of getting kidnapped and tortured and killed -_-

Feel free to take your time with this ask!! Ik he's a very uhm. Unusual character to write for </3 btw ill send this twice just to make sure it goes through TwT

Angstrom levy x ftm reader 

Headcanons 

Love this man and his big ass fivehead. Im getting my T injection next week, and my body hurts at having to spend almost 200 dollars for my injection, being a boy is expensive,,, 

I've been tickling my Naruto interest again,,, I just like some of the funky guys in it, a bit too much,,, 

You guys have been partners for a long time. If Angstrom has his son this this verse, then its up to you if hes yours, or if you guys got together after Angstrom had his son. 

You two are kinda divorced at this point? Since he went pretty coocoo for cocoa puffs, and divorced you to act out his plans. A split mind like his doesn't really leave room for a partner and love. 

Some part of his mind did know that he didn't want you to be in danger though, so he pretty much just walks out on you with divorce papers drawn up and all that. 

You would obviously be crushed by this, but also know that Angstrom was hanging on by a single thread, and you would know him enough to see through his meaner words and erratic behavior. 

So yeah, it hurts a lot, but you also don't do anything with the papers, but its like, in the system and all that, ya know? 

I can see all of this making you spiral as well, being more vulnerable mentally and all that, but you try to stay positive. Keeping up with the news, and also for any signs of Angstrom. 

I believe it takes a while for him to come back, and to start coming back to himself. 

When Angstrom does gather himself again, he's so ashamed and crushed about his actions, and how he left you the way he did. He also doesn't want to go back, in fear of how you will react when you see him. 

Instead of being snatched up the way he is in the comics, Angstrom can't help himself and teleports to your shared home, just to see you, or so he tells himself. Angstrom's mind is still a mess, but seeing you makes his entire being warm up. 

I can see him hovering around for a while, just to “make sure you are safe” and all that, he cant get himself to leave, as Angstrom yearns to be with you again. 

You are still trying to live your life, even if you miss your husband so much, and there are times you swear you can feel his presence but when you look there is nothing, and it just makes you feel more down in the dumps. 

You sleep wearing his old clothes, or spray his deodorant on his pillow to cuddle it because you miss him so much. It feels pathetic, even to you, but you can't help it, and when Angstrom realizes this, he feels himself start melting. 

I don't think anything specific happens that is what makes him finally come home. One night Angstrom just can't take it anymore, and can't keep telling himself that he has to stay away. 

So, when you are asleep, Angstrom teleports into your room, and slides into the bed on his side. He is too scared to touch you for a good while, just lying there and looking at you. 

But at some point, he finds himself lulled in by your warmth and the love he has for you. 

Angstrom ends up spooning you, arms wrapped around you and face resting against your shoulder as he half sleeps. Hes still too cautious and wound up to really sleep, but this is the closest he's been in who knows how long. 

When you wake up you almost think you are dreaming when you smell and feel him. You immediately want to turn around and kiss him, tears gathering in your eyes and lip wobbling. 

But Angstrom is too scared of what you will think when you see him. He looks so different and feels so different, what if you wont love him or even like him anymore?  

But you two talk, and you let out little hiccups from happy tears at him being back. Angstrom starts to crack and melt when you pick up his hands and start kissing them, just happy to have him back.

 

When you finally convince him to let you turn around, Angstrom tenses and looks off at the wall. He knows what he looks like, and he knows what others think when they see him. 

But imagine his surprise when you just let out a watery little giggle and crawl into his arms, starting to pepper kisses all over his face. 

Angstrom is tense for a few moments before he just sighs loudly and slumps against you, his kisses clumsy in ways they werent before, but still as loving and hungry. 

You can only snicker and laugh when Angstrom rolls you guys over so he can cuddle against you, burying his face in your chest and letting you hold him, his hands grabbing onto your softer parts, as he sighs and melts against you. 

Angstrom doesn't like talking about it, what happened and what he had planned, but he does let you know of a few things, and he's excited to show you his powers. 

But most of the time is spent cuddling and kissing, and just being near each other after so long.  

Perhaps you died in most universes, killed by evil versions of Invincible, which is what fueled Angstrom as much as it did, but its also what makes him cling to you more now, than he did before. 

Your softness, both physically and mentally also helps keep him above water, and pull him back to the surface when he starts floating out too far. You help soften all his new sharp edges. 

It does result in you guys being under watch... pretty much all the time now. Well, Angstrom can warp away anyone and thing that does, when you guys want to be alone, so there's that. 

But yeah... somebody, and we all know who, will want to keep an eye on your husband from now on. 

[akari-of-moonlight]

[Matchbox, Yearbook, Pen.]

Hasemura Week Day 5: [Tribute]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Tetro Danganronpa Pink

Relationships: Kamimura Kazutoshi/Hasegawa Ken

Characters: Hasegawa Ken, Kamimura Kazutoshi

Additional tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Symbolism, Freeform-ish?, who knows it reads like a fever dream, there's some mild blood and stuff but if you're into tetro I don't think it should matter, I still don't know how to tag fics help

Hi guys I still don't know how to format these fics. uh I wrote this whole thing in one day and then spent three weeks editing it and not posting it because I got scared but HERE IT IS!!! Be warned it's very long I got a little carried away.

Thank you to @thewhimsicalenderdragon for betaing I love you

Kazutoshi sits at the desk next to Ken in an empty classroom. 

He’s just… there, arms crossed gently in his lap, like this is normal. As if the two of them were simply going through another day of school. 

Which is strange, because they never went to school together.

He is looking out the wall of windows, to something Ken can’t see. The sky outside is blindingly white. Looking at it, the impression of clouds sears into Ken’s mind, although there are no discernible outlines. And it burns as if it is the sun itself.

A simple arrangement of objects is laid out across Kazutoshi’s desk. A small matchbox and a yearbook, with a single black pen laying over them.

Kazutoshi doesn’t touch any of the objects on his desk. He simply looks out the window. Out into the light. Maybe it doesn’t burn his eyes.

He is beautiful. Fleeting and perfect, drawn in sharp lines and rimmed by that white light. 

His fingers tap light rhythms on the desk in a subconscious habit. He always did that when he was thinking. The small motion is so achingly familiar that Ken’s breath catches again.

Ken’s eyes fix upon those same small, angular, agile fingers that had traced over his hands and shoulders nervously or casually, like a light breeze, leaving burning prints behind in its wake. 

Kazutoshi’s hands look like paper in the light, pale and beautiful against the warm brown wood of the desk. A blue tinge afflicts them like a layer of time and decay, and Ken can’t focus on them for too long, he just can’t.

The light from the windows burns at Kazutoshi’s figure, yet he remains undesecrate, like the pillars of stone and cement left behind after flood or famine, burning disaster, bloody wars. Relics of before times. Untouchable.

Even though Ken can’t see his face, his very silhouette is beautiful. His posture looks relaxed, casual, his small frame curving perfectly in the light like the arching porcelain centerpiece that stood in the fountain outside of Ken’s favorite restaurant. 

Ken hadn’t thought about that restaurant in weeks. 

He wants to reach for Kazutoshi. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be here, next to the brilliant cobalt singularity that had believed that Ken would never taint his hands with the blood of another. He knows this isn’t real, can’t be real. He knows he is dead.

