#anyway once again check the alt text | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostofafruit · 5 months

Text

you know your idea is stupidly funny when you feel the need to preface with you're not drunk. That being said, I am not drunk. I've just been watching a lot of mattshorehere and had the best crack fic idea. Let's call this a moonchaser week fic for Alt 1: Muggle AU, and it's a tumblr exclusive. It's also crack, it's pure crack, I'm not convinced I haven't somehow gotten drunk on water it's that ridiculous. If you haven't seen the video I'm referencing and that inspired this, here it is

mentions of nudes, again major crackfic, @ghostsfanficevents

Remus had a habit of making terrible jokes. Jokes so awful they circled back to funny and then back to bad. Subpar at best James would say. They still always pull a chuckle from him, and he refuses to leave Remus on seen when they're texting and he sends a dumb joke.

Autocorrect was a massive bitch.

James had only meant to send haha. That was it. It was a barely passable joke, a true Remus Lupin special. It wasn't really worthy of anything more than that. A HAHA would be too much, a hahaha even worse. He stared at his phone-screen in horror. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Eight, all caps, ha's.

He could picture Remus grinning at his screen, thinking his jokes had finally been good. It was a lameass joke, and now he was probably going to reuse it. He rushed to correct it. He could have sworn he'd typed out 'sorry didn't mean that' instead what sent was 'dude please hold me'. James continued looking at his phone in horror.

Remus had read it almost instantly, like he was staring at the messages waiting for James to say something. He hurried to correct it, some form of apology or excuse, but instead a row of roses sent. James decided to switch off his phone before things got worse.

Autocorrect was very much still a massive bitch. Several weeks had past since the incident as James had taken to calling it and they hadn't talked about it. It was for the best, James wasn't sure how he could explain his way out of that one.

A message from Remus popped up and James grinned to himself. The joke itself was utterly idiotic, it was more Remus himself that prompted the reaction in James. He rolled his eyes at the attempted joke and typed out a haha.

Except it did the thing again. Where James had written haha, and pressed send on haha, it send instead HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Once again eight all caps ha's. He rushed to fix the mistaked.

'I did not meant that' he sent. Instead 'Bro, please hug me' appeared in their chat. James tried to correct again, but a row of bouquet emojis replaced it.

"Fuck," James mumbled to himself. He opened his images, he had a lot of stupid things saved maybe something would work. He spotted the perfect one and selected it. He double checked that he'd only selected that and pressed send.

James watched the image load in their chat. Once it finished loading James cursed again. That was not the stupid meme befitting the situation. That was a hehhum, tastefully nude, photo of himself. A silk blanket draped across his lap, leaving very little to the imagination, but just enough to intrigue. He'd only taken it to boost his self confidence.

He went to delete it but Remus had already seen it. He'd seen it the second it had sent, he'd been lurking in their chat again.

"Fuck me," James said aloud. Instead of leaving autocorrect to it, he tried to call Remus. He did not answer. He switched to instagram instead and shot of a dm apologising for the weird situation. James didn't wait for a reply instead he tossed his phone to the side and got up to head to his art studio, he needed a distraction.

Autocorrect was a certified complete and utter bitchfuck. James wasn't even sure what that meant, but he liked it. It felt fitting. It had been another few weeks and Remus had accepted James' story and they'd laughed about it. Past that they hadn't talked about it, and James had never actually unsent the photo, Remus hadn't seemed too bothered anyway.

The familiar ping of a message rang out from his, and James grinned. He'd set a specific tone for Remus. He wiped his hand off on the rag next to him and grabbed his phone. It was yet another stupid joke. He snorted slightly and shook his head. Only Remus would find that funny, but it was it's own sort of charm James supposed.

'haha' he typed out. He noticed immediately that it had changed as soon as he'd hit send. Something was seriously up with his phone, his bet was Peter or Marlene both of them were creepily tech savey. If anyone could make him flirt with Remus through autocorrect it was them. In place of his two all lowercase ha's were once more eight all caps ha's. He sighed and typed out an excuse he knew wouldn't send.

'Mate please hold me' appeared in the chat. James sighed again. Maybe a meme would work this time. James scrolled past the photos he'd taken recently, careful not to click them, and found the same one he'd tried to send before. He clicked it, double checked it was the only thing selected, and then triple checked. For safe measure he took a screenshot of it selected and then sent it over.

James held his breath as it loaded. He waited for it to show the meme, but instead one of the new photos he'd taken appeared.

"FUCK!" James shouted. This one was even worse than the nude he'd sent before. The previous one had been artistic, taken on his camera, edited to look perfect. This one had been a similarly artistic photo, sure. He could just about claim that. The same silk blanket was draped in his, but instead on taken on the floor with a brilliant pose picked to show off his abs, it had been a mirror selfie. Even less was left to the imagination, the silk was more scrunched up and slightly higher too. It was damn good one of his hands was in his lap or he was something something would actually be exposed. The other hand had been held loosely around his phone, angling it perfectly so his slight smirk could be seen in the mirror.

James stared in horror as Remus saw it instantly. He watched as Remus went to type, then stopped, then started again.

"Shit," James said. He typed as much. He hit send without considering the current problem he was having with texting Remus.

'Mate I'm lonely' it read. James cursed again. He considered trying to fix it, but he wasn't sure how. Instead he threw his phone across the room and screamed into his desk.

Autocorrect was a brillaint wingman James reflected. He wrote as much in the vows he was drafting out. Without the weird situation his phone had started he wasn't sure he'd have ever gotten the courage to even face his feelings for Remus yet along act on them. Remus rather felt the same.

He wasn't sure exactly why his phone had started doing that and specifically with Remus, Marlene and Peter were pretty convinced it was entirely impossible until they'd both witnessed it actually happen in real time. Still, he thanked it for happening, even if it was embarrassing.

Who knew a bit of unfunctionally autocorrect would lead to James marrying his best mate?

#moonchaser week 2024 #moonchaser week #mooncahser #crack fic

5 notes · View notes

somekndofnature · 2 years

Text

No Other Way #24

Hello all! So, please be patient with me, I have a little bit to say before we get to the actual story. I’ve got another one for the domaystic2022 prompt list. I’m determined to finish before the end of the year.

I’ve decided to go back and add the number in the title of these posts so people can tell which ones they’ve read or not. I hope that helps @shikonstar I can totally understand why it would be frustrating. (I’ve been loving reading your tags by the way; makes my day 😁) (as does the tags and comments from all of you❤️ I totally haven’t expected the warm reaction these shorts have received.)

Once I finish with this challenge, I’m going to split the entire story up by fandom on AO3, but I wanted to wait until I reach the finish line. I hope you all understand; my neurotic brain won’t let me change up the formatting of each chapter in the same collection too much before I reach that goal. It would drive me insane and completely derail me.

Anyway...I hope you all enjoy my first story about human Inuyasha. I hope to delve a little deeper into this in my longer story but here’s a taste. I won’t deny that hanyou Inuyasha is my favorite, but I love the idea of him being a little more emotional and irrational on his human nights. There’s a bit of role reversal in this story. Inuyasha gets into some trouble and Kagome comes to the rescue.

I quoted the song that this story is based on in this fic because it just felt so apt for the moment. If I had a Spotify, I would add the actual song at the bottom but I still haven’t signed up for it. If you’re interested, go listen to No Other Way by Jack Johnson wherever you get your music. It is a really tender and bittersweet sort of love song, very relevant to the joys and struggles of an every day life shared with another person and a love that endures all of them.

Okay...that’s enough rambling from me. I hope you enjoy the story. It is non-explicit, sfw.

Day 24: alt. What’s that burning smell?

Fandom: Inuyasha; modern MMA AU

Pairing: Inuyasha/Kagome

Rating: G

AO3

Resolve is Just a Concept That's as Dead as the Leaves

Kagome hurried home and glanced up at a dark moonless sky, trying to shake off the lingering frustration from her work day. When she had taken the part-time position at the student library, she had never expected to be so labor intensive. Nor had she expected to get home this late. She looked at her watch; it was nearly nine. Good thing she had remembered to text Inuyasha and tell him she would be running late. She could just imagine the amount of grief he would have given her if he had waited at her bus stop that long.

