avis-writeshq

[avis-writeshq]

hello people in my phone are we alive <333

[avis-writeshq]

Reblog this if its okay for your followers to introduce themselves to you.

Just come to my ask box and tell me stuff about yourself. Your pets. Your favorite music. What you had for breakfast this morning. Literally anything you want, I love making new friends

[avis-writeshq]

New [tumblr] users: there is something very important for you to know.

There is a secret callsign for [tumblr] users.

If you spot a wild [tumblr] human in the wild, you must tell them this phrase:

"I like your shoelaces."

The appropriate reverse-call, if you hear this phrase, goes thusly:

"Thanks! I stole them from the president."

I'm paying literal actual money for you to see this, so don't let it be in vain. Use this phrase everywhere.

[avis-writeshq]

Maybe the reason I can’t love smiskis as much as I would like to is because their face looks like the kumon face and I’m traumatised

[avis-writeshq]

And if I scream, what then?

🖍️✂️

would you believe it but this was inspired by @nottherealslimshady who liked my art and i go on peoples accounts who like my stuff to see what other stuff they like and brain went prince reid ➡️dad reid im not even ovulating its just dad reid era rn making a princess cone crown

OH AND a version of this but with older/later season!Spencer on Patreon 🫣it was also uploaded a few hours prior to this one

[avis-writeshq]

SEE NOW WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BREAK MY HEART LIKE THIS <///3 thank yew for the happy ending, i would have cried

「 051925 」 ⨾ ゛TERRIBLE TIMING ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ ↳ ⋮ ⌗ 岩泉一┆iwaizumi hajime

every day, new sketches appear across his arms—delicate traces of someone he’s never known. a face without a name, a fragrance without a memory, yet in every line and swirl, there’s a quiet warmth that feels like home.

warnings ␥ soulmate au, fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort

word count ␥ 1.6k

event request sent in by @sahrberrii

event ⸝⸝ event m.list ⸝⸝ general m.list

Iwaizumi Hajime was 7 when the doodles first appeared on his skin. 

It was an ordinary Saturday in early June at the Iwaizumi household. The scent of grilled fish lingered in the air, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting aroma as his mother stood behind the stovetop, gently stirring a pot of stock meant for the miso soup. The TV played a muted rerun of a volleyball game his friend had taped earlier in the week, the sound a low hum against the morning noise. His father sat at the table half-hidden behind the newspaper's sports section, occasionally lowering it to sip his tea.

Hajime sat across from the older man, his gaze falling past his dad and onto the buzzing screen. His eyes followed the players on the screen, watching every jump, every serve, and every point they earned. His legs swung gently beneath the table, still too short to touch the floor, his mind half-lost in the game's rhythm. He burned the images into memory—how the players moved with precision and power, how they would leap, block, and spike easily. Strong. Steady. Reliable.

It wasn't until his mom set the hot bowl of miso soup down in front of him when he reached out for the bowl that he noticed thin lines that crept along, above his wrist, on the soft skin of his left hand. At first, he thought it was a scratch. Probably some mark from playing outside the day before.

But when he turned his hand toward the window's morning light, he saw it more clearly—fine and inky, curling like the tip of a wave.

Hajime blinked, frowning. Had he drawn on himself? But the lines were too delicate, too intentional—nothing like the thick, clumsy scribbles he sometimes made with crayons.

He rubbed at it with his sleeve. It didn't smudge.

Another line appeared, forming right before his eyes. It curved, looped, playful, and light, as though someone, somewhere far away was drawing on his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

“Mom?” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

His mom hummed in response, a silent ‘what’s wrong?’. Hajime held up his hand, showing her the doodles appearing on his skin. “There’s…something happening.”

His mom leaned over the table, taking a close look at his skin, examining the new lines of ink appearing before her. Her lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, the softened.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “So it’s starting already.”

“Starting?” He echoed. “What’s starting?”

His mother looked at him carefully, reaching out to brush her thumb just beside the markings. “They’re called soulmate marks.”

“Soulmate marks?”

“Mhm. Some people get them. Not everyone. But when you do…” She paused, leaning back and smiling at his dad. Her voice was gentle, a smooth calm against his budding panic. “It means someone out there’s thinking of you.”

Hajime stared down at hand, heart pounding. The doodle—now a small star—shimmer faintly in the light.

“Who?” He asked.