Terminal Agitation: the tendency of one to experience disorientation or hallucinations before death. Not to be confused with one’s life flashing before their eyes.

As a child, Ken often used to worry that nothing was real. That maybe “he” was just a single flash of consciousness in the burning, ruinous slop that was some sort of a plane of existence. That maybe he was imagining everything, a fabricated universe built around the only consciousness the void would ever know. 

Maybe he was only ever experiencing this moment, and nothing else had ever been real. 

Maybe he hadn’t even really started that sentence. 

There wasn’t a way to know, and there would never be a way to know. He hated that. God, he hated that.

Back then, the brush of his mother’s hair would bring him back. Her touch, her soft voice, her words of reassurance. 

Now, the pain brings him back.

If he really is only living in a delusion of this one moment, then it’s a stupid fucking moment to gain consiousness for.

Ken finds himself crying. 

His body is crying, at least. Tears stream down his face as his limbs shake more than they should be able to, and his chest heaves in tempo with the ticking of the clock behind him. 

Why is the clock so fast?

Ken doesn’t cry in public. He could never understand people who could just let themselves go under the watchful eyes of others like that. Only three people in the world had ever seen him cry before. 

Well, that isn’t true anymore, he supposes.

The tears don’t stop his thoughts. They never have.

There is blood on his hands. There is death in his lungs.

He’s spent a lot of time around dead bodies lately. At a certain point you get used to it. 

Ken knows he is guilty, but he doesn’t feel guilt. He should, probably. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. He closes his eyes, and he sees it again.

Stilted rules that destroyed everything he had planned for.

Five rotting corpses, faces in familiar fixtures of horror.

Blue eyes that had asked a question he couldn’t answer, and the tears that refracted their light that had felt somehow soul crushingly familiar and incomprehensibly foreign. 

He had nothing to say to them.

A hand grabs his wrist, jolting him back to reality. 

Kazutoshi had turned around, red eyes piercing as the day they had been extinguished. 

“Ken.”

Kazutoshi’s grip is tight, almost fierce. Ken wants to look at him, but the light enveloping him makes it hard. He can only focus his eye on Kazutoshi’s hand, which pulls at his skin, nails digging into him like little pinpricks.

Ken is silent. He doesn’t try to pull his wrist back, or pry Kazutoshi off. Kazutoshi stares him dead in the eye as he whispers four words.

“What have you done?”

Ken closes his eyes. He deserves it, the scorn, the hate, the blame. Kazutoshi was innocent. Ken was guilty. It was as simple as that.

Kazutoshi pulls Ken’s wrist sharply, bringing it next to his head. Close, too close, to that luminescent celeste hair. Kazutoshi’s hand is tensed, still clutching, digging into Ken’s limp wrist. Ken is pulled forward, catching himself with his legs as he starts to lose feeling in his hand. Strange that he had feeling in his hand in the first place. Strange that he could catch himself with his legs.

Kazutoshi is so close to him now, but Ken still can’t see his face. He can only make out his small frame, his cerulean silhouette. His wrist hurts from Kazutoshi’s grip. 

“Say something, Ken,” Kazutoshi says, and it’s desperate and angry and hollow all at once.

Ken knows he should apologize. He knows he should fall apart in front of the boy who saved him, broke him. He knows he should beg for forgiveness or stumble to explain himself. He knows he should want to lean forward and embrace Kazutoshi. He knows he should want to hold him while he still could.

Instead, Ken stays silent. He stares past Kazutoshi, into the burning sky. He realizes that his right eye is still covered by bandages. 

The blazing light from outside tinges his vision red, his bandage only becoming an amplifier to the horribly beautiful, almost sentient light that comes from Kazutoshi and from beyond him at the same time. 

“What… happened to you?” Kazutoshi asks. His voice is raw and broken, and Ken feels dizzy. 

Dizziness is a common side effect of blood loss, due to a lack of proper oxygen in the brain. A human can usually lose about 30% of their total blood volume without a high chance of death. Vitals will likely be heavily affected.

Her body probably didn’t even have time to replenish the blood she’d lost.

“Say something,” Kazutoshi repeats. He sounds like he’s on the verge of falling apart. Ken’s head is throbbing in time with the clock, but he forces his eye to lock with Kazutoshi’s anyway.

“Please, Ken,” Kazutoshi begs. “I need to hear you. I– I don’t care if it’s an apology or some stupid fucking fact. I need–”

His breath hitches, and Ken should reach forward to comfort him. He should say something.

But he is tired. He is so, so tired. 

He was ready to go. He was ready for his consciousness to fade away. He was ready to not think anymore. He wanted to die. 

He didn’t want Kazutoshi back now. He wanted to never have lost him. He wanted to never have known how much he lost.

Why isn’t he allowed to die?

Matchbox, yearbook, pen. 

Hand around his wrist.

Sped up clock.

“I need to know you still care.” 

Ken doesn’t know how to reply to Kazutoshi’s plea. He doesn’t know how to be what Kazutoshi deserves. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than tired.

Kazutoshi waits. The clock doesn’t. It drones on, a cacophony in a single sound, and Ken wants to break it. He wants the broken glass to bite into his hand and tear into his body. He wants it to just shut up already.

“Do you care?” Kazutoshi asks. 

Ken doesn’t have an answer for him.

Apathy syndrome: categorized by indifference and emotional detachment. Sources from traumatic experiences. General apathy may also be a symptom of other neurological conditions.

Ironically, he doesn’t remember as much about this topic as he used to.

Kazutoshi stands up, still holding Ken’s wrist next to his head. Every part of his body is tense, drawn taught and shaking with pressure. His silhouette almost blocks the light from behind him. 

Ken lets himself slump to the side as Kazutoshi pulls his arm up instead of forward, standing over Ken and casting a shadow over his face.

Ken can make out Kazutoshi’s features now. His eyes, which before Ken could only make out the burning red of, are narrowed and marred with exhaustion. Blood drips from a few stab wounds on his face, but the rest of the damage Ken knows should be there is covered by his sweater. Tracks of dried tears trace down his face. 

Kazutoshi slowly lowers his hand, never loosening his grip. Ken’s elbow folds immediately, his limp arm giving Kazutoshi no resistance. Kazutoshi pulls Ken’s wrist into his shadow. Ken can see that his jagged nails have broken skin, and Ken is softly bleeding too.

Kazutoshi watches him, quietly. It is a different kind of quiet than what they know. 

The clock is almost louder now.

In his free hand, Kazutoshi grabs the pen. He lifts it, discarding the cap with a flick of his fingers. He places it on the desk momentarily, using his left hand to wrap gently around Ken’s wrist, right below where his other hand is. Slowly, he releases his tight grip, shifting Ken’s hand to rest much more lightly in his left hand. His gentle touch hurts so much more than his cutting grasp.

With Ken’s hand in his grip, Kazutoshi reaches for the uncapped pen, bringing it to Ken’s wrist. 

He presses down, hard enough that droplets of blood grow atop the cuts from his nails. Slowly, strokes form under the pen, as Kazutoshi drags it across Ken’s wrist.