Her pace quickened as she approached their building and hit the button for their apartment, hoping Inuyasha would buzz her in. Nothing happened…

Kagome frowned; he had to be home. He hated leaving the apartment on his human nights. She pressed the button again, holding it down for a little longer. When she was answered with silence, she dug into her purse, searching for her keys in the bottomless pit. Groaning when she couldn’t find them, Kagome pulled the bag in front of her and held it open under the muted light. There at the very bottom her keys shined back to her; illusive little jerks. She yanked them out and waved the key fob over the lock, pushing through the door.

Kagome headed toward the stairs, bypassing the mailboxes. She could check it later. Right now, she was a little more concerned about why Inuyasha had gone suspiciously silent. That was never a good indication; either something had gone horribly wrong or…he was sulking.

She couldn’t really blame him for being so morose on the nights that he was human. In her mind–and only in her mind–Kagome likened to a condensed version of her monthly cycle, when she was cranky, emotional, and just didn’t feel like herself. Not that she would ever dare to voice that comparison outloud; she could just imagine Inuyasha’s reaction. Still, it helped her have more patience with him. She could endure his grumbling and extra prickliness for a night. More often than not, they ended up snuggled on the sofa, watching TV or playing games until the wee hours of the morning, amid his muttered complaints about being weaker, slower, tired.

Kagome sighed and slowed on the last flight of stairs, rolling her sore neck as a mild exhaustion crept over her. Maybe she could coax him into a few hours of sleep tonight. Kami knew she needed it.

She pushed through the entrance to their floor and immediately knew something was wrong. A worrying smell was growing stronger the closer she came to her apartment door. Kagome shoved the keys into the lock and it opened into a cloud of smoke.

“Inuyasha!” she called, abandoning her bags in the entryway and letting the door slam closed behind her. “Inuyasha! What’s that burning smell?”

“Nothing!” She heard him shout from the direction of the kitchen.

Kagome coughed and waved a hand in front of her face as she rushed towards the sound of his voice. “Inuyasha!”

She rounded the corner, eyes going wide at the six inch flames billowing up from the pan on the stove. Inuyasha stood on the opposite side of the kitchen at the sink, sprayer in hand ready to flip on the water.

“No, no, no,” Kagome cried out as she snatched the lid off the counter and dropped it over the skillet, flipping off the burner in the process.

Grabbing a towel, Kagome scooted the pan off the heat, holding the lid tightly in place. When it was clear that the fire was smothered, she released a held breath, but it was too soon to relax. The shrill sound of the smoke alarm was still ringing through the apartment and her head.

“Help me open the windows,” she shouted at Inuyasha over the din.

He nodded back at her, jaw stiff as he stomped to the balcony door and slid it wide open. Kagome did the same to the two windows in their bedroom and grabbed a couple pillows off the bed before joining him at the open door. She shoved one into his hands and together they fanned the smoke out of their apartment. After several long minutes, the excruciating noise went quiet.

Kagome blew out a relieved breath before tossing a smile to her partner that he didn’t return. “Well, that was an exciting welcome home.”

“Exciting?” He scowled at her, his dark gray eyes hard and flinty. “What about that was exciting? I nearly burned the fuckin’ place down!”

“It was an accident,” she replied in an even gentle tone. “They happen–”

“Yeah! To humans!”

“To everyone,” she assured him, trying her best not to let his sharp tone ruffle her. “Why should you get to be immune?”

He dropped his gaze and growled under his breath, sounding less guttural than normal but no less formidable.

“Inu–” she whispered while reaching out to him.

He shrugged off her touch, snatching the pillow from her hands and disappearing into the bedroom.

Kagome sighed and wandered back into the kitchen to assess the wreckage. There were black scorch marks surrounding the stove, but it looked like the cabinets above and ceiling received the brunt of the damage. They would probably both need a new coat of paint.

There was water everywhere. It looked like Inuyasha had been battling that blaze for at least a few minutes before she arrived. Kagome shook her head; why didn’t he just grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink? That’s what it was there for! Her brow twitched in irritation but she took a deep breath, striving to be more understanding. He must have been panicked and just a little bit scared; the thought made her heart ache.

Inuyasha returned a few seconds later, eyes still downcast and contrite hands held behind his back. Kagome looked him over with fresh eyes. The inky black bangs around his face were more scruffy than usual, a few strands no doubt falling victim to the flames. His dark red shirt was streaked with black and had several holes, revealing patches of irritated skin beneath.

“Inu?” she asked gently. “Are you hurt?”

“M’fine,” he mumbled, hunching his shoulders. “I’m sorry about the–”

“I don’t care about that,” she interjected, as she crossed to his side. “Are you okay?”

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped without looking at her.

Kagome pursed her lips, trying to rein in the retort crawling its way up her throat. “Then can I see your hands?”

His scowl deepened, hiding more of his arms behind his back.

“Inu, please? I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

After several long moments he complied, holding his hands out in front of her. Angry red burns streaked his arms but his hands were the worst. White blisters had already formed all over his palms, several torn open and oozing clear liquid, no doubt thanks to his admirable efforts to help. He must be in so much pain.

“Puppy,” she breathed, tears already gathering in her eyes.

“It’s fine,” he replied in a sullen tone, already trying to hide the injuries from her again. “It’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Kagome wordlessly grabbed his elbow, leading him towards the sink, and flicked on the tap. She drew his damaged and trembling hands under the water, cooing in nonsensical reassurances as she cupped some liquid in her palms and poured it over his arms as well. Inuyasha released a relieved breath, the tension in his clenched jaw dissipating the longer she held him under the cool stream.

“Little better?” she asked, rubbing her damp palm across his back in soothing circles.

He nodded, lips still tight in a thin line.

“Come on,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge. “Let’s get you patched up.”

“But the kitchen–” he protested, giving a significant glance to the destruction surrounding them.

“Is not as important as you.” She slipped two of her fingers into one of the belt loops on his jeans and pulled him in the direction of their bedroom. “Don’t argue, puppy.”

Perhaps sensing that she would not would not be swayed, Inuyasha acquiesced and allowed her to lead him to the bed.

“Arms up,” she instructed, helping to remove the remnants of his ruined shirt.

Kagome pulled it over his head, sending the heavy weight of his long dark hair falling down his back. She dropped his shirt to the floor and frowned, brushing her fingers near the reddened skin on his chest and abdomen. It was nowhere near as bad as the burns on his hands and arms but it would still sting.

Kagome leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss next to one wound. “Poor baby.”

“Stop fussing.”.

“Hush,” she chided. “It’s my job to fuss over you when you’re hurt. Now sit down, I’m gonna grab some medicine and bandages for those burns.”

“Keh,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re wasting your time. They’ll all be gone in the morning.”

“Well there’s no reason you need to suffer for the rest of the night.”

He met her eyes in a silent challenge.

Kagome raised a dark brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Inuyasha, sit.”

He ground his teeth together but still dropped onto the mattress.

She nodded and spun on her heel, rushing into the bathroom and grabbing the well-used first aid kit. When she returned, Kagome bit back a tender gasp at the familiar picture he created, slouched on the bed with a petulant frown etched in place. He looked years younger, more like the vulnerable boy she grew up with, instead of the strong and fearless hanyou he was now.

Her brows drew together in sympathy as she approached, placing the kit beside him and flicking it open. Kagome dug out a tube of burn cream, hoping it would be enough to soothe some of his pain.

“Lemme see your hands,” she said, squeezing out a line of medicine onto her fingers.

Inuyasha lifted his palms up for her inspection and winced as she slathered the cream on his skin with featherlight strokes. It wasn’t until she worked her way up to his wrists that he finally released a pained hiss.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she cooed, gentling her touch even further as she finished up his arms. “It should start feeling better in a few minutes.”

