#//Had to write an angst drabble

[viciousbite]

Darkfang Drabble, Nightmares.

Locked up, no way out, a small room, boring, nothing to do. It felt like the walls wanted to collide upon him. Out, let him out. His pede clicked against the floor, knee joint restlessly pounced up and down. He had torn the berth, the walls, the floor. A whole mess. He knew this room, it's his room. Alone, nobody else. Nobody heard him if he yelled, or they decided not to acknowledge him.

Hope, the door slid open, freedom. His frame scrambled to a stand, running to the wide open door. Servo reached into it. Something grabbed him, another larger servo. Purple, strong. He struggled, uselessly. Hissed and growled. A voice, deep and calm spoke; "Eager to escape today, ain't we, Darkfang? Glad I came here myself, or I'd be chasing you throughout the whole facility, again."

The struggle never stopped, he knew what this was. Another day in the tube, or the table, being poked and inserted with whatever drug possible. He hated it, all of it, his pedes kicked uselessly at the large purple frame, whose expression never changed, nor did he flinch when he began to drag him into the darkness. No, No, not again!

The darkness surrounded him, then he was falling, onto a cold table. Multiple servos clutched onto his frame, tearing him open, and inserting tubes and needles into his frame. He screamed, terror wrecked throughout his beating spark. The table melted into liquid, liquid that entered into each seam, enveloped him. Heavy and unpleasant. Frame heavy, servos reached forward, clanked against glass. Trapped again, the glass walls, shrunk and shrunk, the shapes behind it, uncaring, staring at him like an object.

Frame crushed, tighter and tighter, it hurt, it hurt---

Screaming, shaking, his frame shot up so fast it hurt. Frantic, his frame pushed back, and off his berch with a loud clatter. Back plates pressed along the floor with pedes on the berth. Optics wide and shaken. Spark beating and aching so fast, he felt as if it was burning to escape his very frame.

Ah, a failed recharge. Not real, it was over, long ago... Still, he couldn't stop shaking, he felt ill, all the way to his tanks.

[toovaeloe]

no, nothing

just Takuma and you on your wedding day and he’s wearing Nanami’s watch, thumb passing restlessly over the crystal window every second the watchhands ticked leading up to the ceremony. And then clutching his banded wrist in his folded hands as he watches you walk down the aisle with dewy eyes and a bittersweet smile.

you pass by a framed photo of Nanami in the first row, stood thoughtfully against a seat that was garnished with floral arrangements. The blond’s face on the glass shielded parchment is as stoic and hardened as ever; he never did smile for pictures.

But Takuma remembers his smile, even if it wasn’t immortalized in a photo. He bet if Nanami was really here now he’d be smiling. Standing to the right Ino, pinching away tears from his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. Takuma’s best man.

He’d be happy for him. Happy that Takuma has someone like you. And he’d be proud, too, if he was here. Right?

Tell him that Nanami would’ve been proud of him.

[sugarlywhispers]

Imagine Y/N having a Quirk that visually lets you know when someone is going to die and who or what is going to cause it.

For example, if a person is going to be stabbed in their abdomen, that part of the body is going to glow. You would be able to see the object glow too if it's within reach. And the hands of the person who does it are going to glow too if they are close.

Of course nobody can see that but you. For a couple of minutes, when your Quirk activates, you see everything in black and white, except for that part of the body that's going to get injured glowing a deep red.

You can't control when to activate or not your Quirk. It's not a very helpful one for being a hero, so you didn't pursue that career. You even hated your own Quirk sometimes, because no matter how much you tried to warn people, once the glow appears, there's nothing anybody could do to avoid it happening. Even when you were younger nobody believed you and treated you like a freak. So you simply decided to try and reject your own power, focusing your mind in closing itself whenever the Quirk activated itself.

You have lived a pretty normal life. A stable job, a mundane routine and normal friends.

Until Bakugou Katsuki appeared in your life.

Falling in love with a pro hero was definitely not in your plans. Yet it happened.

That man made you feel things you have never felt for anyone. He made you question lots of things, he made you think. He definitely made you a better person, and the sentiment was mutual. He swept you out of that boring life and brought so much fire and passion and learning and love.

Bakugou Katsuki had been a wave that sank you into his love.

He made you even forget about your curse of a Quirk. In fact, when you first met him, you introduced yourself as Quirkless –a bad habit you had developed throughout the years due to the complexity of explaining what you actually could do.

So, after a two-year relationship with Katsuki, imagine your surprise when you wake up one fine and cozy Sunday morning; walk towards the kitchen following the delicious smell of cooking that you know your boyfriend is making; the second your foot touches the floor of the room, everything turns black and white.

A gasp gets stuck in your throat, due to the strength in which your own Quirk activated. Katsuki then turns around and smiles that perfect crooked smile that makes your knees weak for him even in black and white, "Morning, firefly," he winks at you, "I was just abou' to take this to bed. Fancy a breakfast in bed with me?" He flirts as he is preparing the tray he's going to carry to the bedroom.

But where everything is black and white, right in the area where his heart beats beautifully against his ribcage is glowing red. And awful deep red that makes you want to vomit in sadness, in frustration, in anger.

"Love?"

You hear the worried tone in his voice once his eyes go back at your person. Your eyes fill with tears, making the image of him blurry, and you can feel your whole body trembling.

And when you look down, you find your own hands glowing red too.

[sunsburns]

i’m sorry but pirate au with luke castellan is a vision that’s a little too clear

luke is a pirate, yes, but he’s not the bloodthirsty kind. he’s calculating, charming, and dangerously persuasive. he’d rather outsmart than overpower.

pirate!luke has a ridiculous bounty on his head. posters of his face are everywhere, but they never get his nose right. it pisses him off.

has a personal vendetta against the navy (or some powerful fleet) but plays it off like it’s nothing. you get the feeling it’s deeply personal.

his crew is loyal to him, not just because he’s a good captain, but because he genuinely cares for them. he takes care of his people.

he doesn’t just steal gold—he also steals information. he knows every trade route, every weak spot in the navy’s defences, every captain’s dirty little secret.

always has a backup plan. or three.

if he touches something, he’s stealing it. doesn’t matter if it’s valuable or not. you’ve caught him pocketing a fancy spoon just to prove he could.

pirate!luke is insanely good at getting out of trouble—except, for that one time, when he was tied to you on an enemy ship about to be thrown into the sea. but you guys pretend that never actually happened.

but there was always a before and after that incident.

before; the two of you had never worked with each other. you usually worked for some opposing group (but then again, who was not against whatever luke was doing?)

you’ve crossed paths way too many times, sometimes fighting, sometimes begrudgingly working together.

he flirts even when you’re trying to kill him.

you think he’s reckless. he thinks you’re too stubborn for your own good. you both might be right.

when you get captured together, he’s still smug about it. even when you’re tied up at the plank together, about to be dumped into the ocean to become shark food.

he has a scar on his face—you have no idea where it came from, but you find yourself tracing it absentmindedly one night before he catches your wrist.

pirate!luke can’t tie knots for shit. someone else on his crew does it for him. but he makes up for it by being insanely good at picking locks and his talent with a sword.

he curses in ancient greek. (and everyone finds it weird because you’re all in the middle of the caribbean)

if you ever actually beat him in a fight, he laughs, breathless, and looks at you like you hung the stars.

he has a thing for running his fingers over your pulse point. not even always in a flirty way—sometimes just thoughtful, absentminded. "still breathing? good. wouldn't want you dying on me yet."

pirate!luke is always grinning mid-fight, taunting his opponent like he has all the time in the world.

doesn’t carry just one sword. he’s got a hidden dagger strapped to his boot and another tucked in his belt, just in case. might even carry another sword on his back idk.