When he is finished, he examines his work. He shakes his head disapprovingly, as if unsatisfied, and uses his other hand to wipe at Ken’s wrist.

Ken’s blood mixes with cheap pen ink, smearing across his wrist and onto Kazutoshi’s hand. Whatever Kazutoshi wrote is ruined by blood and ink. 

Ken’s eyes lay listlessly on his bleeding, ink stained hand. Kazutoshi still holds it softly in his left, gazing at it with an unreadable expression. Then he lets it fall onto the desk. 

Ken is jolted by the sudden impact. He meets Kazutoshi’s eyes. 

They both look tired.

A single word falls out of his mouth.

“Kazutoshi.”

Kazutoshi’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head, a small smile not reaching anywhere near his eyes slipping through his face.

“Ken,” he whispers back. It is not a question, but Ken answers anyway, reaching for Kazutoshi. He expects to be stopped before he can make contact, but his hand meets Kazutoshi’s face. He hesitates, still waiting to be slapped away. His hand brushes lightly over Kazutoshi’s cheek. 

Kazutoshi stares at him unflinchingly. The Kazutoshi he knew would never have let him do this. The Kazutoshi he knew wouldn’t be doing any of this.

Ken reaches for the trail of dried tears. Instead, he makes contact with warm blood. Kazutoshi’s blood. 

A small trail of it has dripped down from the small wound under Kazutoshi’s right eye. It is achingly familiar to the touch. 

Kazutoshi brings his hand up to meet Ken’s, guiding it to smear the blood away, and then letting go, still staring at Ken with something unreadable. 

Ken drops his hand, staring at Kazutoshi, in his blood stained, sunlit, opalescent glory. 

“Ken,” Kazutoshi says again, a little bolder. A little more commanding.

He takes a breath, pushing his chair back and stepping between their perfectly aligned desks. He gazes around the room, looking at the rows of perfectly aligned desks. With a simple eye roll, he pushes his own desk out of place, destroying the perfect lines of the room. Ken stares at the broken pattern, eyes tracing lines that don’t make sense anymore. 

It feels freeing, untameable. It feels broken and wrong.

The yearbook falls to the ground, opening to a white page. At the top, bold text labels it as a page for signatures. 

Small scrawling handwriting drowns in the white of the page. 

I’ll see you later.

No name. No signature. No goodbye.

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi picks up the matchbox from his desk, eyes tracing over it. 

He lights a match, letting it burn in the air for a second, before throwing it away, casting it off to the side. 

As soon as the match hits the ground, it lights up the floor, racing up the walls and forming a perimeter around him and Ken. He smiles another strange, sad smile at Ken, backlit by the searing light of the windows and the angry, hungry, all consuming heat of the fire.

Fire needs three things, fuel, oxygen, and a source of ignition. Heat. Classroom floors made of linoleum don’t provide enough fuel for the fire on their own to keep it going. It would have to use gasoline to burn like that.

Why is it burning like that?

Ken stands up, suddenly able to move again. 

Kazutoshi looks up at him. Ken almost forgot how small he was.

“Kazutoshi,” he whispers.

“So you feel the fire, at least,” Kazutoshi notes, voice softer than Ken had ever heard it before. There was something almost provoking to it, in a way unlike the familiar teasing that Kazutoshi usually took up. 

Ken knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Kazutoshi wouldn’t do this. That this couldn’t be him. Even if aching familiarity was imbued in his every movement. Even if Ken could swear the burning warmth of him was exactly as he remembered.

“I… Kazutoshi,” Ken’s voice cracks like glass under the heat of Kazutoshi’s gaze. The clock ticks, and no way is it going at the right tempo. The fire traces up the walls and envelops them.

Ken notices now that the room doesn’t have a door.

Strange.

Kazutoshi lets the matchbox fall to the ground, and the matches spill out across the floor. He kicks a few out of his way, then reluctantly gazes up at Ken. 

“A– Are you… What is this?” Ken chokes out the question, Kazutoshi’s piercing eyes drawing out the barbed words that should come easily to him. 

Kazutoshi smirks. “That’s a change. The quiz guy himself, looking to me for answers, I mean.”

Ken’s breath catches in the familiarity of Kazutoshi’s easy tone. He doesn’t find it so strange. He was always looking to Kazutoshi, after all. Even if Kazutoshi didn’t see it. 

Kazutoshi shrugs. “Maybe you just need a button,” he muses. 

Ken has had enough of buttons lately. He doesn’t think he could bear to stand at a podium again. 

“I– I don’t have the answers. Not anymore.” The words slip out before Ken realizes. “There’s… god, Kazutoshi, there’s so much.”

Kazutoshi nods like he knows what Ken means. He sighs, hands slipping into his pockets. Ken wants to memorize this moment. The soft curve of Kazutoshi’s shoulders, the brilliance of his colors in the light, the light, thin strands of blue hair that frame his face. He really is beautiful.

“You were so close,” Kazutoshi says softly.

Ken nods. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Kazutoshi shakes his head. “I guess I did mean something, then.”

“Everything,” Ken chokes out. “Y– You meant… everything.”

Kazutoshi is silent for a few seconds.

He glances past Ken, at the fire ravaging the classroom. 

“Funny,” he notes. “I never took fire to be much of our thing.”

His eyes trace the room’s slowly burning form. Posters with unreadable text blacken and crumble to ash. The fire spread across the floor and two of the walls. Only the windows and the giant chalkboard at the front of the classroom remain untouched. That, and the middle of the classroom, where the two of them stood. 

“It really is clean, huh,” Kazutoshi muses. “I mean, I never had to work on a fire scene before. It kind of just… takes everything. If there’s anything left behind, it’s not exactly something that can be cleaned or salvaged.”

He locks eyes with Ken again.

“You know something about that, yeah?” Kazutoshi prompts. 

Ken doesn’t respond. Kazutoshi shrugs and continues. 

“I mean, you’re a facts guy. You know a lot. Maybe too much. There’s got to be some facts about fire in there.”

Kazutoshi leans in a little closer, gazing at Ken. 

“I… I can’t…” Ken tries to choke out something, anything, as his vision blurs. “I don’t know.”

The heat of the fire claws at his skin, and the cuts on his wrist have started to throb. 

“Right,” Kazutoshi says, almost disappointed. He moves back, and Ken chokes. It’s like he can’t breathe without Kazutoshi. Or maybe it’s just smoke inhalation. 

Kazutoshi picks up the pen from the desk again. He brings it up to Ken’s face, and a part of Ken expects Kazutoshi to drive it through his flesh, making Ken a mirror image of him, bloodied and marred. A part of him wants that.

Instead, Kazutoshi slips it through one layer of Ken’s bandages. He places his other hand against Ken’s chest, bracing him, then pulls at the bandage with the pen. 

Ken doesn’t stop him, but something in his face must cue Kazutoshi to his lack of understanding.

“I want to see your eyes,” Kazutoshi whispers.

He slowly pulls at the bandage, tightening the other loops around Ken’s head. Something about the pressure makes Ken lightheaded. Kazutoshi pulls a little harder, and the bandage unravels, falling away.

Ken wonders if maybe the strips of gauze were the only things holding him together.