Kagome wiped away the last of the cream from her fingers before grabbing a few packets of special bandages and placing them over the worst of the blisters and charred skin. As she pulled out a roll of linen gauze and knelt in front of him to start wrapping his arms and hands, Inuyasha broke his silence.

“Why am I more angry than you?” he asked in a quiet tone.

Kagome didn’t look up, hiding a small smile as she continued about her task. “Because the apartment doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re okay. Because you’re embarrassed and probably telling yourself that it wouldn’t have happened any other night.”

“It wouldn’t have.”

She shrugged. “Who knows?”

“I do,” he insisted. “If I had been able to smell right, I would have known that something was burning sooner.” His leg started bouncing in agitation. “I only left it alone for a few minutes. By the time I got back, it was already on fire. Then, I sprayed some water on it to try and put it out, but it just got bigger.”

Kagome gave a sage shake of her head as she tucked the end of the gauze around one wrist and switched to the other hand. “Never throw water on a grease fire. That just spreads it around. You want to smother it…or you could have used the fire extinguisher.”

“I’m a fucking idiot!” he bit out, glancing heavenward. “How the hell did I forget that?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It happens in the heat of the moment, Inu.”

“But I put that there…for you.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Because you’re the accident waiting to happen.”

She took a calming breath, finishing up the last of her work and tucking in the end of the wrapping. “How sweet of you to remind me.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said as she stood to her feet. “Shouldn’t you be more smug?”

Kagome tossed him a confused look as she gathered up the trash and threw it into the small bin by the dresser. “What good would that do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “It would put me in my place, that’s for damn sure.”

She scoffed, stepping between his spread legs to run her fingers through his hair. ‘Inuyasha, do you really think I’m so petty? I don’t want to put you in your place; I just want to help you. I don’t feel smug or angry or any of the things you seem to think I should feel. I feel worried about you.” She lifted one of his hands, placing a kiss against the bandages. “I hate it when you’re hurt.”

“Keh, stop blubbering,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine.”

‘I know, but that doesn’t stop you from hurting now,” she explained, grabbing up the burn cream again. “Stand up, I need to get your stomach.”

Inuyasha stood to his feet, waving her away. “It’s fine, that’s not as bad.”

“Be still and let me put this medicine on, Inu.”

He grumbled but didn’t fight her as she swiped it onto his tender skin, the muscles jumping at her touch.

“Better?” she asked, screwing the cap back on the tube and packing the first aid kit away.

“Yeah, yeah, I told you I’m fine, woman.”

“Don’t snap at me. I’m trying to take care of you.”

“Toss me a new shirt then.”

Kagome rolled her eyes and reached into the dresser on her way back to the bathroom, pulling out a fresh one from the drawer before throwing it at him. Inuyasha caught it from the air just as stepped through the door, putting the kit back in its place beneath the counter. By the time she returned he was fully dressed and pulling his long black hair from beneath his collar.

She approached him, smoothing her hands over his chest. “There, you’re all taken care of. So now, we can worry about the kitchen.”

“I’ll clean it up.” Inuyasha wrapped his arms in a loose circle around her waist.

“We will clean it up,” she corrected, rising on tiptoe to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Then we can order out for dinner. Sound good?”

He nodded, still seeming a little down.

“Come on,” Kagome said, plucking at his shirt. “If we tackle it together, we’ll be done in no time.”

It still took them over an hour before they finally decided that it was the best they could do without a much needed trip to the hardware store. The cabinets and ceiling were still stained a blotchy black brown and the burnt pan was dropped into the sink to soak. Kagome was still hopeful that they might save it.

Inuyasha remained quiet and downcast, only speaking when it was strictly needed. It took a monumental amount of restraint not to prod at him, checking the urge to ask if he was okay every few minutes. She knew it would drive him crazy but Kagome only grew more unsettled the longer the silence went on.

It wasn’t until after dinner, when they were cuddled in bed in the wee hours of the morning that she finally began to relax. Inuyasha was lying between her spread legs, arms resting at her sides, and face nuzzled into her cleavage. He took a deep breath and released it on a weary sigh, mumbling against her skin.

‘What was that?” Kagome asked.

He lifted his head, resting his chin on her breast bone. “Thank you…for rescuing me.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Inu.”

“Of course I do,” he replied, watching his finger trace patterns into the skin over her heart. “You saved my ass.”

“Well, you’re saving mine enough,” she said, threading her fingers into his hair. “Sometimes, it’s nice to be the one protecting you..”

Inuyasha’s eyes slipped closed, leaning his head into her touch. “What’re you saying? You want me to burn down the apartment more often?”

“You didn’t burn anything down,” Kagome chuckled. “It was really more of a charring.”

“Thanks,” he said in a dry tone, moving his head around until her fingers found the right spot. “I’m sorry, these new moon nights are such a pain.”

“You’re not a pain,” she soothed, tenderness swelling in her heart as she scratched her nails through his hair just behind his human ear. “You’re still my puppy, even when you’re human. I’ll always take care of you, Inu.”

Wide gray eyes glanced up at her. “I love you,” he whispered, vulnerability layering his voice.

“I love you, too,” she responded immediately, coaxing him to lay more comfortably against her chest. “Try and relax, puppy. Everything is fine and there’s only a few more hours until sunrise.”

Inuyasha settled his weight more firmly against her, releasing a contended groan.

Kagome went back to drawing her fingers through his glossy hair, singing out a soft melody. “Now, please close your eyes, baby, please get some sleep. And know that if I knew all of the answers, I would not hold them from you know all of the things that I know. We told each other…there is no other way. Mmm-mm-mmm.”

Inuyasha sighed, breaths growing deep and even the longer she sang. Kagome held him through the rest of the night, soothing him back down every time he became restless. By the time the light of dawn graced their windows, both hanyou and human were snoring softly, tangled together in a dreamless embrace.

#domaystic2022 #day 24 #sfw #inuyahsa #kagome #inuyashaxkagome #inukag #human inuyasha #ficlet #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #thank you all so much for your continued support

19 notes · View notes

actress4him · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022

ALT. PROMPT 12 - CARRIED TO SAFETY

This piece has a bit of back and forth from past memories to the present situation. Just keep in mind that (other than the texts at the beginning) anything in italics is in her head.

This started with an oc question by @hopepetal , which inspired a brainstorm session, which inspired this piece. As always, Bruno belongs to the beautiful and talented @painful-pooch . She gets tons of credit for this because she wrote most of Bruno’s dialogue and also came up with most of the plot, I just filled in the blanks and made it a fic!

I should also note that this is a Brumaria AU, not the canon fantasy universe! We call this the College AU.

Contains: fire, lady whump, dude whump, flashbacks, panic attack, respiratory distress, implied parental death, romance

Idiot💚:

When are you coming over?

Idiot💚:

I have your favorite chocolate waiting for you

Idiot💚:

(Attachment: 1 image)

Kamaria shakes her head and allows a smile to creep onto her face as she reads the texts from Bruno.

You know you don’t have to bribe me with candy bars. I’ll be there in half an hour or less, just need to check my plants really quick.

Three little dots pop up at the bottom of the screen, and she knows some kind of quip about him being more important or handsome or entertaining than plants is coming. All true, of course, though she’ll deny it. He needs his ego to be taken down a notch or two from time to time.

The other option for his reply is something about how she works herself too hard. If that doesn’t come now, it inevitably will once she gets to his dorm room. And maybe he has a point - after all, she’s most likely the only botany student showing up in the science building after hours to peek in on her seedlings and make sure their environment is still perfect. But this isn’t just work, these are her babies.

Whatever it is he’s typing, she never finds out. An ear-piercing wailing sound suddenly fills the air, stopping her cold in her path and making her heart stumble over a few beats. The fire alarm. Every muscle in her body has gone tense, fingernails digging into her palms and jaw clenched, and it takes her several seconds to shake herself out of the stupor and realize that she’s just standing there in the middle of the hall.