[melodead]

once upon a time, a child from nowhere dreamt a strange, enchanted forest of centuries ago. the soft grass, ever the slightest damp with morning dew, tickled little ankles. the watery dawn tipped over the horizon, spilling through the gaps in the foliage. a small hand rose to the air. scraped yet still soft, it closed around nothing. light fell through those fingers into memory.

in this long-forgot forest, the child met a boy spun from moonlight and dawn. twilight’s scion. they are but children, yet the child knows this in that young, blundering heart: this has happened before, histories ago. it will happen again, long after this star-blessed meeting. it is a reunion across worlds and a chance encounter and an inevitability stitched into fate’s eternal loom. it is a waking prophecy.

you wake to a dream again.

the reverie, untouched by the eternity between your childhood and now, wraps around you like an embrace. the pale, gilded dawn spills across your skin—warm and cold, barely even there—and drenches you in its impossibility. your fingers sink into the soil beneath your knees. you peer up into the rosy sky, hoping to find an answer.

(you find a kindness you have never been able to afford in your life, and you are certain: this is a dream, and it is wrong.)

rustling rapidly approaches. you look just in time to see him emerge from between the hazy arbor.

even in sleep, silver is loved by the world. the wind combs through his hair lightly. flora seems to turn to him as he passes by, unwilling to look away from this vision. it is through this that you know this dream loves him. you’re almost envious of how loved he is—but you can’t be, because, if not this false reality, the fondness that rests in your chest is not a lie.

his hand reaches out. silver bends to meet you as you rise from the ground, falling into your orbit as though he were made to do so. he thinks it true sometimes: that somewhere, in some way, he was meant to meet you. an ancient piece of his soul belongs to you, has belonged to you for longer than this lifetime, and as he gazes at you, dawn-kissed and ephemeral and real, he knows his fate is sealed.

brilliant. clever. brave. silver knows what you’ve realized it before you even speak, the truth of this crafted reality. he knows you’ve realized the same of him. the clarity of your eyes tell it all.

“we need to wake up,” you whisper as your fingers cradle his face. he leans into your touch, presses a kiss into your palm, and hopes it won’t fade with waking. he knows, he knows, he knows—

“will you find me, silver?”

he would follow you to the end of the earth if you wished it. “anywhere.”

you—brilliant, brave, clever you—will find your way out of this if he cannot. you always do. but even if the long-forgot forest may disappear from his conscious, these feelings will linger. it is the only thing he can count on for himself.

(he hopes you won’t be alone.)

his hand curls around yours, and you wake.

[jjk4isen]

idol!gojo who had this brilliant idea of incorporating backup dancers on his new comeback stage, not just any backup dancers but you (he always said he'd love performing with you but you would only brush off how ridiculous that is given the fans who has a parasocial relationship with him.)

as professional as gojo was with his line of work, he couldn't help the giddy feeling when you would touch his hand or gaze into his eyes, as per the choreography goes.

and the fans seem to notice the undeniable chemistry blossoming between the both of you, with gojo especially glowing this comeback.

however, things take a turn when his very fans started complaining about the 'pretty dancer he looks obsessed with' and hold petitions for his label to change the dance, amidst the comeback.

of course, gojo's stubborn— he wouldn't let something like that ruin his comeback or his relationship with you but maybe he should because you're not longer holding his gaze or touching him.

your eyes were glued to the ground everytime the eye contact part comes up and your hands hovered next to his skin, placing a distance between which gojo so badly wants to close.

did he just dig a hole for himself and drag you, and your relationship into it along the way?

[inkytoru]

gojo satoru stood in the middle of the arts and crafts aisle of the store, deep in thought, much like a child agonizing over what color to use in their masterpiece.

he held up two crayon boxes from different brands. but neither seemed to have the particular shade of blue he was seeking.

“may i help you, sir?” comes a polite and genial voice somewhere to his left. satoru looks down at the employee approaching him as he suppresses the tears that begin to sting at the back of his eyes.

the day gojo satoru met you was in kindergarten. you were quiet. shy. always trying to make yourself smaller.

and your big eyes would water with cries of “satoru stop!” every time he’d tug on one of your pigtails. all the other kids like him that came from higher-income families would laugh, poking fun at you for the hand-me-downs you’d wear, and for the way you were such a sensitive soul, crying over damn near every little thing.

“crybaby, crybaby, crybaby!” they would tease, satoru amongst them. but when another boy—who satoru can’t be assed to remember the name of anymore—tried to become your bully and take you away from him? he’d felt something he had never felt before: possession in its early, immature stages.

he didn’t like the way this snot-nosed kid would poke and prod at what was his; he’d clench his small fists and glare as hard as a kidnergartner could at who he was convinced was his first true enemy in life.

satoru learns how to vindictively use his jujutsu at the age of six. little would anyone know that the way the bully would have a basketball conveniently hurling at his head was not by chance, or the way his shoelaces would mysteriously be untied was of satoru’s doing. no one would believe this ghost of his that he swears followed him around and haunted him.

one day, at the end of recess while all the other children had filed inside, you were crossing the elementary school’s playground with your battered but beloved toy plush in hand. unbeknown to you, your bully lied in wait around the corner, only darting out to trip you before taking your most prized possession. from afar, satoru seethed to himself— the nerve this dummy had!

with his narrowed six eyes, he forced the kid to take a stumble to the asphalt himself, an even harder fall than the one he gave you. he’d burst into wails and fat tears that would attract the teacher, but while the fuss was on him, satoru discreetly flings your toy back to you with his technique. afterwards, he was going to head in himself until he freezes in place, feeling your curious eyes on him.

“you did that, didn’t you?” you half-whisper in awe.

satoru shrugs, feigning innocence.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

for the first time ever, you give him a toothy smile that he swears makes his heartbeat skip.

you give him a smile before running back inside. he stands there, staring after you.

the next day, you bashfully come up to him, and he could tell it was no easy feat. you averted his cerulean gaze as you handed him a crumpled piece of paper, mumbled something about the color of his eyes, and then scampered away. satoru looks down at it.

drawn on the paper were what looked like the both of you holding hands with wide drawn smiles on your faces. he took notice of how it was entirely and crudely drawn in striking blue crayon— a hue much similar to that of satoru’s eyes.

he could feel his heart swell at the crooked letters he could just about make out on the back that read:

“thank you toru!”

you’d warm up more and more, little by little to him in the coming days; but every time you brought up his good deed, he’d shake his head and continued denying any involvement. but you knew better.

by high school, you had both become the best of friends. satoru never really grew out of the crush had on you, and if you had any feelings for him back, you never showed it. but that was okay with satoru, because you two had come from different worlds— and he never wanted to drag you into his.

summer of your last year together in high school comes, and you finally reveal to him that you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

satoru could feel his heart shatter and his world begin to crumble when you tell him.

he could never forgive the way you had hid this secret from him for years, nor the way your hospital trips and doctor visits would become more frequent in the following year, the last year he’d spend with you.