Kazutoshi pulls the pen back. Ken’s bandages drape over it, and looking at it, Ken realizes that the outer lining has cracked from the pressure. A single fissure traces down the side of the pen, and ink flows out, staining Ken’s bandage a dark, not-quite-black tone. Dark ink spills onto Kazutoshi’s left hand as he looks up at Ken.

Somehow, Ken can see out of his right eye. His vision is blurry for a second, before it focuses. 

He stares at Kazutoshi. Sea glass and coquelicot make up heaven itself in front of him. He breathes a little easier, just for a second. 

Kazutoshi stares into Ken’s eyes in return, then unwraps the now more black than white bandages until he’s holding a long strip of stained gauze in his hand. He motions for Ken to lift his hand, and he does.

Kazutoshi gently wraps his wrist with the bandage, pressing hard enough to close the cuts and allow them to clot. The gauze eats up the excess blood on Ken’s wrist, ink and blood mixing in every place and consuming the white material.

Every language has different words for every color. Black and white are almost always the first two colors given a name to in every culture, with red shortly after, making black, white, and red the three most basic color terms. This is theorized to be because these colors make up the most contrast in color as humans perceive it, making it not only a cultural phenomenon but a biological one, although full research on this topic is mainly theory.

The fire is burning closer and closer. It fills the air, hammering into Ken’s skull like the ticking of the clock. The yearbook sits dangerously close to the flames.

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi seems to track Ken’s line of sight. He leans over to the book, picking it up and moving to sit on the edge of Ken’s desk, like they’re just classmates who stayed late to chat after class. Like the room isn’t burning around them.

Kazutoshi flips through the pages, looking unimpressed. Ken leans over to look.

“We’re not in here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Kazutoshi says. Ken doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

The yearbook is full of pictures. Terribly familiar faces greet Ken on the pages. 

Isono. Sasaki. Chiba. Harada.

Tsuno.

Okazaki.

Ken wants to throw the yearbook into the fire, but he isn’t the one holding it. 

Okazaki’s face fills a page, in vibrant colors and bright hues. Ken can’t look too long before his vision turns red. He coughs, and wonders how long it will take to die from smoke inhalation.

Kazutoshi flips through the pages, looking bored. 

Hama and Watari. Hiroaki, Ojima, Tamba, Wada. 

Yanagi. Hayashi.

Kazutoshi pauses on another page of photos with some over-the-top, flaunting caption at the top that Ken can’t get himself to read. Kazutoshi points to a small picture in the left corner. Blue hair catches Ken’s eye, and he sees the two of them, blurred and out of focus, in the background of a photo.

“I mean, it’s better than nothing,” Kazutoshi mutters.

Ken stares at it. His eyes burn, maybe from the smoke. 

In all the pictures, is all proof they existed a blurred memory of someone else? 

I’ll see you later.

Kazutoshi finishes flipping through the yearbook, setting it back down on his desk. Ken hopes it burns. 

“I guess we didn’t mean that much, in the end,” Kazutoshi says.

Ken stares at the fire. They didn’t, did they? 

Even when the others shared memories of their dead peers, Kazutoshi’s name lingered like a taboo. Even to Ken. 

And now the two of them are here.

Choking on smoke, and burning to death in an empty classroom.

Background features.

“You meant something,” Ken hears himself say.

“Oh yeah?” Kazutoshi prompts, almost detached.

“Kazutoshi, you–” Ken chokes out. He cuts off. 

He doesn’t know how to tell Kazutoshi that he was so much more than something. That he was the air in Ken’s lungs, the blood in his veins. That in his absence, Ken became a negative. He no longer was. He became an amalgamation of everything he wasn’t.

“You were everything,” Ken repeats, unable to say anything more.

“But I wasn’t. Not while I was alive,” Kazutoshi says, crossing his arms.

Ken doesn’t know how to respond to that. He truly doesn’t know if there was a time where Kazutoshi wasn’t his only tie to life. He knows there must have been, but…

“What do you think I am? What did you turn me into, when I died?”

Ken can’t say anything to that. 

Kazutoshi’s red eyes cut into him.

“When did I become everything, Ken?”

When I became nothing.

The fire burns. The clock ticks. Ken breathes in smoke. 

“I don’t want to be everything,” Kazutoshi says.

“I– I know,” Ken stammers. “I’m sorry.”

Kazutoshi’s hands reach up, and he pulls his hoodie a little tighter around his neck. 

“I… I wasn’t an angel. I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t your entire world.”

“I know,” Ken repeats.

Kazutoshi looks to Ken with something like a plea in his eyes.

“I… That scares me, Ken.”

“...It scares me too.”

Kazutoshi’s left hand is still covered in black ink. The wounds on his face have started to bleed again. The largest one leaves a trail of red down his face. It almost looks like a tear.

Ken reaches for him, wanting to wipe away the blood again, but he pauses. He doesn’t want to touch Kazutoshi. Kazutoshi wouldn’t want Ken to touch him. Even if this isn’t actually Kazutoshi.

“It’s okay,” Kazutoshi whispers, noticing Ken’s hand hovering like a hummingbird over his face.

Ken pauses, still unsure.

Kazutoshi’s ink stained hand rests on Ken’s wrist, and he can’t tell if the ink of his bandage soaks into Kazutoshi’s hand, or the other way around. Ken closes the distance, hand gently smearing the trail of blood off Kazutoshi’s face. 

Kazutoshi’s hand traces up Ken’s arm, drawing a trail of black ink along Ken’s white shirt. He pauses, then brings his hand to rest on Ken’s shoulder. Ken takes a step closer. 

Kazutoshi stares into his eyes, and Ken feels like he can breathe again, despite the claustrophobic fire ravaging the very air around them. Ken’s hand lingers next to Kazutoshi’s face.

“God… what happened to us?” Kazutoshi asks, letting out a dry laugh. Ken closes his eyes, content to burn with Kazutoshi, even for just a second.

Ken doesn’t know if he leans forward, or if Kazutoshi pulls him down, but in a moment, their lips collide. 

The burning classroom disappears, and all that is left is them. 

Kazutoshi’s lips move softly, but with warm urgency. Ken follows his motions, letting go of everything. He doesn’t think about what any of it means. He is only in the now, in the here, in Kazutoshi, as he finally breathes into what he should’ve done when they still had time. Kazutoshi feels warm, feels alive, and Ken lets his hand wrap around Kazutoshi’s head, gently intertwining his fingers with Kazutoshi’s cobalt hair. Ken feels his knees buckle under him, but he doesn’t dare pull away. 

The two of them kiss, slowly sinking to the ground in each other’s arms. 

Kazutoshi pulls away for air, not far enough to create any more distance between them. Ken only realizes then that both of them had slipped to their knees. The dropped matches lay scattered around and under them. Kazutoshi laughs into the gap between their faces, before kissing Ken again, pulling him even closer. Ken’s white shirt is stained with black and scarlet, and Kazutoshi’s beautiful face is marred with tears and blood from both of them like paint across his features. 

Ken pulls away from the kiss this time.

“I’m so sorry, Kazutoshi,” he whispers. 