It’s probably a prank. Some stupid frat boy, getting his kicks out of complete idiocy and wasting the time of authorities who have far more important things to do. It wouldn’t be the first time. Someone had pulled the alarm last year, too, and that was in a dorm building - thankfully not hers - in the middle of the night.

It really is probably a prank. So there’s no reason for her to be standing here with fear coursing through her body, already feeling the heat of flames on her skin despite the chill of the hallway. She can just turn around, stroll casually out of the building, wait out in the cold for firefighters to arrive and chat with the others kicked out of the building - if anyone else is even here - about how annoying this all is until they’re allowed back inside. Or give up on her plants for the night altogether and go meet Bruno.

Yeah. She can do this.

The alarm keeps on screaming, and her nerves match it, but Kamaria forces herself to turn and start walking back the way she came. Just one foot in front of the other, pretending like she can ignore the sound, pretending like it’s not intrinsically connected to fire and that fire means nothing to her. It’s just a prank, anyway. There’s no fire. There’s nothing to be freaking out about.

Except that she turns a corner, and she can smell it. The thick, acrid scent of smoke that immediately sends her mind reeling, rooting her feet to the floor once again.

Fire.

There’s a fire it’s on fire the building is on fire it’s happening again

Get out!

She’s running, down another hall than the one she was going to take, away from where she smelled the smoke, but it isn’t going away. It’s getting worse. She can see it now, filling the hallway, distorting the plain beige walls around her, and it burns her nostrils when she inhales.

She opens her eyes and her bedroom is barely recognizable through the thick layer of smoke filling it. Her mind is still half asleep, unable at first to comprehend what’s happening, but she knows she’s scared.

The air is getting hotter. Somewhere in her mind she knows that this isn’t the way she should be going, it isn’t safe, but she can barely breathe or see straight and her feet just keep taking her forward, running toward the only other exit she can remember right now.

Somehow she remembers through the haze of fear that she should crawl underneath the smoke to get to her bedroom door and feel it with the back of her hand before opening it. Her face is met with a blast of hot air from the hallway. Walls that used to be safe and familiar glow a foreboding orange and flicker with haunting shadows.

Then suddenly, she’s face to face with her worst nightmare. The hallway has been engulfed in flame, it’s covering the walls and crawling along the ceiling

Her whole world is on fire, the house that she’s lived in for twelve years burning around her

She can’t get through. She can’t even breathe. She’s not sure she even exists for a moment, because everything seems to just stop, taken over by fire

She can’t move, she’s trapped, she doesn’t know where her mom is

A sob breaks through, and it jolts her out of her panic enough to send her running. Where, she doesn’t know, just away away away away

She screams for her, but the roar of the flames drowns it out

She trips and slams into a door. A door means away, a door means safety. The handle burns her palms but it allows her inside a room that she doesn’t see or comprehend. It’s dark and filled with smoke and unfamiliar objects but she stumbles across it anyway, searching for a haven, searching for somewhere where the fire can’t touch her, gripping at her shoulder with her hand and feeling them both burn

Pieces of her home are crumbling around her and suddenly her shoulder is burning with intense pain

Kamaria hits the floor and curls up into a tiny ball, one hand still on her shoulder while the other clutches at her hair. Tears stream down her cheeks unchecked. “Mom…Mom, where are you?” The smoke clogs up her throat so that her voice is little more than a harsh rasp. “Mom!”

She wants her mom. She needs her mom. She can’t leave without her, she can’t

The smoke somehow grows even thicker and the fire creeps ever closer but Kamaria is too caught up in trying to breathe, wavering on the edge of consciousness, to notice. She isn’t aware of time passing, isn’t aware of anything past the flames flickering behind her eyelids and the feeling of her chest ripping in half, until a hand grips her arm and pulls her up. Suddenly she’s being crushed against a strong chest with arms that have felt like home since the first time she had them around her.

“I’m here, babe. I’m here. Look at me…you’re safe, I promise. I’ll get us out.”

Her head tips back and she looks up into Bruno’s face in a daze. Bruno is here. Bruno is safe. She’s never seen him look so worried as he does now, but she knows she can trust him to help her.

But… “Mo-om. I-I have to f-find…Mom.” She almost doesn’t get the last word out before it devolves into a coughing fit.

His expression falls, and she somehow wants to start crying again, though she doesn’t know why.

“Your mom would want you safe first. I promised her I’d never let you get hurt.”

She wants to argue with him. She needs to fight it, she needs to look for her mom, not worry about herself. But she knows Bruno, and how he gets about his promises, and she just doesn’t have the energy to fight him right now. Letting her head fall against his shoulder, she mumbles, “We have to find her.”

“I know. I know.” There’s some kind of fabric in his hand, and he presses it over her nose and mouth. “Can you hold this here for me? I’m gonna pick you up.”

She grasps it with a weak hand and buries her face in his neck as he scoops her up and lifts her off the floor. The fabric - a bandanna or something, probably - smells like him and blessedly not like smoke. She coughs again, and her throat is raw.

“Just breathe in and out carefully.”

Then they’re moving, and terror strikes through her at the thought of going toward the fire. Her fingers dig into his shirt.

“It’s okay, babe. I’m here. You’re okay.” Bruno keeps up his string of murmured assurances as the air starts getting hotter again and the deafening crackle of flames grows louder.

A man in a strange helmet and mask appears through the smoke and fire and snatches her up, running back toward the front door. She screams and kicks and slams her fists into his chest. “Mom! Mom!”

Her breaths start coming faster again. She wishes she could block out all the noise and the sensations, wishes she could just disappear, or wake up out of this nightmare and realize it never actually happened, just like every other time she’s dreamed of fire.

But the arms around her aren’t a stranger’s this time. The feeling of Bruno’s strong grip and his muscles moving beneath her as he runs keep her from slipping completely back into her panicked state. Bruno is here. Bruno is safe.

Except that now he’s coughing, too, and slowing down. They come to a sudden stop and he curses, body jerking as his boot slams into something over and over again. Kamaria tries to crane her neck and look. All she gets a glimpse of is more smoke and orange glow before there’s a loud, terrifying cracking sound from overhead and the ceiling starts collapsing.

Kamaria screams. She can feel the impact of something large hitting Bruno and cinders sprinkle across her skin and clothing, leaving tiny patches of pain behind. He drops to the ground, hunched over her, and for a moment she stops breathing, scared that he’s hurt, and lost in the renewed throbbing of her shoulder.

“Close your eyes…just close your eyes and relax, babe…we’re…almost out.” His voice is haggard and broken up by coughs.

“Bru-uno…Bruno please…” She doesn’t even know what she’s asking. She just needs them both to be safe.

His only reply is to kiss her forehead with dry, cracked lips and struggle back to his feet, pulling her in tighter than before. He turns away from whatever he was kicking, stepping over objects in his path, and starts running again.

The heat is so intense that it feels like it will cook them alive

Flames lick at her bare arms as they burst through the foyer and out the door

She wants to scream and cry but she hasn’t taken a full, good breath in what seems like hours, so she just hangs limply in his arms and tries not to think.

“Hey!” Bruno’s hoarse shout jolts her back to reality. “Over here! Somebody help!”

“I’ve got her, hand her through!” another voice returns, then she’s being pulled away from Bruno, away from her safety, and he’s letting them take her.

“No!” Kamaria thrashes, trying to cling to him, but he’s already almost out of reach. “No! Bruno!”

“It’s okay, you’re okay!” His hand is cradling the back of her head, and he kisses her knuckles. “I’m right behind you, I promise! Please hold still so you don’t get hurt.”

But she doesn’t even feel it when glass slices into her leg. All she knows is that she’s not with Bruno anymore, she’s being held by a stranger

There’s finally fresh, cool air

She can’t stop sobbing, until the sobs turn into coughs

Her entire house is a tower of flames

The sky is filled with ashes and sparks

Strangers are crowding around her

Someone’s trying to press a mask over her face

She’s coughing and screaming and slapping the hands away

Her shoulder hurts so much

“No! Mom!”

“Mom…Bruno!”