“thank you ‘toru… for all these years,” were your last words to him.

humanity’s strongest trembles as he holds that same crinkled, now time-worn paper in his hands. he quickly wipes the tears that spring forth from his eyes before they could splatter onto the scribbled lines and memory you had left him with.

he wishes he could’ve treated you better. he wished he could’ve been strong enough to confess. he wishes that being the honored one meant he could’ve saved you from something even he couldn’t have prevented.

satoru picks out the closest blue shade he had found to the one you used to draw you both. with shaky hands, he draws a halo and a pair of angel wings around your figure. a sob lodges itself in the back of his throat, somewhere between the what-if’s and should’ve’s.

it was a little far in color, and that reminded him of how far you were now, in a distant world where curses didn’t exist.

where gojo satoru didn’t exist.

[midnight-mourning]

Sweet Nothings. (Sun & Moon x Reader Drabble)

Requested By: @hazelthebat

Word Count: 445

Summary: Apparently your day-to-day has become so monotonous that you're only just realizing how deep in you really are. Whoops.

Note: You asked for kisses, I provide kisses, all in a day's work o7 Technically canon to CS but when/where in the timeline you may ask?? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been so subtle, so routine. You’d almost wondered if you’d imagined it when it happened.

You were dropping off Gabe, and when you’d went to say goodbye, Sun had bent down for a quick kiss. Which you’d obliged of course, common courtesy and all that, but when you were walking out you’d realized what you’d done.

Not wanting to ruin your own day, you brought it up later when you were picking your brother up again.

"What was that this morning?" You question as the attendant hands the baby over to you.

Again, you share a goodbye kiss, "What was what?"

You blink, "That, just now."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Sun scoffs, "If my affection isn’t satisfactory you should have just said so."

It seemed, that Sun found your comments so offensive that you weren’t allowed to leave the Daycare until you 'approved' of his efforts. Which after the third, breath-taking, passion-filled, borderline inappropriate for a public space kiss, you gave a shaky thumbs up so you could be on your way.

When you came in for your second shift that evening, all you could do was stare at your screen, not getting any work done at all.

"Am I going crazy?" You ask into the darkened room. Last you checked Moon was gone-

Oh no, there he is, directly in front of your face.

His eyes crinkle upward, swinging forward just slightly to knock his smile against your forehead, "I’m afraid you’ve been crazy, Andromeda. It’s terminal. No cure. Unfortunate, really."

It occurs to you after the fact that while he speaks Moon continues to kiss you. On your cheek, on your nose, your lips-several times-on your other cheek, with each punctuating a different comment.

"Now this is just getting ridiculous," You huff.

He tilts his head, silently questioning you.

"I hope you’re both paying attention," You grip Moon’s faceplate with both hands, "This is how you kiss someone."

You open your eyes to the dark ceiling of your bedroom. You squint, trying to remember beyond the base details of your dream. 

No such luck.

You roll over, grabbing your phone to send a message to the subjects of your, strange, dreams. While doing so you fail to realize it is 3:30 in the morning and what you want to say isn't what you end up sending. 

'Thoughts on lips???'

'Gross.'

'Squishy'

You stare at the screen, flicking between the sets of messages. Then, when satisfied, give a small nod, drop your phone back on your nightstand and fall promptly back to sleep. 

You had work in the morning, after all. No time to wonder about what that meant.

If anything at all.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Little does Y/N know they just witnessed their future. i kid, I kid (OR AM I), I am, (OR AM I)

If you liked this and the other drabbles I've done so far, you could check out Confused Spirit on Ao3 (if you haven't already). You could also participate in this poll/celebration and vote for more writing things. Or don't I don't mind either way ^-^ Anyway, thanks for reading!!

[xxlady-lunaxx]

lmao uhm. if akaza failed to kill kyojuro (the sun said peekaboo), and muzan was angry. so. so akaza kidnapped senjuro to lure kyojuro in just for the fun of it. like:

"desperation looks good on you," akaza drawled, his grin widening as he let a hand crawl over senjuro's neck, holding it gently. humans were fragile, in both body and mind. he couldn't hurt senjuro yet, else he risked kyojuro snapping too quickly. and this time, there would be no sun to disrupt their conversation. he'd deliberately dragged senjuro somewhere where light wouldn't hit. kyojuro was stuck. and they had all the time in the world.

"what do you want," kyojuro demanded, his jaw clenching.

though they had barely met recently, akaza could tell that the utter fury was something reserved just for akaza. it was unnatural for kyojuro, and it showed. but he did his best to express it. it was adorable.

pretending to think, akaza glanced down at senjuro. the round, owl-like eyes were so much like kyojuro's. except they glinted with tears, his breathing shuddering with fear. akaza didn't care to suppress the smirk that spread across his face.

he put out his previous offer. as a friendly invite. "why don't you become a demon, kyojuro?" akaza hummed. the way kyojuro instantly tensed was riveting. he pressed on. "if you do, i'll let otōto go, hm? he's adorable, don't you think? it'd be a shame if he was... crushed to an unrecognizable state."

senjuro's body jerked involuntarily at that, the threat causing him to inhale sharply. tears ran freely down his face, yet he mustered a squeaky, "no- aniue-"

akaza smiled. "why, aren't you a brave one," he said, patting senjuro's hair. it was uncannily like kyojuro's, actually. he wondered whether, if senjuro grew up, would he look exactly like current kyojuro? or would he hold those boyish features and the evident innocence in the way he trembled?

"i will not become a demon." kyojuro was annoyingly set on his decision. "if you hand me senjuro back, we can fight. but leave him out of this."

"ah... tempting. but i can't say i'll do it," akaza said, frowning slightly. "i pity you. trying to negotiate your way out. it would be much easier as a demon."

"i will not become a demon!" kyojuro repeated. he was determined, akaza could give him that. admirable, but futile.

akaza clicked his tongue in disappointment. "awh, don't be like that," he chided. then, slowly, he let his hold on senjuro's neck tighten. the boy choked immediately, evidently quite sensitive. akaza kept his gaze on kyojuro, admiring the way the man clearly itched to lunge forward. "would you like to say goodbye to aniue?"

i didnt know how to end this 😭

[sugusearrings]

( ' glass children. ' )

violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain. then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams. monster, how should I feel? creatures lie here, looking through the windows i will hear their voices. i'm a glass child, i am hannah's regrets.

— summary: with the star plasma vessel dead, satoru and suguru need you (fem!reader) to lead them to their next path. — genre: angst. heartbreak. — playing: monster by meg & dia — note(s): i'm a sucker for what ifs. i love what ifs. good and bad. i thought about this what if a lot. i wanted to write about this since halloween and didn't have time to post it. i just know suguru and satoru are better than me cause everyone would have gotten this smoke. that's all imma say. anyways, mentions of blood & death. probably some spelling errors here and there. — word count: 866

Those beautiful cerulean blue hues still sparkled as the light down on them.

But the spark of life was gone. They were dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. You never saw them like this before.

You could feel the anxiety swallowing you whole. If someone looked closely, they can see your legs trembling slightly. The two boys in front of you were having a brief conversation but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything over the loud sounds of your heart rate picking up at a rapid pace. You couldn’t even hear the round of applause the strangers that crowded around the white hair teenager who held the lifeless body like he did the first time meeting her.