Kazutoshi finds Ken’s left hand without turning away. His thin fingers pull Ken’s closer. Kazutoshi’s other hand shifts to wrap around Ken’s neck, soft but steady.

“It’s over now,” Kazutoshi replies, and it feels something like forgiveness.

Ken doesn’t know if he’s the one crying, or if maybe both of them are, but it doesn’t matter. The two of them fold into each other on the classroom floor. Ken can feel the fire burning closer and closer, and soon it is upon them.

Kazutoshi grabs for Ken’s stained shirt, and Ken pulls Kazutoshi into him, their bodies meeting flush, as fire and ink and blood and tears converge on the only thing that matters anymore. Even if it isn’t real.

As Ken’s vision goes black, his thoughts slow, for the first time that he can remember. He lets himself go as he holds Kazutoshi. 

It’s over now.

[beevean]

Hey! Just wanna say I LOVED your short Tenna story. My characterization of him has been missing something for a while now, and you helped me realize what it was— he was WAY too nice. It’s difficult to balance a villain being manipulative and cruel yet tragic and sympathetic— and not only did you do it amazingly, you gave me a lot of confidence in trying my hand at it! Tenna and Kris make me oh so very ill and I’ve been wanting to write about them even before I watched the entirety of chapter three. Please keep writing if you so wish— it’s so good!

(also I loved reading your IDW Sonic deconstructions back in the day)

Awww thank you so muuuuuuch 🥺 I'm so happy that you sent me this ask!

I want to write something about Tenna, but I'm not really sure what (and ngl I'm intimidated by trying to imitate such an iconic character lol). My only thought was, I am in utter love with the Doom Board section, and how uncomfortable it is to witness Tenna's breakdown, and I felt the need to jot my interpretation down - my one mental image was Tenna noticing that Kris is not looking at him at all and feeling outright hurt at being ignored by his first watcher.

I think most fanworks nowadays paint Tenna too much as a lil flustered pathetic wet boy tragic babyboy bean. Which he is. But he's also a manipulative conman not above taking advantage of his employees, and a massive mood-swinging unhinged control freak not above hurting the kid he "raised" for the sake of soothing his own ego. I read a Japanese comment who called him a yandere, and yeah, that fits!

I think Tenna is the kind of person who does kind things for selfish reasons. His one desire is to feel loved and useful. The main way he has to get what he wants is to make people happy, so that they're drawn to him. This means that he's mostly a very nice person who genuinely enjoys entertaining others... but what he truly wants is the recognition that makes him feel worthy. And when he feels abandoned or shunned, when his Berserk Button over being called "old" (which to him means obsolete, worthless, to be thrown away) is hit, he grows desperate to prove himself, and starts putting himself above others, because he wants things his way, he needs to feel in control and in charge and like he matters.

But even he knows that force can only get him so far. If you keep playing his games in the Doom Board, eventually he gets to the point where he no longer believes you're honest. But he still won't let you go. That would be a defeat. The confirmation that you don't love him after all. And that would kill him inside. As Kris says if you CHECK him during the battle, despite his size, he's surprisingly quite fragile :)

One of Tenna's biggest strengths as a character is that he combines these villainous traits with not just a heartwrenching backstory that most of us can relate to, but a really lovable personality. Not only he's chipper and charming, but he really enjoys being a positive force in people's lives. The two sides don't cancel each other, but complement each other in a complex, compelling character, that personally I think it's almost unfair to reduce to the innocent sniffling babyboy lol

I guess this is the best advice I can give? Tenna is kind but self-centered. His ego is big but brittle, and inflated by making people happy. When angry, he gets high on his power and can get manipulative and violent, but deep down he's incredibly sad and doing the equivalent of saying "please tell me I'm good 🥺". It's like, he wants his audience to feel any emotion, even pain or sadness if it has to come to it. As long as he affects them.

Good luck with your writing! If you are posting it somewhere I'd be happy to check it out <3 I'm also so very normal about Tenna and Kris' relationship, I need all the "fun uncle shielding lil Kris from the Divorce and being hurt that his nibling has grown apart from him" content I can get my hands on <3

[morgana-larkin]

Ok, I just posted a new story about Melissa x reader on my patreon and it's open to members only, free or paid. Here's a tiny preview! Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Her Secret Admirer

Summary: Melissa swore off dating after her divorce and she admits it to you. You then start writing love notes to her in secret, hoping to change her mind.

Warnings: None

Words: 5.6K

Melissa walks in the front doors of Abbott and sees all the Valentine’s Day decorations that are all around the office and hallway. She goes to her little cubby and sees all these Valentine’s Day messages in there from fellow teachers and she sighs.

“You got a lot of messages in there.” You tell her as you come up beside her and she hums.

“Just other teachers.” She says plainly.

“No messages from a lover?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“Nope, you gotta have a lover in order to get one of those.” She tells you. You look at all the messages you got for Valentine’s Day and see it’s all from teachers as well.

“I would have thought you of all people would have a partner.” You say and she looks at you.

“No. After my divorce I’m just not interested in dating.” She says and you furrow your eyebrows. “See you in the break room, hon.” She tells you before she leaves. 

When she’s out of sight you let out a breath. You have a huge crush on her, I mean, how could you not when she’s the whole package. She’s smart, funny, nice and extremely hot. And once you found yourself in her immediate circle then she’d do anything for you. You know she got divorced 10 years ago and she told you she hasn’t dated anyone since, you just never knew she wasn’t interested in dating. 

“Well there goes my plans on ever telling her.” You mutter.

“Telling who what?” Barb asks behind you and you slightly jump out of shock.

“Barb! Oh…hi.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

“Hello dear.” She says. “Who are you talking about?” She asks you.

“Oh nobody.” You say. “Although I have a question for you about Melissa.” You tell her and she looks at you. “Is Melissa really not interested in ever dating again? It’s just, she mentioned it when I was talking to her.” You ask.

“I wouldn’t say she’s not interested because she is, but she’s scared of it ending up like her divorce.” She tells you. “I think if the right person came along and took the time to allow her to process the possibility of dating again then she might.” She adds before she walks away with a smirk.

You go to the break room and sit down with Melissa and Barb at their table as you look at all the teachers who gave you a valentine card. You see Melissa scrolling on her phone and you reach in your bag and pull out a valentine’s day card and place it in front of her. She sees the movement and looks at it before looking at you.

“You got me a card?” She asks and you nod before she smiles as she looks at it. “Thanks, hon.” She tells you. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you as well.” She says after she reads it and you smile. 

At the end of the day you’re sitting in your chair, rocking yourself as you think about Melissa. You don’t know what to do to help her think about dating again without seeming desperate or without revealing your feelings in case she doesn’t feel the same way. All of a sudden you get a knock on your door and you look to see Melissa there.

“Hey hon.” She says and you smile at her.

“Hi, thought you’d already be halfway to your car by now.” You tell her and she walks up to your desk. 

“Normally I would be but I wanted to give you this.” She says and she goes in her purse and pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. It’s a red piece of construction paper and it says ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ in white and 3 pink hearts on it. On the top it says ‘To Y/n’ and on the bottom it says ‘from Melissa’.

“You made me a card?” You ask her and she nods.

“My little eagles were making them in class and I thought I’d make one too. I wanted to thank you for the card you gave me as well.” She explains and you smile. 