“We won’t know for a long time,” she said. “But it’s special, Hajime. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

That was how they communicated, after that.

Sometimes it was scribbles: clumsy stars, flowers with too many petals, or little animals drawn in soft curling lines. Other times, it was words—short and clumsy at first, like a simple ‘hi’ or ‘how was your day?’. Messages left in ink across the inside of his wrist or just above the hem of his socks.

As they got older, the notes changed. They became more thoughtful, traded little pieces of their days like secrets in a journal passed between worlds. Small pieces of ‘math test = death’ and ‘what’s your favorite brand of ___’, scribbles during boring classes or conversations before bed—all scrawled in looping, half-erased handwriting.

Hajime would smile, shoulders loosening after practice, as he watched the lines appear. Delicate strokes against his calloused hands, rough from years of playing. Occasionally, he’d have to twist his arm away from the ever-prying eyes of his idiotic friends, grumbling under his breath. Matsukawa would whistle. Hanamaki would leer. And Oikawa—Oikawa would swear up and down that Hajime smiled regardless.

And maybe he was right.

Because there was something sacred about those words forming like constellations across his skin—temporary, fleeting, but his.

They never knew names or faces; it seemed as though any personal information they’d offer would never go through—lost in some sort of cosmic static. Like trying to speak through a thick fog. The words would form on their skin, soft and warm, but too blurred to at the edges or vanished all together.

He had tested it out once—written out his full name in a careful ‘my name is Hajime Iwaizumi’—slow and meticulous, across the inside of his wrist. He waited for a response, and moments later, in their handwriting came a ‘nice try, can’t see a thing’.

Hajime laughed for longer than he should’ve. Who were they? They didn’t even know who he was. Yet, despite not knowing whoever they were, this quiet presence across his skin became something steady. Reassuring. Like someone holding his hand from a distance.

And then, one spring afternoon when he was fifteen, he bumped into someone.

He had been walking through town, earbuds in, shoulders stiff from practice. The sun was high, casting long shadows between the buildings. He was rounding the corner of a busy street when someone ran into him—hard.

They were about his age. Winded. Eyes bright and searching, a folded map in one hand and a backpack slipping off the other. Something about them made Hajime freeze—not just from the impact, but from something deeper, something in his chest that jolted awake.

“Sorry!” they blurted, out of breath. “Do you know how to get to the station?”

“Uh…” Hajime stared, words caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. Then he nodded, pointing. “Yeah. Just down this street, take a right at the second light, and follow the signs. You’ll see it.”

He watched as they wrote down the direction on the back of their hand, catching a glimpse of handwriting that felt oddly familiar. Yet before he could open his mouth, they were gone, already jogging off leaving a loud “thank you” to be carried on by the breeze.

He stood there for a long second, heart pounding without reason. Then, slowly, he looked down. There—faint but clear—were the directions he’d just spoken, slowly sketching themselves across his skin in familiar strokes. He didn’t know how, but somehow, that was them.

But after that day, the marks stopped.

No more doodles. No messages. Nothing. Just silence. As if the connection had been cut. As if that one moment—one brush of presence—had broken the thread.

He waited. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. He tried writing first. He tried drawing. He tried anything he could think of. ‘Are you there?’ ‘Was that really you?’ ‘Hello?’

No reply ever came.

Years passed, the marks hoped would come back faded—a dream he had once helplessly clung to. Eventually, like all things, they would be forgotten, a victim of time.

Until he moved to California.

He was nineteen, jet-lagged and sore after his flight, hauling luggage across a foreign campus and wondering what the hell he had signed up for. The air smelled different—saltier, warmer, tinged with hints of jasmine, sequoia, and car exhaust. The streets buzzed with too many sounds: overlapping voices, bikes whirring past, the steady churn of unfamiliar life.

He had a map on his phone, but the battery was nearly dead, and the directions felt like gibberish. The student housing office was supposed to be just around the corner—or maybe two blocks down—but he’d already passed the same red brick building three times.

He stopped near a coffee shop, breath catching in his throat, a bead of sweat trailing down the back of his neck. His duffel bag felt heavier than it should have, and for a moment, he wanted to sit down and let the jet lag swallow him whole.

Instead, he turned to the first person walking past.

“Sorry—do you know how to get to the housing office?” he asked, trying not to sound as lost as he felt.