They were clapping for Satoru. Fucking clapping.

You just stared at the crowd in disbelief. What kind of people would approve of this? What kind of people are happy over this? The death of a young girl.

A young girl you considered your friend.

Monsters...monsters... “Suguru...should we kill these guys? The way I am right now I doubt I’d feel anything.” His voice was hoarse. But what made your heart ache was hearing no emotion in his tone. It matched his stare. Dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. Your eyes went over to Suguru. His back was faced to Satoru but you saw his almond shaped eyes were as wide as they can be but soon he pulled himself back together. He always does. He has too. “No. There’s no point. It’ll be dissolved soon enough.” His voice mimic the tone Satoru set. He began to walk towards the door to get out of there. He was sick of the clapping and the smell of the dried blood that lingeried. He was sick of this. He was sick of this life. He was sick of death. He was sick of curses. “No point, huh? Does there really need to be any point to it?” Satoru asked or stated. You couldn’t really tell. You went to follow behind Suguru like a lost puppy but Satoru called out your name.

“Name...”

"Y-yes...Satoru?" your gentle voice trembled.

"What do you think we should do?" Satoru asked you. His eyes didn’t look at you. They just looked straight ahead into nothing. Suguru's eyes went over to you almost forgetting you were even there. Your eyes was puffy and red from crying. You were the emotional one out of the three. That's why Satoru would tease you about being weak. You were a crybaby. But Suguru didn't see an issue with it, he likes you like this. So did Satoru but he wouldn't openly admit it. You reminded him about those certain emotions he swore he couldn’t feel anymore. "Name...what should we do?" Suguru also asked willing to do anything you said. The self proclaimed brains of this trio couldn’t think straight or logically. So it was up to you.

The boys looked over at you for an answer. An answer you didn't have. This wasn't fair. These higher ups using you children. Not caring if you killed one another or died in front of each other. You loved your best friends. Especially Satoru and Suguru, willing to do anything to protect them. Even Riko. They were the only family you have. But would the higher ups mourn you? Would the higher ups sink into a dark hole of depression? Would the higher ups get revenge on you? Or would they replace you like a piece of livestock. They would probably replace you in a matter of days.

They probably would assign Satoru and Suguru a mission while your ashes are still warm.

Satoru and Suguru.

The thought of leaving them behind made you feel sick at the pit of your stomach. How would Satoru handle it? You knew Suguru would break in a matter of days. He bottles so much inside of him it would just burst out. Would they keep it together if you were to die? Or would they lose it themselves.

You know you would lose it if either of them or both of them were to die. Leaving you all alone. To defend yourself. To love yourself. You couldn’t imagine a world without them. The three of you were glued to each other, couldn’t really function without the other.

You could feel the anger replacing the fear and anxiety. On the inside your morals and humanity was being teared apart, stripped away from you the more you stared at Riko's lifeless body in Satoru's arms covered by a thin white cloth. "Name..." Suguru called out to you once more. There wasn’t much time to make a decision. "Kill them," you finally answered losing all emotions you had that day, "kill them all." That's all Satoru needed to hear. His lips formed a wicked grin as Suguru silently summoned the rainbow dragon. You stood watched the blood being splattered on the walls and floors. The screams made you smile like that day on the beach with your best friends.

That’s where your mind was. The day on the beach with Riko and Satoru laughing at the sea cucumber while you, Suguru, and Misato were on the beach towels just watching them with smile of your faces.

[altgojo]

What could’ve been of me…a tenko shimura (tomura shigaraki) drabble

Sooo uh I decided to write something for the first time!! I never really thought I will be writing anything esp for shigaraki but I fear the shigaraki brainrot is too strong…slight season 7 spoilers (?) idk rlly bec it’s just a little scenario I had, I just want the best for him …sign , hope you like it 🫶🏼

what happens if the world crumbled from the inside out before tenko’s palm could even graze its surface…only to realise that he should’ve worked toward destroying all for one , not the world. He should’ve been training into a hero and make a change, a difference. Maybe he could’ve been working closely with eraserhead, while all getting secretly excited because he likes the hero and he dreamt of somehow being just like him : cool and mysterious but also stoic. He could’ve even been assigned as a sub-teacher alongside aizawa, for class a. Maybe he would recognise exactly what was holding todoroki shoto, the son of endeavour, back from using his fire quirk. After all, a victim could easily recognise another. He would help him, guide him, have a chat with him (which isn’t really a chat since he downright gave him a full speech with priceless advice) and shrugs it off at the end as if it wasn’t just the best advice shoto heard. Maybe tenko would’ve changed the way society viewed heros. As one.

copyright © 2024 altgojo. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works, you can reblog it but do not reupload on any platform, thank u.

[sugarlywhispers]

Laysa … your recent lavagirl and Bakugou post was so 😋

1) Bakugou is about to crash tf out THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🚨‼️🙅🏾‍♀️

2) idk what that villain thought this was but lavagirl and Bakugou DO NOT play about each other frfr .. like the villain is soo cooked it’s not even funny

3) also angstier thought about this but like Bakugou was so torn up about slightly hurting lavagirl even though it wasn’t even her. So now I’m thinking about a villain that has a puppet control quirk and like they control someone completely but the person is still aware of what’s happening yet can’t stop it. And the villain sends Bakugou after lavagirl 😣. Like… she hesitated so bad even though the villain WASNT Bakugou.. imagine if it really was him 💔

Me thinking about how heartbreaking that would be:

(Sorry to be a Debby downer I literally just read this three part angst fic that had tears streaming down my face fr 🤕🤧)

NO, BECAUSE—

1) THAT VILLAIN IS FUCKING DEAD. LIKE, THIS IS NO JOKE. 🔥🔥

2) It's so not funny how Dynamight –the real one– is about to shred to pieces his own image. Like, think about the symbolism for a sec… NOT EVEN HIMSELF IS ALLOWED TO HURT HIS BEAUTIFUL AND PERFECT WIFE. AND THAT'S A CLEAR THREAT TO EVEN HEROES. NO FUCKING ONE GETS TO TOUCH Y/N. PERIOD.

3) ADKANXNDBAQLWIWYGSKDJSJS MY HEART. 💔💔 Just imagine—

Bakugou Katsuki is freaking crying, loudly begging, and desperately pleading inside his head to any possible god existing up there in the sky to fucking please… STOP. All as he sees you recoil, genuine fear splattered in all your factions and body stance while he is forcibly ordered to walk towards you. He can feel it, his body getting ready to attack against his own will. He's going to attack you. You, the most important person of his life. The person he chose to share everything with. Gentle and soothing touches every night, laying together in the same bed, before falling asleep in each other's arms. From small pecks of ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ to deep, passionate kisses that show how in love you're with each other. Gentle words that reassure how well each of you did for the day and even healthy arguments in which you worriedly reprend each other if the other did something stupid and put their life in danger. Either way, it always ended in a forgiven strong embrace of a hug and a touch of lips that means: ‘I still love you over all’.