“I love it, thank you. Although it makes me feel bad that I just got you a store bought card.” You say and she chuckles. 

“I like the one you gave me.” She tells you and you smile. “So you only got cards from teachers?” She asks and you tilt your head. “No lover or secret admirer?” She adds.

“Only teachers. I’m single and no secret admirer that I know of.” You say and she nods and shifts her weight on her feet. 

“Well happy Valentine’s Day hon.” She tells you with a smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Melissa.” You say and match her smile. She then puts on her pink scarf and then leaves to go home. 

You look at her card again and smile as she has really pretty writing and you can’t believe she made you one. You then think back on her words and what she asked you until one thing she said came to your mind… secret admirer. You then think that might be perfect as you can help her confidence, get her mind on possibly dating and not have to tell her that you like her. You then take out your pink notepad and grab a pen. You take a few minutes to think of what you might say before you write it down: 

I want to tell you that you’re beautiful and I think about you everyday - Your Secret Admirer 

Read The Full Story Here!

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Thursday Bangers 6/12

Wowie I swear we all got bombarded with work and irl stuff all at once! And I’m still playing catch up on things I so badly want to write! I’m still trying to read all of the Harding week things and everyone’s words and bangers so don’t stop tagging me I’ll eventually very happily read them <3

Lyric game started and hosted by @woundedsoul12 this week and thanks @chaosherald and @serensama for the tags

Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays)

And I'd give up forever to touch you // Cause I know that you feel me somehow // You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be // And I don't wanna go home right now ~ Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

Enjoy a little more of the Modern tech assassins au (I really never know what to call it) but a pre relationship piece! Harding week really had me all up in the still getting to know each other vibes

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Harding had been putting together a sandwich in her tiny postage stamp apartment when she tried to scoot past her couch and rammed her shin into the coffee table. She’d cursed loudly and wondered again why she’d moved to this city. It was huge and bustling and high tech and so so fancy. She’d been excited to live somewhere new after her stint with the military and Antiva City just seemed so interesting. But on her tiny salary she couldn’t afford much and her job prospects seemed bleak at best or too dull to stand. She tossed the plate onto the couch, glaring at the offending table corner and wishing she could kick it out of the way but there just wasn’t room.

Just as she was debating sitting the table up on its side the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting company and frowned, giving it a moment but then frantic knocking started and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Carefully, she snuck her way to the door and looked into the peephole.

She flung open the door and stood with a hip jutting out, hand on her hip.

“Zalan what are you doing here?” He was one of Varric’s many inside sources and when the journalist had introduced the two she hadn’t been all that impressed by the flirting and easy going charm he’d been sporting. She’d seen him trailing after Varric a while after that and had begrudgingly gotten to know him, he grew on people like a fungus. But for him to be showing up at her door? Unannounced? She wasn’t even sure how he knew her address!

“Hey Harding what’s shaking?” He was sweating and leaning against the doorframe but still trying for a charming smile. She glanced around behind him at the empty hall and frowned. “Hey can I come in? Varric and I were following up on a lead and I need a place to lie low for a minute or two.” She would have happily slammed the door in his face or told him to go wherever Varric had gone normally. But something about the way he was almost shaking and the urgency in his voice with undercurrents of fear made her think twice about shutting him out. And instead, she had a feeling she’d regret this later, pulled the door wider.

“Get in here and tell me what happened.” She said it on a sigh and he quickly shuffled in and closed the door, locking it for her and rushing them both away from the entrance. She pinched his hand on her shoulder and swatted at him, stepping away with a glare.

“Sorry sorry, lying low remember? T-those guys might be looking for me.” He voice seemed strained and he pressed a hand to his side. Which had Harding furrowing her brows and coming closer.

“Zalan de Riva, you tell me what in Andraste’s name is happening. Now.” She was firm and the glare she was giving him wasn’t lessening but he chuckled and smiled at her, leaning against the back of her couch and putting a hand on her shoulder, swaying.

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?” He asked, breathing hard. She thought about punching him but only scowled at him instead, “I didn’t know where else to go, my house is on the far side of the city and Varric sent me to check up on a lead- he’s in the hospital you heard? Broken leg- he sent me to check on a thing. A-and I got shot.” He staggered forward and this close now that she was looking for it she could see the dark spot blooming on his dark jacket, and growing. The information took a moment to sink in as she stared and then she burst into action.

She was yelling at him for being an idiot but moving him to the couch, clearing the space and momentarily mourning the loss of her sandwich and plate but refocusing and sitting him down to yank up his shirts.

A neat hole was gushing blood and Harding cursed grabbing a blanket and pressing down on the wound, as she felt around the man’s back she could feel a hole there too which was good. The bullet wasn’t lodged somewhere and she pressed his hands to the blanket,

“Hold this pressure.” It was a command and she ran for her medical supplies. Zalan was doing exactly as she instructed and had managed to wiggle free of his shirt and jacket laying on them and looking pale and green for his efforts.

She muttered idiot which he must have heard because he chuckled. She couldn’t figure him out, he was calm and was actively helping her as she got supplies out and cleaned the wound. Who was this guy that bullet wounds seemed to be just a part of his life?

He was suddenly less than collected as his eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of his head. Harding felt her own heart jump as she rushed to press wet fingers to his pulse. Cursing loudly the scout got into position and started compressions. Luckily for them both he came back quickly and Lace thought she might collapse there but she wasn’t done yet.

With her suture kit in hand Harding looked at Zalan, cringing. She didn’t even have any alcohol to offer him to dull the pain. He noticed her hesitation and flashed a weak grin,

“You can admire my stunning body later Harding, for now sew me up.” He waited a beat and gave a huff, “Don’t worry about me, I have a high pain tolerance.” He assured her and she gulped but braced herself and did as he she said.

//

He hadn’t screamed or flinched away and she had rushed, her sewing only barely passing for good. He was breathing shallowly and laying on her couch and she leaned over him, knee on the edge of the sofa. His eyes were glazed over but he hadn’t passed out yet which was good.

“So? How did I do? Did the Lace Harding save my life?” He asked, words slurring slightly and head nodding back as he struggled to sit halfway up. Lace shook her head at him in dismay, how could he still be like this after everything. Zalan followed her movements with drooping eyes. “No? Oh well if I’m dying at least I’m getting to see you before I go.” He mused, touching the back of her hand and a soft smile.

She couldn’t help the blush that blossomed over her skin at that and she scoffed and shook her head but didn’t shake off his hand.

“You aren’t dying you boob. You just got shot. No big deal right?” She wondered how it was no big deal but he hummed and nodded his agreement and closed his eyes, hand sliding into hers loosely. She didn’t like that he was drifting off but with his hand in hers she could feel his pulse. That was the reason she left it there, or that’s what she told herself as she watched him.

He’d have to answer some questions when he woke up. But for now, for Varric, she’d stay there and watch over him, she’d already saved him she couldn’t let him die on her now.

[angelsdean]

i don't think most things ppl tag as "long post" are actually long posts nor do i even have that tagged filtered but sometimes. sometimes you encounter a True long post and it is so long and unending it makes you agitated and angry like. I AM TRAPPED INSIDE THIS POST WHEN WILL IT END! just had that experience.