The stranger blinked at him. Then something flickered across their face. A pause. A breath. Like a door creaking open on a memory.

They pointed, slowly. “Yeah. You’re actually really close. Just head down that street, take a left at the fountain, and it’s the building with the glass windows—can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Hajime said, offering a tired but genuine smile.

And then the stranger smiled back.

And for a moment, everything stopped. The years of silence. The faded ink. The ache he’d long since learned to live with. All of it unraveled in that quiet, lingering look.

Because he knew that face. Not from dreams, not from photographs—he knew it from the feeling in his chest. The one that hadn’t flared in years. Their smile faltered, just slightly.

“Wait… do I know you?”

Hajime swallowed. His throat felt dry. “I think… you used to.”

They both knew. There was no ink this time, no swirling lines or drawn-out messages. Just breath and stillness and the weight of a thousand quiet moments finally catching up to them.

Their eyes dropped to his arm—bare, yet he could still feel the tingling of decade old doodles. “You were the one with the horrendous doodles.”

“You were the one who sent all those stars.” He smiled softly.

The laughter that came was shaky, almost disbelieving. Their shoulders relaxed, and so did his. No marks bloomed on their skin. But the connection was still there. Different now. Quieter. Human.

“Wanna walk with me?” Hajime asked. “I’m completely lost, and I’m starting to think fate has terrible timing.”

They grinned. “Yeah, okay. I know the way.”

And this time, he didn’t need directions to know he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

one request done, who cheered. i fear this isn’t my best work and i feel like i mischaracterized iwa to a horrible degree i’m sorry sahri ☹️ + not beta read

— alcyneus, 2025, do not copy, repost, or feed works to ai

[avis-writeshq]

RARARRARAARRARARAR

GRAND REOPENING .ᐟ.ᐟ ALCYNEUS BACK IN BUSINESS

After a short renovation, we are proud to announce that our shop is back in business! That’s right—our kadhais are bubbling, our trays are line with fresh delights, and all your favorite treats are back on the menu! To celebrate, we’re kicking things off with a GRAND REOPENING SALE—limited-time mathai boxes with made-to-order sweets, and at zero cost at checkout! Come visit, pick out your treats, and let us whip up something just for you!

BEFORE YOU PLACE YOUR ORDER

We’re delighted to serve you, but before you place an order at the counter, please take a moment to read our house rules!

1. One box per customer! To ensure we don’t overwhelm our mithaiwala, we are limiting requests to one box per customer! However, there is an exception for our loyal customers (mutuals). They may order up to three mithai boxes.

2. Box size & type guides Small (1-3 servings) — Short drabbles, or alternatively smaus with 3-9 photos Medium (4-7 servings) — Works with less than 1.5k words, or alternatively smaus with 9-12 photos Large (7-10 servings) — Works with more than 1.5k words, or alternatively smaus with 12-18 photos

Wooden Boxes — Traditional, written fics Cardboard Boxes — A mix of written fic and smau Glass Boxes — Completely smau

3. Fandoms Feel free to request mithai boxes for the following fandoms: Haikyuu!!, My Hero Academia, Jujutsu Kaisen, Blue Lock, Wind Breaker, Demon Slayer, and Attack on Titan. Customers are always welcome to ask if we cater towards any other fandoms, but our mithaiwala tends to write for the aforementioned fandoms. KEEP IN MIND OUR MITHAIWALA SOLELY WRITES FOR TIMESKIP VARIANTS.

5. Allergies & Preferences We uphold a strict policy to ensure all of customers are 100% satisfied. We adhere to stay NSFW-free, 100% free of harmful, hateful, or offensive tropes, and with high quality ingredients customized to your preference (i.e. pronouns)!

6. Preparation time Good sweets take time! Your order may not be instant, but it will be made with care. Thank you for your patience! PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT OUR MITHAIWALA HOLDS THE RIGHT TO DENY ANY REQUESTS.

MITHAI MENU (Please pick up to 3)

Soan Papdi — Friends to Lovers Light, flakey layers that melt slowly on your tongue—like years of friendship unfolding into something more.

Jalebi — Enemies to Lovers Tangled, fiery, dramatic. A messy tangle of emotions—hard on the outside, soft and syrupy sweet on the inside.

Rasmalai — Fake Dating Soft, delicate, and deceptively light. What starts off as pretend quickly turns into something real—a sweetness that lingers far longer than expected.