It's not clear to everyone watching. It's not even clear to you as he approaches, deadly looking, ready to fight you with all his might –yet eyes turned white, void of any emotion, coldly inexpensive, and obviously in a trance that no matter how hard Red Riot or Deku try while throwing stuff or even themselves at Dynamight, they can not break the spell the villain has their best friend in.

Pro Hero Dynamight just looks like he's ready to kill.

To kill you.

No one can actually see the battle he is having inside his head with himself.

STOP. FUCKIN’ STOP! STUPID BODY!! FUCKIN’ STOP MOVING! DON'T YOU DARE HURT HER. NO. STOP!!!

He's howling inside his head, and it's no use. No matter how desperately and loud he screams in his head, he isn't in control of his body. But he can see. He sees and feels his body blowing away the stuff Izuku throws to stop him. He sees and feels when Eijirou puts himself in front of him, all turned into rock, as he punches and tries to pull Katsuki away; yet he ends up being thrown probably a kilometer away and against the bricks of a fallen building by the force of one of Katsuki's explosions.

Inside his head he grimaces at what he has done to his two best friends. They look pretty wounded, and it's all because of him. 

Fuck!

And Katsuki sees and feels his arm raising, cannon directed at you, who stand several meters in front of him quite unsure on what to do.

MOVE. DODGE. RUN AWAY. DON'T LET ME HURT YOU! FUCKIN’ FIGHT ME!! 

But you don't. Your lava completely retracts into your body, no longer standing in an attack nor defensive position.

NO. FUCK! DON'T! Y/N, DON'T!

His other hand raises, fingers directing at the side of the cannon that would activate the shoot of his accumulated nitroglycerin sweat that would bring hell into the world. Fuckin’ directed at you!

NO! NOOO! Please… No…

Dynamight fires.

Right at the last minute he sees Deku standing in front of you, fully ready to receive the blast. And then Red Riot in his rock form appears in front of Deku, fully receiving the blast. 

Mentally, Katsuki groans with relief. Kirishima has trained thousands of times with him, enduring his shots in his rock form. The red-head is strong enough to endure a blast like that one. However, the amount of nitroglycerin collected has been too big, even for what Dynamight himself is used to. He feels the recoil in his shoulder, he knows one more move and it will break. And he truly wishes it does if it means he won't get another chance to hurt any of you or his friends.

Yet when he focuses his attention back to the place where you were once the smoke dissipates, he freezes. Red Riot is fully knocked out, lying almost moveless on the ground if not for the slow intakes of breath. Deku is also down, a big portion of rock that exploded up from the ground over his legs that prevents him from moving it off him. Fuck, Katsuki knows if Izuku wasn't so weakened as he is at the moment he would be able to easily punch the rock away and fight him. But the villain had already taken care of tiring Deku a lot before Dynamight and Y/H/N landed on the scene.

And you… Oh, no… 

You are lying motionless on the dirty ground, torches of fire close to your body but not close enough to burn you. But the blast has been strong enough to even reach you behind two of the biggest heroes there are.

Katsuki is yelling in agony inside his head.

He still sees and feels his body move. Walking slowly but surely towards where you lay. Passing by the two completely beating up pro heroes like he doesn't care a damn thing about them.

Fuck! No… NO. STOP ALREADY. PLEASE!! FUCKIN’ STOP!!!

When he stands next to you, he moves you with his boot to lay on your back. He sees your beaten and weak body barely respond as he straddles your hips, but you're looking at his eyes. And he feels his own ready to attack again.

NO, FUCKIN’ NO!

His hand raises, palm open, getting closer to your face, heat increasing with each second that passes. He feels it coming, a big blast ready to shoot at your face. Ready to kill you.

Bakugou Katsuki is bawling inside his head, fucking desperate and metaphorically pulling the hairs of his head at how incompetent, how out of control he feels.

He's going to kill you, with his own hands, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

And then… You smile at him. That loving and comprehensive smile you used to give him when he didn't know how to express his feelings. Filled with love and assurance.

Everything freezes again, including his body.

“I know you're in there, Katsuki,” you speak in such a gentle tone it physically makes the pit of his stomach contract in painful love. Both of your hands weakly hold the one a few centimeters away from your face.

His complete body starts to tremble, and you know that Katsuki is inside there fighting. He's battling to regain the power over his own body as hard as he can. You know your Katsuki is there.

Tears start to escape your eyes, but they still show the immense love you feel for the man above you. You know that even though he is about to kill you, it's not his fault. It's not him. Katsuki would never kill you. You trust him. You love him. And even if he does end up killing you, you would still love him.

“It's me, Katsuki. Y/N… Your Y/N,” you cry, one of your hands cups his face that holds an angry, deadly expression, his eyes still white and void of any emotion. But you can feel him trembling, droplets of sweat sliding over the skin of his temples thanks to the strength you know his mind is putting against the control the villain has over his body.

And you smile bigger, still looking at him with adoring love. Weakly directing his hand down towards your chest, right where your heart is. You press his hand against it, for him to feel the beats that jump against your chest for him. Because of him. Your beating heart that loves him. That lives for him. And that would gladly die for him too.

“All I… all I want you to know… is that… I still love you over all.”

You close your eyes, ready for the outcome that it's most surely about to happen. Ready to receive with open and welcoming arms the mutual friend every hero has: Death.

A real and loud roar escapes Dynamight's mouth. Everyone witnessing the immense struggle, the hard fight the pro hero is battling inside.

And then a snap. It feels as if someone cut something off with a katana, the typical sound the weapon makes as it slides heads off in movies.

You feel the hand over your chest leave its place forcefully, and when you open your eyes, that hand fires a blast towards the air. Katsuki's arm is raised over his head, palm open at the sky as the blast bellows in rage, just like the scream that came within his chest and out.

Katsuki eyes open as fire lightens above his head, teary ruby eyes looking down at you in deep relief and love.

You sob happily as Katsuki lets his body fall languid over you, but still putting his forearms on each side of your head to avoid completely falling with his weight over you.

“I love you,” his head is hiding in your neck as he takes rapid and deep inhales of breath, so you kiss his cheek several times while your arms surround his body.

Your Katsuki is back.

You help him turn to the side and lay on his back, body still trembling and breathing fastly. You know he's seconds away from losing consciousness, so you kiss him one more time, this time on his forehead lovingly. He relaxes and he's out.

Your eyes travel to the villain, who looks dumbfounded that your husband broke the spell and gained his control back. But when their eyes find yours, they gulp. You stand and begin to walk towards him, your lava activating with each step you give closer. Your eyes hold so much rage, your body lightening up and showing the demonic look you're known for. It's the villain's turn to recoil, unsure and afraid.

“Now, is fucking personal…”

[forwhump]

Touch

a/n; touch starved human weapon who’s never known kindness gets a hug :’) & a bunch of other times he’s touched, mostly in a horrible fashion

for the anon that wanted silas to get a hug & the anon that wanted more of the unit !! two bingo squares crossover episode best of both worlds babeyyyy

tw/cw: grievous bodily harm, mutilation, guns, traumatic brain injuries, implied rape/noncon, references to graphic violence, medical torture

living weapon whumpee

The first touch Silas ever knows is that of the cold, gloved hands reaching into the opened cavity of his chest.

Their touch is not gentle. Their touch introduces Silas to pain. It’s a pain that he will very quickly become familiar with.