There’s too many people, too much pain, she can’t breathe, she needs her mom

Then he’s there. Bruno is leaning over her, blocking out everything and everyone else. One of his big, rough hands cups her cheek and the other brushes sweat-soaked curls off her forehead. “I’m here, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Kamaria leans into his hand and tries to breathe, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Someone speaks, and Bruno looks up and takes something from one of the strangers. “Here, can you let me put this on you? It’ll help your breathing.” He coughs himself, covering his mouth with his sleeve, but holds the mask up toward her face. “Please, babe. For me.”

She sobs again, but doesn’t protest when he lowers it onto her face.

“Good. That’s good. Try to take deep breaths for me, okay? Copy me.” Picking up her hand, he places it against his chest so she can feel it moving.

She can barely hold her eyes open anymore. The cool air blowing against her lips helps ease the pain in her chest, but exhaustion and anguish are weighing heavily on her.

“You’re doing so good. Rest if you need to. I’m gonna be right here the whole time, Kamaria, I swear.”

With fumbling fingers she reaches out and finds the corner of his shirt and grips it tightly. Satisfied that he’s close, she allows herself to drift into the darkness.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #carried to safety #altprompt #original content #fic #fire #lady whump #lady whumpee #dude whump #respiratory distress #panic attacks #flashbacks #implied parental death #kamaria the assassin #Bruno stenberg #brumaria #whump writing

18 notes · View notes

bearpillowmonster · 9 months

Text

I was actually going to post something about this last night but events kept unfolding and changing the narrative so I’m going to break it down. Long story short, I fell for it. That’s right lads, I joined a dating site.

So, I created an account without much interest involved, mainly curiosity and speculation. Came across a few good ones that I did reverse searches on only to find that they’re instagram profiles someone stole. I expected as much, oh well. But then I get a message to me, from a cute girl at that, and we start talking. Everything seemed to line up as far as her being real, I mean she had the name and face that matched her online presence. She even sent pictures that I wasn’t able to find. I weighed my options and decided I was willing to take the risk, I send her my number and-

Sign 1: Two numbers text me at the same time, the same thing. Oh, boy. I bring this up immediately and it’s kind of just shrugged off. The other one didn’t answer and I know the other was her, the number even looked legit, right area code, everything. We talk more and I see another number text me.

Sign 2: I don’t give out my number and for it to be so close to this happening is either on the website’s messages being compromised or she isn’t who she says she is. I left this one alone with bringing it up, but internally, I start freaking out. This number said they were someone entirely different and just “had me in their contacts” ok, sure, they even sent a picture rerouted to- A popular tiktoker, ladies and gentlemen. They probably have people do this to them all the time. Gave them the chance to make a case- Block.

I do some more research, check the dating profile again and wouldn’t you know it that her messages are gone. So, I start asking the girl questions pertaining to her Facebook. “You ever been here before?” not trying to set alarms for them just yet but I just wanted to trip them up and really, she passed. I ask about the messages thing and she wasn’t convinced, then she checked. At this point, I had already deleted my dating profile to just avoid further damage. She then tells me that the account got suspended. Huh, oh mee, oh my. I actually get on FB and message the real girl and am like “here’s the scoop, someone’s using your identity, blah, blah blah.” It says seen but there’s no way to really know if you’re not friends with them, I sent photo proof but whatever, I was getting over it, trying to dominate the situation.

Okie-dokie, face-time me, that will settle this once and for all, you can’t very well agree when you know- She said ok...ok. She calls but nothing happened, like no voice, no video. “It didn’t work. Bad reception.” Same old song and dance. So, it’s time for the nail in the coffin, the final stroke, Facebook. If the Facebook is real and the two coincide then we have a match, I was disconnected at this point, I thought I’d be devastated in a way but I surprisingly sort of let my insane side take over, whatever game you play, I’m gonna play it back and I’m about to uproot your whole operation while I’m at it. You can’t claim not to have a Facebook when it’s right there, same face, same name and if you do, then friend me. Easy. “Ok, add me.” Huh? What is this, confidence? Ok? Also, Messenger has a facetime that works better, at least imo.

Well, I already messaged her on my account except, I don’t use my real name on my account. So, I wasn’t sure how deep this was going to go, I thought about using one of my alts but for some reason FB doesn’t like that and just kept logging me back into my main, whatever, haven’t used those in forever anyway, I guess they’re lost now. So, I make a new profile with the information I have already given, no friends but hey, whatta you gonna do. I tell her I sent the request. It’s this morning and no add but I have some texts, yeah, from 4 in the morning, like wtf, so I ask what’s up with the Facebook. Nothing yet, will update with a new post if need be.

I slept maybe 4 hours total last night between this in my head, and I couldn’t breathe. Not having my pills has that gas that I was talking about mixed with the heat, I had the humidifier on, didn’t work. I turned it up. Nothing. I turned the fan on. Nothing. I turned the fan up. Nothing. Like come on! I can’t get comfortable. So I decided not to use too much effort with this like I was going to, I’ll leave it up to be balanced on its own accords. One of the weird things when we were talking is that she’d say “Good” a lot, even if it didn’t apply. A yes or no question, “Good”. Major red flag, as I’ve harassed these types of accounts before. Some so long that they changed people in between so one had no recollection of any conversation like it was a freaking program where they used the same dialogue. That time, I knew they weren’t real though. I was worried this would affect me and my shell because it took a long time for me to get to this point but then I shook hands with myself after feeling a job well done saying that i wont let this champion me, I have to champion it. I feel like I did everything right, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to predict or prevent that under those circumstances. I’m normally very cautious with that stuff but I knew I also had to be more open in order to get it back. Whatever their goal was, I don’t really care, I shouldn’t care at least, there’s nothing to justify it, I didn't nose into it before I got permission, that Facebook was only after I started really suspecting something was wrong.

#dating site #dating #scam #scum

0 notes

valeriele3 · 2 years

Text

Note: If I accidentally put info that isn't to be known yet please tell me so I can remove it

After checking there seems to only be 3 static Twitter posts with two of them having an ALT text

One alt text is signed off by the “stigma of love” and the other is “stigma of heart”

Judging from the wording in the alt text it’s Aira that’s talking in Chapter 9 and I can I guess “confirm” that by comparing it with other chapters where Aira is always “Stigma of heart” and Kohaku is “Helter Spider” when clicking on the ALT text

I’m not sure who the “Stigma of love” is. I first thought it was Aira because of something being said like “You are love itself”. Or it could be an error where instead of “heart” “love” was typed/inserted instead

If stigma of love really isn’t Aira then maybe it’s Mayoi?

I don’t really see him as someone with the name “stigma of love” but maybe? Because I’m pretty sure Aira said he warns others when he’s coming or something but then again, Aira also said something along the lines of “you let to suffer my poor flower” in chapter 21 so does that mean that Mayoi didn’t warn MC or anyone in CH? Or did he mean that Mayoi didn’t eradicate them to not make them feel pain? Because Mayoi eradicating the world is causing pain to MC maybe that’s what Aira means by letting his flower suffer since MC always has to reset the world, try to save everyone, and then fail

Anyways, back to the static Twitter posts..

The first static post to appear was in Chapter 6 with the words “I wish I never let you go to that place why can’t I change anything..?? WHY DOES IT KEEP HAPPENING MC PLS DONT LEAVE PLS DONT DIE”

This has to be Aira right?? And the place he’s referring to is maybe the human world because that’s how MC and Kohaku met. They met when MC was falling in the sky and Aira isn’t really happy with the fact Kohaku loves MC and is trying to keep MC to himself

And now I’m wondering..What if Aira never sent Kohaku candies MC made? That means that Kohaku wouldn't know about MC right? Or maybe he will bc Aira talks about MC..

But what if..Aira never sent MC's candies or talked about MC to Kohaku? Would Kohaku still have a dream of catching someone falling from the sky a.k.a MC?

There's so many things going on in my head but at the same time nothing..