[katboykirby]

I totally understand wanting to know more details about the game itself. That's completely valid, and I don't think that anyone is going to argue that wanting to know more is wrong.

But I do work in game development, and I've worked in-studio on multiple live service mobage/mobile games, so hopefully this might help give some perspective based on personal experience!

The thing to remember is, unreleased details/information isn't just common for all games just in general (it's normal for everything from mobile games, to indie games, to AAA first party titles) but this is standard for the entire gaming industry. Every game ever made will keep a certain amount of information away from the audience, and this is completely on purpose. A game isn't supposed to have 100% of content and information available to the public before it releases. This is just standard marketing and copyright/IP protection practises. That's why it's considered such a big deal if games have any information or gameplay leaked to the public before release. Just look at huge franchises like Pokémon - they almost never release any info outside of the most basic details, leaving any public reveals until right up until the game is released. Players aren't supposed to know the entire PokéDex or story spoilers or new characters ahead of time, but huge leaks like that have happened before and it's ruined the experience of playing the new game for many players.

Again, it's TOTALLY normal and understandable to want to know more about the new OM game. I think a lot of us feel the same way. But not only is it important for game devs to keep a good amount of information withheld until release, but this isn't something that's unique to OM alone. Every game abides by this industry standard. The OM Team isn't keeping secrets from the players because they're trying to hide anything, they're simply following the standard protocol that all mobage titles abide by.

(There's some legal red tape involved in this too, such as the copyright/IP and information protection I mentioned earlier. But the legality of pre-release game info is a really dry and boring discussion that would need it's own whole post to really get into)

There's still a lot of misinformation and misunderstanding around the Kickstarter as well, and I'm not saying that's anybody's fault, but I've just seen this same confusion quite a few times by now so it's definitely not just you.

I'll throw the rest of my reply under a Read More tab though, since it'll probably get pretty lengthy 😅

As for the your claim regarding "game production" - I think that the problem here is a fundamental misunderstanding of what game production actually is, and what it means in different contexts.

To start with, it bears repeating- THE KICKSTARTER IS NOT TO FUND THE CREATION OR PRODUCTION OF THE GAME ITSELF. THE OM TEAM HAS VERY CLEARLY STATED THIS MULTIPLE TIMES.

The reason why "app development and production" is listed under "How your support will be used" is entirely due to the context that those terms are being used.

"Development and production" applies to literally every single aspect that is put into a game in any way. Literally everything you add to a game, from music to artwork to patches and bug fixes, counts as development and production. That's why live service mobage are "in development" for years and years at a time. Every single basic update, even 9 years after the game was released, is still "game development"

The issue that I think you (and a lot of other fans, since this is a pretty common misunderstanding) are running into is that you're erroneously reading "game development and production" as meaning "creation of the actual game itself"

And that is just simply incorrect both literally and in use of terminology. Like I said earlier, "development and production" are game design terms, and also LEGAL terms, and they have more than one meaning depending on the context in which they're used.

There's a lot of misunderstanding that the Kickstarter is saying "we're using the crowdfunded money to make the new OM game itself, from scratch, and build it from the ground up" and a lot of fans genuinely believe that the Kickstarter is funding the creation of the whole game. That's just objectively, factually untrue.

The ONLY reason "development and production" is listed on the Kickstarter is because putting additional content into the game, like cosmetic items or new music or voice acting, is still "development" in the sense that...stuff is being added to the game.

But adding bonus content and extras (that WERE NOT A PART OF THE BASE GAME AND WERE NEVER PLANNED TO BE A PART OF THE GAME ORIGINALLY) is an entirely separate practice. It's completely uninvolved from the creation of the actual game itself.

Because the new OM game was already being made for a LONG time before they even announced it back in May. They had already been working on game development for a very long time before the Kickstarter even existed.

As the OM Team themselves have clearly stated, multiple times: the crowdfunding donations are being used PURELY for bonuses, extra content, and merch, to celebrate the new game being launched.

The fact that SOME of that bonus content is in the form of digital additions to the game (like character outfits or voice acting) is why it's legally counted as "game development" - but that's the only thing that "game development" means in this context.

Because it's adding new, extra content to an existing game that has already been made. Absolutely nobody but Solmare themselves funded the creation of the new game. Exactly $0 was taken from fans to build and develop the new game. The new OM game is ENTIRELY SELF-FUNDED, WHICH THE OM TEAM HAS REPEATEDLY CONFIRMED. Adding extra/bonus content later on, after the core game has already been developed, is NOT the same thing as "funding the game" itself.

If you download a free-to-play game, and then a couple of months later the company releases optional DLC for $5, you as a player did not "fund the development" of the actual game if you buy the DLC. The DLC is extra additional content, that got added to the original game after the fact.

THAT'S what the digital game rewards for the new OM game are. They are, essentially, just DLC that will be added to the ALREADY FINISHED GAME before it releases.

NOBODY PAID TO FUND THE NEW GAME ITSELF. THE GAME WAS ALREADY FUNDED, ALREADY CREATED, AND ALREADY WELL INTO DEVELOPMENT LONG BEFORE THE KICKSTARTER EVER EXISTED. The Kickstarter rewards are EXTRAS AND BONUSES that will be added to the core game. That's literally it. You didn't pay to fund the core game. Nobody did. "Development and production" are industry terminology that apply to multiple different aspects of game creation and their definition changes depending on context.

And just for what it's worth - I'm not saying any of this with the intention of being aggressive or to start discourse! I think that people's questions and confusion are all valid, and a lot of what you say is coming from a very understandable place. I'm trying very hard to emphasize the key points that I most often see being subjected to misinformation, but it's just emphasis (and not me being argumentative or anything)

I have been bitting my tongue because I don't want to be a party popper or anything (not that It matter because this has always been a vent blog to me, not a fandom blog) but since they released new tiers that aré ridiculously expensive on Kickstarter AND we have less than two weeks for the crownfunding to end I can't anymore:

I just don't understand how succesfull this campaign currently Is when we know basically nothing about the game, I was waiting for AX for them to say anything but they decided to expand the tiers Instead of y'know... Promote what the game Is actually about...

Everything about this Is so... Vague... The goal of the Kickstarter Is to fund the new game/app... But we know basically nothing about it

[welcometogrouchland]

Was skimming through some Dixon era BoP for no particular reason and came across a scene where 3 DIFFERENT MEN (Dick Grayson, Ted Kord and Jason Bard) all show up to Babs' door at almost exactly the same time bc they're all in love with her.

Birds of Prey (1999) #19

Which is, A) really funny on its own and B) actually extremely based from a representational view. Oracle was important as disability rep in comics for a lot of reasons, one of which being that she got mad bitches in her wheelchair. She had too much swag and they had to kill her

[madsresearchship]

dofuwani cameo because this one doesn't deserve a spot on my main account in any capacity.