They open him from throat to groin. They peel skin away from meat, and meat away from muscle. They pry apart his ribcage and crush his ribs into splinters of bone. They pull out chunks of organ tissue and they hold him down, against the cold steel of the operating table, as they take the colder steel of a surgical scalpel of his hairline.

Silas’ very first memory is waking up to those cold, gloved hands fishing his small intestine from his opened gut.

The very first touch Silas ever knows is that of those hands.

Silas doesn’t like to be touched.

He learns this very quickly.

It’s an empty cell, carved from stone, not quite tall enough for Silas to stand in but that doesn’t matter because Silas can’t stand. He’s shackled to the floor by the iron closed around his throat, and he’s left there for days in the dark.

He’s alone. He’s alone a lot in the beginning.

The first person that he ever sees, outside of that operating room, is a soldier. Silas doesn’t recognize him but he spits, “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, you ugly fuck,” and swings his fist into Silas’ face with as much force as a human being can manage.

His name is Point, Silas learns later, and his touch breaks his right eye socket into splinters of skull.

They manage to save his eye. Much later, however, Point puts three bullets in it, and Silas loses his right eye for good.

Silas learns very quickly that touch is something vile. It’s something to be shied away from, something that hurts. Touch is inhumane.

When Silas is touched, it hurts him.

When Silas touches, he hurts.

They chain his hands in front of him, and they shackle him at the ankles. He has to wear a bite bar because they don’t trust his teeth.

They’re right not to.

Because they remove the bite bar, the chains, the shackles, and there’s carnage.

When Silas touches, he hurts. When Silas touches, there’s carnage.

Silas usually does his field tests alone, but not always. They are a team, technically, him and the unit, and the district needs to be sure they work well together, or some shit equivalent.

Silas had spent a lot of time making a careful point not to let the unit see him the way the soldiers see him, as the horrible thing he really is, and introducing them into the field tests had made him edgy, and it had made him feel kind of sick.

It turned out to be a waste of emotion.

Even now, the soldier’s gun aimed into Hal’s face, Silas makes quick work of pulling his throat out through the back of his neck. He uses his teeth, and still, as Hal stands, he wipes blood from his eyes with his sleeve and looks up at Silas with a grin that’s nothing but relieved.

“Good looking out, man,” he says, and holds his fist out to Silas. Silas doesn’t know what to do with that, so he doesn’t do anything. Hal kinda gestures with his fist and says, “don’t leave me hanging, big guy. Bump me.”

Silas raises his eyebrows and Hal reacts like he hit him.

“You’ve never had a fist bump?” And he says it like it’s something heinous, like it’s even the most heinous thing Silas has done in the last three minutes. “Oh, man,” he says, but his grin is bordering on obnoxious. “I’m so glad I get to take your fist bump-ginity.”

“No,” Silas deadpans, because he doesn’t know what that is and he also doesn’t want to.

But Hal says, “yeah. Come on,” which isn’t all that convincing on its own, but he adds, “Wren will think you’re really cool if he finds out you do fist bumps,” and Silas squints. Hal grins again, wide and innocent, and holds his fist back out to Silas. “It’s easy. Just bump my fist with your fist. Fist bump.”

“Why?” Silas says.

“I don’t know,” Hal says. “Who cares? Just do it.”

Silas looks at Hal’s hand for a long time and decides the pros — Wren might be impressed he’s learned something — outweigh the cons — he just doesn’t want to. He relents and knocks his fist against Hal’s.

Hal, who throws both his arms up and his head back as he cheers.

June, after she left the service, was a hairdresser for a while.

Silas knows this, because she tells him, “after I left the service, I was a hairdresser for a while.”

Silas says, “okay.”

“So you can trust me,” she adds.

“No,” he says.

June tips her head back, dramatic, as she groans. She’s been wielding the hairbrush like a weapon. “Silas. Come on, dude. Stop being a bitch about it. Let me brush your hair.”

“No,” he repeats.

“Silas,” she repeats.

“No,” he says.

“Wren’ll like it,” she tries, and Silas narrows his eyes. She grins, and she has a very predatory grin. “You wanna look good for Wren, don’t you, big guy?”

He’s starting to suspect these people might be using Wren to manipulate him, and it’s unfortunate that it’s working. Silas sits on the floor, and June, with the added boost of the back of the couch, pulls a brush through his hair like she’s trying to rip all of it out.

He complains the whole time, mostly for the sake of complaining. “Ow,” he says again, and June groans at him.

“You’re too big to be this much of a pussy.”

“You’re hurting me,” he says. She isn’t.

“I don’t care,” June replies. “Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving,” he says.

“You’re flinching,” she says.

“You’re hurting me,” he reminds her.

“You should’ve started brushing your hair six months ago,” she bites back.

“How was I supposed to know?” Silas asks, and he’s won, because she quiets behind him, and her hands tug a little less violently at his hair.

“Sorry,” she says finally, and Silas tries not to smile but it tugs on his mouth at one side. He doesn’t think she’s looking at him, so he doesn’t try all that hard to hide it and so it makes him jump when he turns and she’s leaning over his shoulder to look him in the face. “Hey,” she accuses. “That’s not funny. I thought I hurt your feelings.”

He cracks a smile, despite his best attempts. “You couldn’t hurt my feelings.”

June grins widely, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to try.”

Silas snorts, and she laughs as she pulls back over his shoulder to tug the brush through his hair again. She ties it up for him; a half knot, because, “I thought it would suit you. I was right.”

He tracks Wren down, just in case.

He has a pencil tucked behind his ear and Silas is strangely entranced by it. “Silas,” he says, and he says it with a smile. “You look so handsome.”

Silas doesn’t know what it means, but he’s flattered, anyway.

He’s on his back on the concrete, looking down the barrel of a gun.

It’s shaking. Point’s hand is trembling. “You stupid, disobedient fuck,” he spits, and Silas barely sees the bottom of his boot closing in on him before it’s cracking his cheekbone. “Bad. Dog.”

Both of Silas’ arms had been nearly amputated at different points, but he can still lift his left hand. Just barely, and it trembles with blood loss and severed tendons, but he manages to lift it from the wet concrete and fold almost all of his fingers down, save for the middle.

Point roars in frustration.

Silas knows the cold kiss of gunmetal, for only a second, and then an eruption of heat that’s white hot and electricity charged and Point empties his gun into Silas’ face.

Silas is reintroduced to the touch of surgeons, but this is nothing new.

He loses his eye.

They take Wren.

Silas couldn’t give less of a fuck about his eye. He’s got another one, he’ll be fine. What’s another disfiguring injury? But he gets back to the unit, and Robin finds him in Wren’s absence.

They’d taken Wren. Robin doesn’t know where.

His touch is a firm handshake that makes Silas’ skin crawl. But he accepts it, even if he didn’t need Robin to ask. Even if he would’ve raised hell, anyway.

He’d been really careful around Wren. He’d been so careful.

Wren’s different. He isn’t like any of the rest of them. He’s gentle in a way Silas thinks super soldiers just aren’t capable of. His skin is still soft. He’s still so human, and he looks at Silas, and he sees something in him that’s human, too.

But he’s wrong. Silas has known for a long time that he’s wrong, and whatever it is that Wren thinks he sees in him, it isn’t human.