So, the oracle thingy from the old fae's is from a dream..MC has astral dreaming, Aira can use an ability of another him and MDD Aira has an ability relating to dreams which is most likely astral dreaming since he is able to control Aira from CH or like possess CH Aira's body. Then Kohaku with the power of Helter Spider can control dreams. We can see this power in effect with that dream world where Kohaku calls MC "omae" and they're married and there's Crazy:B members from different worlds.

So that's 3 people who has an ability relating with dreams..

I've already typed so much but I can't make sense of any of it..

All I know is that there's 3 main things I should focus on for now

Who is the one with the same ability a.k.a astral dreaming (I need to figure out who it is..MC, Aira, Kohaku, or maybe someone I missed?)

Figure out who exactly is talking in the static posts (Which is most likely Aira judging from the wording and the "Stigma of heart")

There's a loop

Aira and Kohaku is hot

Yeah, this whole thing doesn't make any sense at all and I uncovered no hidden truth T^T

If I want to find and understand more things I have to look and think in the characters' perspective. I need to look at things in their way

I am not a good theorist and my brain isn't working properly. It just keeps reciting the 25 elements I kinda memorized..I also lost track and started thinking about something else instead of focusing on like the static/glitched Twitter posts

Maybe I'll add or edit this in the future once my brain can finally function bc I haven't eaten anything since I woke up and its been 5 hours since then

#There's something in my mind that I can't quite word..#It's like I don't know the exact words on how to say or word it properly #I can understand it in my mind but when I try to type it out or think about it further my mind blanks out

1 note · View note

ahtsumu · 4 years

Text

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face. He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

3K notes · View notes

fireheartfaery · 3 years

Text

the distance we can’t comprehend

this is obviously always and forever, dedicated and discussed and developed by with and for dear Cassiopeia Nesta Aurora because she’s perfection and I love her! @danikafendyrr

once again I wrote this in the tumblr app it is most definitely not edited. please forgive me and all the glaring mistakes thank you I love you <3

I’ll put it on ao3 soon and reblog with the link. I don’t have my laptop with me so it’s difficult to do so right now okay enjoyyyyyy

[Image has alt text]

Fenrys phone buzzes on the nightstand. Incessantly. A call then. He squints as the lazy afternoon sun pierces through the large windows and engulfs the bed he’s currently lounging on.

The faint sound of the shower can be heard somewhere to his right but the phone is louder. Almost falling off the wood in its insistence on being heard.

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles grabbing it without bothering to check the screen. “Fenrys, what’s up.”

“Fen, oh my angels!” The smooth excited voice of Hunt Athalar rings through his ear. “You would not believe the afternoon I’ve had! I’m on my way home now but oh my hell Fen, I swear Micah is going to be the death of me! Can you believe what he did today—“

“Hunt,” Fenrys smiles softly, overwhelmed by the sheer love he has for his dramatic boyfriend. He’s worse so really he can’t afford to call it a flaw. “There’s something you should know before coming—“

“Micah made me deal with the godsdamn Postal Services! FEN!” Hunt continues, caught up in his raving in the heat of his hatred for the post. And hell does that hatred run deep. He doesn’t even hear Fenrys. It makes him want to laugh.

“He tried to make me go down there but I refused!” There’s some shuffling on the other end as if a hand is trying spring free while still holding a phone and probably a million other things. Neither of them have ever been the definition of “pack light”. “But I point blank refused. I said he had to go down there and deal with it himself if he wanted a face to face confrontation.”

The shower goes off. The sun still warms his brown skin.

“Ugh I can’t wait to show you the look on his face when he came back from that stupid place.” The cackling on the other end gives him enough of a clue. This conversation is going to involve too much wine and a night of belly-aching laughter. “Anyway before I spoil the show do we need anything at home?”

“Uh babe, I really think—“

“Eggs right?” Hunt mutters to himself, “And maybe more wine? I’ll get the white you like. We can sit by the fire. Apparently it’s going to be freezing.”

“We need some fresh bread please.” Fenrys manages to get out, keeping his giggles in. If Hunt didn’t have his head on the right way every morning he’d walk backwards like it was the most normal thing in the world. “And I really need to—“

“Oh shit the train is coming,” The distant roaring alerts him well enough. “I’m gonna loser signal my love. See you in a few.”

The call cuts.

Fenrys is left to a lazy room and the sound of shuffling coming from the bathroom beyond.

“Well,” He sighs, smile unable to leave his face. “Guess he’s going to be in for a surprise.”

A door opens, steam curling around the air, across the hinges, amongst bronze fingers.

“Well,” He sighs, looks at the figure standing across the room. “You are certainly a lovely afternoon delicacy.”

Drops of water sit on a wide chest, unwilling to leave. He gets it. Gods and damnation he gets it. Arms corded with veins and muscle he could spend hours tracing, are wrapping a fluffy white towel around large hips.

“The shower is amazing.” Rowan Whitethorn grins at him.

Fenrys is almost speechless, smile and teeth and joy rendering him incapable of human. This is the very definition of “wildly beautiful.” He tangles his fingers in snow white hair, forever fascinated by the delicateness. For someone so large, the hair makes everything look that much more….. just more.

“Hunt got it installed. He said there are few joys in life. A good shower after a long day is one of them.” He’s off the bed, walking slowly towards his guest. Wants to capture every minute detail. “I think he’s dramatic but it works in my favour so I can’t complain.”

“You’re staring at me like you want to eat me, again.”

“I do want to eat you. Hell I want to devour you.”

“You want to shower.” Rowan gently wraps fingers around his shoulders. Moves him into the bathroom.

“I want to take your last name.”

“After Hunt agrees to take it too.”

Fenrys disappears into the shower. And takes the quickest one of his life. Anything to be in that presence again.

As he’s stepping out of the shower he hears the front door open. Shuffling from within the room, in the kitchen too.

“Fen?” Hunt calls, shoving paper bags onto the counter. The crinkle is loud in the echo of the house. “Is that you, angel?”

“I got the white and the red—“ He can picture his boyfriend, head in the fridge, stacking wine bottles in the rack, unaware of the world around him. “I was only going to get the white but they had the really dry one you like and I didn’t particularly want to feel like I was swallowing wood drift tonight, so I got the red for me. Do you think it’d be strange to be two different kinds of dru—“

Speech ceases to exist. Fenrys is leaning on the arch that opens into the kitchen and watching with rapt attention as his boyfriend finally realises what’s going on. He can see Hunt struggling to remember language. Knows five and he can’t find sentences in any of them. Mumbles the alphabet in his sleep and can’t piece letters together to form words.

Rowan stands at the island, a gentle smile on his face. Patience lining every glorious muscle on his back.

“Fen–“ Hunt chokes out.

“Hi,” Beautiful deadly grin. “He-“ And a cursory point is waved to the side, where he still leans against the arch. “-should have told you before you came home.”

“I did try!”

“Fenrys,” Hunt is strangling on his own vocal cords.

“I know baby,” He laughs, moves into the kitchen, stands at his boyfriend’s side. “I tried to tell you on the phone but you were being sort of passionate about the whole postal service thing. I figured it’d be a nice surprise anyway.”

“You’re home.” Voice cracking. Tears are pooling in dark swirling eyes. “You’re here.”

And just like that Rowan is across the counter cradling Hunt in his arms, face gently held between warm fingers. “I’m home, my love.”

Something deep within Fenrys heart clicks back into place. A puzzle piece missing for far too long finally found in the dark dreaded abyss underneath the wardrobe. A single star finally learning what it means to light up the night sky.

Later, so much later, when the kisses have spilled over more than the wine and hands have held and held and held and tears have soaked into skin and time has melted straight through the floor, they collapse into the bed that fits three in the room that fits three in the apartment that fits three.

And the little board, hung on the fridge door, now reads: “Days without him: 0”

#fenrys x hunt x rowan #moonthalarthorn #that is SO BAD!?????#hunrowfen #????? this doesn’t seem better #whatever y’all get it #fenrys moonbeam #hunt athalar #rowan whitethorn #ff fanfic

26 notes · View notes

vixenpen · 4 years

Note

Dabi smut with a teacher. Like in some quirkless au or something (He’s scarless but hella pierced and tatted), he had to pick up kid!Shoto one day and he sees his hot black teacher (Sis got thickness and curves for days, even in simple clothes) So he consistently picks up Shoto (even when he doesn’t have to) just to hit on her and when he finally scores a date with her, he’s at his limit after seeing her in casual wear and how amazing her personality is.