[vaguely-concerned]

ingellvar must have so many strange off-putting little personal habits in their day to day life that they don't even realize come across as weird, especially if they haven't ever dated outside of the watchers much. in rye's specific case I think lucanis has a capacity for such immaculate 'sure my life is already so fucking weird this might as well happen' energy that I believe he'd be able to roll with the punches admirably given the time, but it really would be a situation like

(what was going on there was that rook was placing down some experimental wards, by the way, it's what he does to calm down before bed and if he wakes during the night. what with the necropolis itself being a liminal space of lf sorts on a cosmic scale, watchers take the additional liminal space between wakefulness and dreaming extremely seriously b/c they know there are things drifting through that would just love to get their foot/tentacle/conceptual spores in that particular half-ajar door that should not be allowed inside. or outside, I suppose, depending on your point of view. rook and lucanis are also experimenting with whether solid wards can help any with lucanis' weird post-spite dreams even if they can't do anything for the more mundane ptsd ones. third reason because in my worldstate they still live in the lighthouse after the game: unless gently dissuaded wisps will sometimes drift by while you're asleep and hover over your face curiously as they sense your mind doing stuff in the fade, and no one likes waking up on an eldritch sneeze with a well-meaning yet terrified wisp zooming about the room. important watcher novice 101 lessons.

blessed mental image of rye cross-legged on the floor, barefoot in his PJs with his hair down and no makeup, peaceably tracing out elaborate geometric shapes that somehow make your eyes scared when you look at them* while lucanis sits on the bed and reads out loud to both him and spite and occasionally sneaks some carnal looks at rook's fully unleashed curly hair and bare wrists & throat...... okay I think I've found the thing that will help me through the day thank you for coming on this journey with me)

*what is the paint he's using made out of and why is it such a deeply unsettling colour? don't worry about it! :) patented mostly well-meaning yet also borderline condescending mortalitasi hand wave of 'don't worry your sweet little non-nevarran head about it we both know you don't actually want to know. do not ask questions lest you learn the answers, especially if you're going to be annoying at me and freak out about it. let the things man was not meant to know stay unknown. unknown by you I mean I'm built different'

[thefloatingwriter]

beetee and coriolanus parallels consuming my every waking thought so coming on here to make it everyone else’s problem too because consider: they both grew up in poverty, their family’s struggling to make ends meet enough to pay for food. they both had something that distinguished themselves from their peers, coriolanus’ charm and beetee’s genius, that became something of a currency to them, something that they had that others didn’t when they were surrounded by people rich in everything else. they both had people they needed to protect, their families. they both rose above others to win something, the games, at the risk of losing themselves, even subconsciously, in order to save their families. they both met the “love of their life”, their songbird, through the games, while in a position of power above them as their mentors. they both risked the threat of death hanging above them in order to win the games, beetee in a bloody fight with another exhausted tribute just to be forgotten mere minutes later by the capitol and coriolanus slowly of starvation on the streets of the city he loved so much.

but the differences between them are what make them so similar and yet so vastly different as well. beetee and coriolanus both lost their innocence along the way to their victory in the games for beetee and the presidency for coriolanus, but beetee was forced into prostitution and to give up his brains for the very country he already killed for the entertainment of at the hands of a man who once watched his own cousin leave for the shadier districts of the capitol in the dead of night only to come back with food and a haunted look in her eyes. beetee was forced to come back every year to train kids to either become killers like him or die like the previous children that came last year and the year before that and the year before that, all to appease their president, a man who watched as some of his fellow mentors of the tenth slowly lost their light as the years go by, as more children die just like the ones they mentored all those years ago, as coriolanus snow himself climbs the political ladder, leaving a pile of bodies behind him. beetee and coriolanus both fell in love with their victors, wiress and lucy gray respectively, but coriolanus never saw lucy gray as a human being. she was district, below him, and besides, she was his, his tribute, his victor, his lucy gray. as soon as she realized who exactly snow was, a controlling, manipulative man who had already killed three people, one that he wouldn’t even admit to, she ran for her life, whereas wiress and beetee have never once strayed from the defining principle of any relationship: trust. wiress trusted beetee to help her win the hunger games, and he did. beetee trusted wiress to understand the meanings behind his sponsor gifts, the reasoning behind them or the lack of them, and she did. wiress trusted beetee with the rebellion even when he was indecisive on it, and he eventually helped the rebels when she couldn’t be there to do it herself. most importantly, beetee acknowledges that wiress is not his; she’s her own person with her own beliefs and opinions and characteristics that are vastly different from his own, but while that’s one of the most important aspects of beetee and wiress’ relationship, it’s something that coriolanus could never accept about his and lucy gray’s.

[justafuckingstrangelittlegirl]

Oh my fucking god, what a whole bunch of bullshit.

I'll take my time responding you, not because I think that what you said make sense, but maybe I can make you a little bit more self aware of your own insignificance.

First of all, it's good that you have ADHD and have a proper diagnose. Well, at least I hope so, right, that you went to at least a terapist and a psychiatrist to make sure of what you are saying. Because I did. I have a whole bunch of things that proves with A plus B, that I indeed have ADHD. So I'm not fucking playing around. This shit affects me daily and I, better than anyone, know how my condition can affect people life. So again, I hope that at least you actually have this shit and is not some twitter freak. If *I* use humor or try to relate to things that *I* like sometimes, thats on me. If you like to use your ADHD as some serious shit that can never be something lighthearted and good. I'm sorry, that must be a sad life.

Second, girl, get a grip, its not that deep. It was a joke. Its tumbr. If you can't take a fucking joke, that I made about MYSELF, go touch some fucikng grass. I clearly said that about *ME*, on *MY* account, about the character that *I* like. If you felt the need to come here and make this whole thing about something that clearly was not meant for you, you should go seek help, its not normal feel that affected by someone making an innocent post on *THEIR* account.

Third, my joke was quite simple. The fact that some people didn't undestand is above me. I simply said that before my meds I was an introvert, who couln't deal with social interactions and would rather spend time alone with my thougths than actually put myself out in the world. Thats how *I* haedcannon Remus. After my diagnose and treatment, I became someone social, who can make friends and is very good at social interactions, because I also treated my anxiety. I'm good at uni and excell on my course. These are features that *I* associete with *MY* headcannons of Lily and James.

And at last, I looked in your profile (not that I acually needed to) and saw that you are a Snape stan. One more time, my post was not for you. My whole account is not for people like you. I have no problem with you, weirdos, who decide to stan that motherfucker, simply because is not my cup of tea. Do *I* hate him? yes. Do *I* have some valide criticts to him? yes. Do *I* go around starting stupid fights with people who like him? NO. Because I know how to fucking use this site. "IF YOU DON"T LIKE OR DON"T AGREE, JUST SCROW". God, I miss the good old days where people knew basic etiquete on tumbr.

If you read all these, something that I'm almost sure you didn't, I wont adress your personal opinions about the characters that I like. I don't need to. If you don't like them, fine by me, I'm mature enough to respect other people opinions on FICTION. But you should definitely exercise your text comprehension and your projection.

All these years I've been convinced that I was just like Remus - not good with ppl, avoiding others, prefering alone time and a completely gay mess

Turns out it was just my undiagnosed ADHA. With meds I'm a weird mix of Lily and James

Crazy shit

[annegroves]

Started reading tsats for the fuck of it and lord you guys werent kidding it really is that bad

[solanumflare]

wanna hear about plants that can kill you?