He’d wanted so badly for it to be true, though. He’d wanted to believe Wren. He wanted there to be something human in him because he never wanted Wren to stop looking at him like that. He’d done his best not to let Wren see anything less, to not let him see him as any less human than a couple of fatal injuries.

He’d never let him see anything else. He’d been so careful.

But then he finds Wren, and he finds him with a group of soldiers.

Their touch is not kind.

He’s shackled to a bunk by an ankle to the bedpost, and Silas doesn’t even know what they’re doing to him but he knows it’s vile. The sounds make his skin crawl. Wren is begging for it to stop.

He’s crying, and it’s crying like nothing else Silas has ever heard. Wailing. He isn’t in complete control of himself after that.

The soldiers all react to him with flailing, frantic cowardice, shouting and clambering for guns, for knives, for weapons, and it’s embarrassing. Silas is embarrassed for them. Cowards, all of them — loud, cruel cowards. All so scared of Silas, every one of them, and they fuckin’ created him. What a fuckin’ joke.

He lets them scramble, looking at Wren through the blur of them. His mouth is swollen, face shiny with tears, and when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

“Don’t look,” Silas says.

He doesn’t recognize any of the soldiers because their faces all blur.

Every one of them dies in that bunk, and they do not die gently. They die screaming and they die in pain.

Partway through suffocating a soldier with another’s small intestine, Silas lifts his head, and Wren is still there.

He reaches out and splinters the bedpost with one hand. He can’t look at Wren for too long — he doesn’t really wanna see the look on his face. “Run,” he says, and peels the jaw off a nearing soldier with one hand, without even looking at him.

Wren runs.

Silas is punished greatly for his disobedience.

Still, he isn’t looking forward to being back in the unit. The long walk back has his heart beating higher in his chest than he thinks it should. He only ever wants to be in the unit because he wants to be where Wren is — if Wren doesn’t want him there anymore, Silas will have to find a way to stay away, whatever he has to do.

He gets back to the unit and he’s expecting Wren to look at him in disgust if he looks at him at all. He isn’t expecting the way Wren pushes himself into Silas’ chest, arms so tight around his waist that Silas is surprised by the strength of him.

It doesn’t hurt, though, a very pleasant sort of vice, warm and Wren. “What are you doing?” He asks softly.

“A hug,” Wren says, face pressed into the spot just beneath Silas’ sternum and the pressure of him is nice.

“Why?” Silas asks, and Wren makes a sound that Silas can’t decipher as laughter or crying. It might be both.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” he whispers into Silas’ crewneck.

It’s probably the stupidest thing Silas has ever heard him say. “I’d do anything for you,” he says, flat.

And it’s true. There isn’t anything in the world Silas wouldn’t do for him. Wren doesn’t even need to ask. Clinging a little tighter to Silas’ sweatshirt, he sobs.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand and lets himself be hugged.

The concrete of the common room floor is a cool touch against his cheek.

It’s the last thing Silas knows before his skull is crushed.

When Silas gets back to the unit, he has tremors in his hands and he doesn’t remember how to read.

When Silas gets back to the unit, it’s been months. He doesn’t know how many.

When Silas gets back to the unit, he’s surprised to immediately find his arms full of Hal.

“What?” Silas says, and then June is jumping onto his back, clinging to his neck, and Wren is at his side, small hands finding Silas’ skin beneath his sweatshirt and his touch is warm, impossibly soft. Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “What are you doing?”

Hal laughs from somewhere around his armpit as June laughs loudly into his shoulder. “We missed you, big guy!” She crows.

“We missed you!” Hal cries.

Wren laughs into his side and it’s a little wet. “We were so worried about you.”

Robin is lingering nearby and Silas points at him with his other hand. “Don’t come anywhere fuckin’ near me.”

His face doesn’t change, militant as he is, but his gaze flickers to Wren and back before he says, in the low, rumbling version of Wren’s accent, “welcome back.”

Silas lifts his chin, sort of a nod. He looks back down, at his shaky armfuls of the rest of them, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth on one side.

They laugh and they cling to him and the touch of the pressure and the weight of them hurts, it makes his recently reconstructed bones groan in protest, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t but he’d also be full of shit if he said it bothered him at all.

Silas would consider himself pretty well versed in pain; this has to be his favourite.

[thunder-point]

phumpeem ep 9 drabble

Phum is sure about his feelings. No question about it, for what were Fang's echoing words if not a solidified conclusion to whatever he was going through these past weeks?

So Phum is sure about his feelings.

What he's not sure about is Peem. It's the situation they are in. That's where uncertainty lies.

Because he can go ahead and let out everything. On his side, it's a stable fixture that keeps on rising. Letting Peem know he's adorable, telling him what a precious thing his company is to Phum - everything comes out smoothly. The air in his lungs gives voice to it like nothing else. His chest expands, it grows bigger, it warms up. But what is on Peem's mind, Phum can never tell. And since coming to this camp, it's become more obvious. It's pressing down on his chest, and this is the suffocating part. Not his crush for Peem, not the slow evolution of their relationship, if there's any at all. But Peem.

He'd have every right to find Phum as irritating as he did initially. Hell, there are still some moments where it looks like he currently does. There's the boulder, there's the pressure.

Because what right does Phum have to feel anything akin to deserving? What right would his jealousy have to exist? He can't stand it. He can't. He can't feel entitled to such feelings entirely. It's all too easy to give when it comes to Peem, and yet, he can't make himself go all out, can't try to meddle too much.

Something is holding him back, shoving until only the churning of his stomach is palpable. He might know what, even if it's hard to admit it. He spots Kluen and his sweet eyes and Phum can only turn away, can only try to ease the twinge in his chest. It's not entirely foreign, this feeling. He's had in the past; helplessness comes in many forms. It aches all the more that he's felt it for Peem before, all because of his own stupid actions. And even if he somehow mended that whole situation, this one doesn't seem to give him any opportunity to act. Phum feels like he doesn't have a part in it, in a way. As if he's a mere spectator on the sidelines. And he loves to push, he loves to taunt. He loves every reaction that Peem would offer, because it's always been offered. Peem would be turned towards him, eyes as liquid as they can be impudent, pretty mouth pursed or grinning wryly. Words sharp, annoyed, indulgent. But here, he's not. He's looking elsewhere, his voice is muffled.

Phum feels like a mere shadow in those moments - the solid ground is slipping beneath his feet, his assurance is questioned, his presence doesn't feel required.

He hates it. Hates it. He's maddened by it. He can't stand it.

And truly, he wouldn't blame Peem for it. Couldn't. Can't. Peem has every right to feel good with anyone he wants. He has every right to not have a second thought about Phum besides, perhaps, some attraction and a binding deal. That may be the most unsettling thing, he thinks faintly, as he listens to Kluen admit that he might be hitting on Peem in the midst of all their friends. Nothing is truly assured between them.

Nothing but an agreement that's been tainted some in the past.

So he keeps quiet. He can't demand, he can't taunt. He can't do much besides a bit of pettiness that dissolves as soon as Peem scolds both him and Kluen.

He can't even muster words as Kleun straight up tells him, "I like Peem."