I LOVED this request. I had so much fun writing it and the details were amazing! I hope you enjoy

Hot For Teacher (Dabi x Black Reader) Quirkless AU

“Ah, come on kid,” Dabi sighed, expelling a stream of smoke as he waited at the curb for his baby brother to get out of school.

He rolled down the window to air out the car and watched the stream of middle schoolers burst through the double doors and head to their respective busses or cars.

“Shooo,” Dabi groaned, “where are you? I got shit to do, kid.”

He enjoyed hanging out with his youngest sibling, and he had no problem picking the kid up, but he also had a business to help run. If he didn’t get back to the shop in an hour and a half like he’d promised Hawks, he’d get an earful about responsibility and time management and blah, blah, blah.

He leaned back in the driver seat, deciding to give Shoto another fifteen minutes before he texted the kid.

Just then another wave of kids exited the building, Dabi’s bright blue eyes scanned them before landing on the finest woman he’d ever seen in his life.

Her cream colored silk blouse popped beautifully against her rich brown skin and a pair of slacks hugged her wide hips. Her makeup made her dark eyes sparkle and red lipstick painted her pouty mouth.

Dabi sat up, turquoise eyes running up and down that beautiful body of hers as the sexy teacher strutted past to talk to parents and wave good bye to students. When she turned around, his eyes slid down to the fattest ass he’d ever seen and he licked his lips.

Damn it must be hard as hell for her students to concentrate in class.

She turned again and began walking back towards the school. Fuck! If he didn’t stop gawking he would miss his chance. He couldn’t let that happen.

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Dabi quickly stepped out of the car and took leggy strides to catch up with the teacher.

“Excuse me.”

She turned around, her big dark eyes landing on him. Immediately Dabi knew she was sizing him up and wasn’t impressed. She gave that same disapproving teacher look Fuyumi gave whenever she was put off by someone.

Regardless, he flashed her his most charming smile. He may not be a goody two shoes like these other khaki wearing dads out here, but he knew he looked damn better than any of them.

“Sorry to bother you ma’am. I was just hoping you could help me out.”

“Sure,” she smiled back, showing off a pair of pretty white teeth. “Let’s start with that cigarette. It’s against our school policy to be smoking on the premises so if you could.” She cocked a brow expectantly.

Dabi cocked his own pierced brow back in response, but quickly stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby janitor’s cart and threw it away in the accompanying trash can.

Her smile widened. “Great. Now, how can I help you?”

Dabi chuckled. “Well, ya see, I just got this new phone and cleared out all my old contacts. Ya know, new year, new me and all that,” he shrugged, “anyway, my contacts are pretty empty now. So, I was wondering if I could get yours.”

She let out a little snort of amusement.

“That’s your pick up line? How many Girls have had the misfortune of hearing that one?”

“You’d be the first,” Dabi smirked back. “Figured the usual ‘hey beautiful, what’s your name’ line wouldn’t exactly help me stand out.”

“Trust me, you don’t need help standing out.” She replied, eying him again.

“Then that means I’m ahead of the game, right?” He held out a hand, “I’m Dabi.”

Tentatively, the teacher shook it. “Ms. Y/n.”

“Ms. Y/n, huh...” Dabi repeated slowly, his eyes ran over you with a barely masked longing. “Not ‘Mrs’?”

“Not yet.” You replied.

“How soon are you looking to change that?” Dabi asked, his smirk growing a bit smaller and more intimate.

“Who said I was looking to change it at all?”

“Certainly not me,” he replied, “that’s why I asked. I would love to talk more about how much you don’t want to change it over dinner sometime though.”

You fended off a smile. You were not about to give this over confident asshole any encouragement.

“Sorry, but I make it a point not to date my student’s parents.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a parent then.”

“Oh? So you just like to stroll on the campuses of random middle schools and hit on the teachers for fun?”

Dabi chuckled again.

“I’m here to pick up my little brother. Ah, hell, speaking of which, I actually could use your help with that. Kid hasn’t come out yet and I’ve already been here over half an hour.”

Your pretty face immediately crumpled with worry.

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Todoroki Shoto.”

“Oh!” You looked surprised. “Shoto. I think I saw him headed towards the baseball field. I think the team has practice today.”

“Dammit! Really? Well, I better go say hi to the kid anyway. You mind, uh, leading the way?”

“Sure.” You shrugged.

Turning, you took the lead and guided Dabi towards the baseball diamond behind the school. You could feel the man’s eyes on your ass the whole way, and couldn’t help but put an extra switch in your hips as you did. Much to his appreciation.

You had to admit the man was fine as hell. The black undercut with lines cut in the side, his multiple piercings and even the colorful tattoos you saw peeking from under his fitted black tshirt were hot as hell. However, you had long since given up on bad boy types. You preferred nerds. Still a little light flirting wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

“There he is.” Dabi stated once the two of you verged on the field. He held up his hands to his mouth and called out: “Yo, Sho!”

The boy looked up, heterochromatic eyes widening in surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had practice today you little half and half?”

“Why don’t you ever check mom’s texts?” Shoto shouted back. “She told you to come later.”

You snickered as Dabi pulled out his phone and checked his text messages.

“Huh. Well I’ll be damned.” He muttered to himself. “Alright, kiddo, I’ll be back in an hour!”

“Can you stop shouting and leave now?! I have to concentrate.”

Dabi laughed before turning back to you.

“Anyway, thanks a lot for your help Ms. Y/n.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Still, I would love to thank you properly. Maybe over coffee.” He said, sounding hopeful.

“Before it was dinner.” You quipped, playfully.

“I know. I‘m just planning for future dates.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It was nice meeting you, Dabi.” With that you turned and strutted off.

“I hope you know I’m gonna keep trying until I get a yes or no.” He called after you.

As you entered the school’s back entrance you could hear Shoto shouting: “Can you please stop hitting on my teachers? I have to see them everyday!”

Unfortunately for Shoto, his plea seemed to go in one overly pierced ear and out the other because almost everyday since then, Dabi made it a point to stop and talk to you when he came to pick up Shoto.

“Hey there, Ms. Y/n. My contacts are filling up fast. You sure you don’t wanna reserve a spot?”

“Sorry Dabi, but my no dating policy extends to immediate family members as well.”

“I hated to cancel our reservations, but you’re left me no choice, Ms. Y/n.”

“Nobody told you to make reservations, Dabi.”

“Dinner was lonely the other day. If only I had a beautiful black queen to keep me company.”

“I’m sure There are plenty of black queens out there that would have loved to accompanying you to dinner.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have been you.”

Dabi was unrelenting. Always complimenting how amazing your outfits looked on your skin tone, how flattering your make up was, or if you wore a new hairstyle or new jewelry.

You couldn’t lie. The attention was both flattering and refreshing. Since becoming a teacher, you usually only got hit on by studious academic types. Attractive yes, but straight laced and all the same with their game

Unfortunately a disturbing amount of married dads also tried their luck with you.

But Dabi was different.

He may have been a far cry from your usual type, but he was always perfectly respectful and even funny. Not to mention he was much closer to your own age than other men that came on to you.

He must have started bribing Shoto for help or asking him about your interests too. Because sometimes when he would see you, he’d have a new book to give you or your favorite iced tea from a cafe you always frequented. Which, admittedly, was pretty damn cute.

The tatted up alt boy was actually growing on you. So one day, when both of you least expected it, you finally agreed to give him your number and go on a date.

That was the first time you ever saw him straight up smile. Not smirk or grin. He actually beamed. Just like a little boy who’d been told he could have a puppy.

Ok, ok. You admit it—he was cute.

Hopefully, that charm would extend over to dinner.