Gulab Jamun — Established Relationship Warm, comforting, and endlessly rich. The kind of sweetness that doesn’t need proving. It’s there, soaked in every crumb and in all the quiet moments.

Sandesh — Unrequited Love Delicate and restrained, whispering sweetness without demanding attention. A dessert that waits on the tongue, hoping to be noticed, hoping to be loved back.

Cham Cham — Second Chance Romance Bright, tender, and filled with new sweetness, proof that some things are better the second time around.

Kaju Katli — Soulmate AU Symmetrical with diamond-cut certainty. Nutty, smooth, destined. A flavor of inevitability, a flavor of hearts shaped for each other from the start.

Peda — Royalty AU Rich, regal, shaped by tradition. Dense with duty, melting with desire—a sweetness wrapped in gold, where love must rule or be ruined.

GARNISHES AND SIDES (Please pick up to 3)

Almond Slivers — Hurt/Comfort Varak (Gold/Silver Leaf) — Meet Cute (Gold) / Meet Ugly (Silver) Rose Petals — Mutual Pining Cardamom — Miscommunication Coconut Flakes — Fluff Chopped Pistachios — Angst Kesar — Slice-of-Life / Domestic Jaggery Syrup — Confessions / First “I Love You”

HOW TO ORDER Please choose up to three mithai choices and three garnishes. Please include any additional information (such as a specific prompt you would like), otherwise our mithaiwala will hold complete creative control. For example:

“I would like to order a custom-made medium-sized wooden mithai box for Izuku Midoriya with soan papdi garnished with almond slivers and jaggery syrup” Translation: I would like a short (less than 1.5k words), written friends to lovers fic for Izuku Midoriya with hurt/comfort and confession/first ‘i love you’.”

Please note for our varak garnish, we would appreciate if it is specified within your order if you would like gold varak or silver varak.

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, FEEL FREE TO DROP BY. WE HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON .ᐟ

— alcyneus 2025, do not copy, repost, or feed works to ai

[avis-writeshq]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[avis-writeshq]

also it's the way i brought it up to the artist friend who said this and she just responded with "LOL"

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN SOMEONE PLEASE HELP?

i no longer trust artists who are like "i'll draw this for you in exchange for x" or just "i'll draw this for you !!"

[avis-writeshq]

i no longer trust artists who are like "i'll draw this for you in exchange for x" or just "i'll draw this for you !!"

[avis-writeshq]

in my opinion i kinda doubt that jeid would become a reality (mainly bc the writers completely brushed off that storyline and it was honestly useless). having jemily happen is possible, but even so personality just think it’s so wrong to kill off will just so jj can end up with someone else. some stans really want jemily to happen, and while i can admit that it could’ve happened in the much earlier seasons, i definitely don’t want jemily to happen now bc it can possibly ruin jj and emily’s relationship already. plus, i don’t think a lot of people realize how much jj needs will. he sacrificed a lot for her. and now she has to raise her sons by herself.

(SORRY FOR MY RANT IT GOT HEATED FOR A SEC—)

no because you're literally so so so right !!! it would be an awful move by the writers, like i'm pretty sure everyone would be pissed which is 100% understandable !!

[avis-writeshq]

if will dies i will gladly become a spy like emily and hunt down the writers.

also hi u seem really nice and cool ! <3

you are 10000000000% correct for this !!! biggest fear is that they kill him off to make jeid a reality ....

and hiii hehehe you also seem really nice and cool !!!

[avis-writeshq]

xavier is the reason i'm deleting love and deepspace i'm SICK

[avis-writeshq]

if Will dies, I’m gonna be pissed asf

[avis-writeshq]

hello mutual…. (you’re so cool)

hi diya !!! You’re so cool too hehehe 💕💕

[avis-writeshq]

AI FANFIC WRITING IS CRAZY WORK WHAATTTTT INSANE 😭😭

IT IS SO INSANE TO ME !!!! And leaving the prompt in as well 😭😭 that’s like next level embarrassment like I would deactivate I’m being so real ….

[avis-writeshq]

girl put the writer on blast. bitches need to know to stop using ai fr

As per my last post, I found a blog claiming to write their own fan fiction, but they left the ai prompt in their latest post. I have not checked any of their other posts. The account is @imreidswifey

Please please please be cautious about blogs using ai to generate stories that they will rip off as their own.