What is there to say? What can he say? He can't even make himself approach the slings, not with Peem's cheery voice, his laugh resounding in the open space. It doesn't feel safe, it doesn't feel necessary. So he turns away from it. With a wave of thoughts crashing down on him, and uncertainty pressing heavy on his limbs, he leaves somewhere it won't echo. And Phum thinks. Heavily so. Phum and Peem are just... They're just- "You like Peem, right?" Beer's face is softened by the shade of night, and his words don't twinge. Because Phum likes Peem. That's the most sure thing that quickens the beat of his heart. It's not a question.

But. But. It's there. That something. It's a dam. Phum likes Peem, yet he doesn't say anything. He sits quietly, hands tightening around each other as Beer goes on, tells Phum he's easy to read, that he's bothered, he's- "Actually," he begins lowly, eyes set on the stairs under them. "Peem and I have a deal."

It's easy to tell it from there, to explain the situation, even if the situation in itself is not. Because nothing of it is a question.

And of course, Beer is surprised, he's musing. And he's right, but he also isn't. Not really. Because Phum and Peem spent plenty of time together, and God they teased, they did so until the tingles in Phum's body became a requirement, a fond sensation. Until the tint of Peem's lips is the first thing his eyes linger on.

Because Phum likes, he wants, he's had, if only a bit. But does Peem? He may want, he may have had, but does he like? Phum doesn't know. So he tells his friend that, and it remains there. Even after Beer gives his quiet support, even after he's offered advice, Phum doesn't move, nor does his turmoil.

Then, Peem comes. His steps are slow, they're the calm that he always brings with him. Peem sits beside him, warm and gentle as always, and he's looking at Phum, gaze liquid; he's turned towards Phum, his words are crystal clear. He's here.

But is he, really?

"Is something wrong?"

No. No. Nothing. Nothing wrong. But Phum's heart doesn't quicken all that steady like it usually does when Peem decides to close distances between them. It's a loud drum, engulfing and stifling. His ears are ringing, just like they often do when disappointment is the only background buzz at home, when the hollow of his stomach scares off sleep. When arguing morphs into silence, and deafens him. He can't do it. He can't ask anything. He can't give in to Peem's gentle call of his name, the warmth of his hold as he circles Phum's wrist, asking to wait, talk to me.

He can't do it. Not again. Just- "I'm trying to sort out my feelings." Am I gonna lose you just like that? Is it always just that easy? Can I do anything? "Don't talk to me now."

Don't leave.

Even so, with that echoing until his heart learns to say it as well, Phum is the one to step away.

[evertidings]

ooh hii!

wb a sad note + A and Rylan?? Thank you <3

poly tease??

hey,

i... i don't really know how to start this. i know you're mad. both of you, probably. i wish i could give you a good reason why i'm not there. you know i've always been a coward; every time we fought, i could tell it was on the tip of your tongue. you never said it though, and i don't know if that makes this better or worse.

i've always been good at running. before i met you, [A], i ran away from every person i ever got close to. i told you this. i remember thinking once, when i was laying in your arms and you were snoring softly behind me, that maybe this time i would stay. you mean the world to me. you and [the hunter]. i adore you both more than you'll ever know. you were the ones who taught me that i don't have to run when i'm scared of my feelings. but old habits die hard and, well, i've also always been good at lying. i told you this too.

not that i ever lied to you. not while we were dating, at least. i swear, i wasn't lying when i said i love you. or when i said you were the best thing that ever happened to me. it's selfish of me to keep you though, so i'm letting you go. just because you're the best thing that happened to me, doesn't mean i was that for you. you'll hate me at first, i'm sure, but you and i both know getting tangled with your bounty was never a good idea to begin with.

i really am sorry.

rylan.

[good-beanswrites]

We were doing a roleplay thread of OoA. Mikoto (well, John) follows Kotoko to Mahiru's cell, and they tear the place apart.

Good thing Mappi wasn't around, but that's got to be a terrible thing to return to...

(Prompt?)

Mmm that's such an interesting thought -- the attack taking place in the room of the one person unaffected. The survivors guilt is Insane smh -_- I tried to lean into Mappi's voice and mindset for this, I'm not sure how it'll read but I'm super satisfied with the character study it gave me!

Every good housewife knows that a tidy home is a happy home. She knows how to take care of a tiny amount of clutter, since something as small as that can ruin the atmosphere. She knows how to approach larger disorganization before it causes distraction and agitation. The thing they don’t teach housewives, however, is how to handle a living space that has been wholly spattered with blood. At least, they hadn’t in any of the online articles that Mahiru had read. 

The woman hovered in the entryway to her cell, her hands brought up by her chest in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. The others had informed her that the day’s fight ended up in her cell, but she’d only been grateful she was away when it happened. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that the room may not be suitable to sleep in.

The door clicked behind her, locking her in for the night.

Furniture and possessions lay scattered across the floor. Her pillow and sheets had been flung about. She wouldn’t mind returning them to the bed if they were just kicked around the ground, but even in the dim light (her favorite lamp now lay in glass shards) she could see that they each held dark splotches of blood. The color was streaked across the floor, clinging to the back wall as well. 

Maybe nobody had thought to warn her about the state of the cell since there weren’t any huge puddles of the stuff, or because the lamp was really the only thing that had been broken. Mahiru told herself that they were probably too absorbed in the victims’ physical conditions to give it a second thought. It didn’t help the hurt rising in her chest – they could have said something. It would have taken two seconds to think about her and mention it. She could have at least brought a bucket and a sponge inside before curfew…

She bit down hard on her quivering bottom lip, scolding herself for feeling such self pity.

How dare she be anything but joyful that she made it out of today alive. So what, she had a little blood in her cell? It was better than that being her blood spilled somewhere. How dare she not be spending every moment in reverent gratefulness that the others made it out of today alive. Maybe it’d be rough to stay in the cell until morning, but at least she was guaranteed to make it through the night.

Fuuta and Amane’s faces flashed in her mind. She drew in a shaky breath. There had been nothing in her online articles about a situation like that.

But moping around never helped any household. The door was locked, so there was no chance of anyone coming back to cause any more mess. Though she couldn’t do anything directly for Fuuta or Amane, she could start drawing up a list of gifts and favors and favorite meals she could cook. It would be silly for her to cry now, with things going so well.

She should be happy. She should be happy. She should be happy.

And so she was. Mahiru used a scarf as a makeshift broom to sweep up the glass – every good housewife knows that safety comes first! She hummed a favorite tune as she collected the other objects around the room. The song wavered only once, though it returned with full force. She sang the cheery chorus with passion as she found one of her earrings had been crushed underfoot. It would make a fun DIY fix in the next few weeks – she always did love crafts! 

Once everything was straightened out, she moved to her closet. It was looking more bare after her verdict, but there were still plenty of things to choose from for what she had in mind. She picked out her thickest of clothes and laid them on the floor in a colorful, comfy arrangement – it would be the cutest little campout! In fact, if she pinned up her throw blanket in just the right way, it reminded her of younger years making pillow forts and having sleepovers. A little change in scenery can go a long way. She’d read that on a travel blog once, though she’d never truly believed it until now. 

She adjusted the blanket with a smile. As she curled up on a particularly soft sweater, she commended herself on the ingenuity. She’d gotten the room under control in less than an hour. If she could take on a project like this, just think of how happy a home she could run someday. 

Indeed, the space was downright adorable inside. One would never even know things had gotten so bad, she thought. One would never even know there was blood on the walls, just outside.