When the big date came, Dabi cleaned himself up. Opting out of his usual dark attire for a deep blue fitted Ralph Lauren polo and skinny khakis. He even took out some of his piercings in an attempt to look more presentable. He thought he cleaned up pretty nice if he did say so himself, but it was nothing compared to what you strutted in wearing.

Dabi had gotten used to your stylish but conservative work attire. He was so used to your hot teacher look, that he forgot you probably had some regular clothes in that amazing wardrobe of yours.

And damn did you pick out the most show stopping dress you had. You wore a wine colored dress that cut low in the front showing off those juicy tits of yours and stopped above the knee. The heels you wore made your thighs look even yummier and your ass was jiggling out of control with every step.

Down boy. Down boy. Down boy.

He scolded himself.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely, Dabi?” You teased.

“I’m Touya tonight, beautiful.” He struck a pose like a GQ model. You laughed. “Dabi was that guy that kept hitting on you, Touya’s the guy that’s gonna try not to screw it up.

“Oh,” you ran a manicured finger along his solid chest, “well, I agreed to a date with Dabi, but I guess Touya could be fun too.”

Dabi licked his lip, and your eyes fell on his tongue piercing, hungrily.

“Depending on how well the night goes, you might see Dabi come out later tonight.” He replied, suggestively.

You rolled your eyes, but could feel your cheeks (and your pussy) warming.

“Boy! Come on.”

Dabi as Touya opened the door to the restaurant and ushered you inside.

The restaurant he took you to was definitely a high end place; complete with soft candle light, a jazz quartet, and a maître d’.

The chemistry the two of you had definitely translated over dinner.

Dabi was just as funny as he always was and he was genuinely interested in getting to know everything about you. He hung on to your every word about the funny things your students did in class. He enjoyed hearing your college stories. He even knew some of the books you enjoyed reading and could talk literature easily.

You discovered that he was the co-owner of a tattoo and piercing shop. He was the oldest of his siblings. And he enjoyed traveling and learning new things.

Dabi enjoyed vibing with you. He loved that your personality and sense of humor was just as amazing and substantial as that body he wanted a piece of so bad.

Dinner rolled into drinks and lasted well into the night. By the time the two of you were done it was damn near four A.M.

From that night on, you and Dabi became practically inseparable. He picked you up from school right along with Shoto for dinner after work, swung by with coffee, bought you any and everything you wanted (he does come from money after all) and after a year of dating, you became more than just a ‘Ms.’

Pt.2

#dabi x black!reader #dabi x reader #flirting #first dates #bnha fluff #my hero academia #bnha imagines #bnha #bnha scenarios #my hero fanfic #bnha headcanons #dabi scenarios #touya todoroki #mha headcanons #black writers #curvy reader

596 notes · View notes

audreyimagines · 3 years

Note

soulmate au where u can only hear the thoughts of yr soulmate at specific times at night and ur just lyin there awake thinkin “worm on a string victorian style corset and dress” whilst ur soulmate who’s doin whatever is like “...😎🤏😐🕶🤏...WhAt?-“ nd then u actually do it and post it on twitter without really knowing about mcyts and atuff and mcytwt gets it trending and the mcyt of ur choice finds it and then you can decide what happens, any pronouns are cool fhshdhs anyways have a good day :D

BAHHA IM IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA THANK YOU !!! have a great day mwah

worm on a string.

pairing - irl dream x gn! reader

word count - 514

two am? again? you groan and flip over onto your other side in an attempt to fall asleep. the insomnia this week has been horrible, and even watching your favorite streamers hasn’t helped. you reluctantly shut down dream and george’s stream in an attempt to get your brain to chill out, and just close your eyes. but alas, without the racing speech and wheeze of dream in the back, your brain starts to drift into random thoughts and ideas. it ranges from netflix shows to murder, and all of sudden your brain is stuck on the mental image of a worm on a string, in a victorian corset and dress. it will not leave, no matter what you think about, no matter what stream you put on. it’s just there, in the corner, nagging. not even in a soulmate way, but in a your-brain-being-dumb-way.

in a last ditch attempt to sleep you drag your phone out from under the pillow and open twitter, grumbling at the bright screen. your fingers somehow manage to cohesively spell out, “who’s going to help me make a worm on a string in a victorian style corset and dress” and post it to your 1k followers you’ve somehow amassed. finally, sleep crashes over you, and you pass out, phone in hand.

contrary to most days, it isn’t the sun that wakes you up. instead, the steady pinging of your phone does.

“too..early,” you mumble, hand rubbing across your face. once your eyes focus, you unlock your phone to find twitter BLOWING UP. now you really are awake, shooting up straight in bed to pour over the notifications shooting across your phone at record speed. you find the tweet that blew up, and it’s the stupid worm on a string one.

“why the fuck...” you say to yourself quietly while continuing to scroll through the 5,000 comments, before a common factor catches your eye. half of the comments are tagging @dream or mentioning his name. your fingers are flying faster than your brain is as you check his main twitter. nothing. quickly to the alt and there you find...oh my god.

“wondering why my soulmate is insisting on thinking about worms on strings in victorian dresses right now. trying to stream.” he tweeted, three minutes after you turned off his stream.

“holy, SHIT!” your morning voice cracks as you stare at the phone, and notice he’s replied to your tweet with a simple two words, “check dms”

and your fingers are off again, flying to the message tab when you stop. there’s his icon, with two missed texts.

“hey um. i’m not sure what’s going on but maybe we should talk.”

“maybe you’re asleep? but when you do wake up, add my discord okay?”

the link sits below his texts, waiting. your eyes bore it, and then you...click it. you add him and wait, pacing around your room. what only takes one minute feels like an eternity, and all of sudden his icon is ringing you on the screen.

“hello? y/n? it’s uh...it’s dream.”

“hi.”

and just like that...it clicks.

#dream smp #dream x reader #dream fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #dreamwastaken

177 notes · View notes

lassieposting · 3 years

Note

ok i know that ask thing was all kinda cute stuff but would u do skul/nefarian? U made me ship it but theres no stuff for it rly

Ajfjajdkakdja see this is what i don't get about this fandom, it obsesses over the most boring, conflict-deficient vanilla-ass ships and im like???

Skulpine has so much potential. With og!serpine, it's a deeply messed up, traumatic, probably dubcon-at-best darkfic ship. With alt!serpine, it's an enemies to lovers salty fuckbuddies idiot comedy. There are so many routes this ship could go and?????? Everybody be all over the pure unproblematic shit like idk ghanith instead i dont get it anyway here u go

who hogs the duvet

Nef doesn't just hog the duvet, he hogs the bed. He likes to starfish. This isn't a big deal, though - they don't tend to sleep together anyway. They're both light sleepers - Serpine wasn't always, but after a couple decades of being surrounded by resistance fighters who wanted him dead, he doesn't settle easily - and their sleep habits aren't really compatible; Skug has nightmares, and if Nef stretches out and boofs him in the face with an outflung arm in his sleep, there's a solid chance of one of them getting hurt in the ensuing half-awake panic-struggle. When they sleep around each other, it's usually in the car (Nef dozing off on a boring stakeout) or on the couch (Skug dozing off mid-Netflix).

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Nef, but it's less to ask about Skug's day and more to prompt him for attention. Because let's face it, he's lonely. He spent most of his life with allies who would sell him out in a heartbeat if it benefited them, repeatedly sought out shallow, meaningless connections during his time in the Resistance, reached out to Team Good Guy while he was in hiding in Roarhaven, and then kept trying to join in the banter on the Leibniz mission even though they kept telling him to shut it. That's not the behaviour of someone who's perfectly happy as a lone wolf.

But he's not good with people. He's charming and funny and can wind an unsuspecting target around his little finger, but he doesn't have much experience at actually making friends. He's used to being nice only when it benefits him or he's manipulating someone. So when he returns to Roarhaven, he has three people in his social circle - Skug, Val and Tanith.

So when he's bored and lonely, he'll find an excuse to text Skug. Usually it's "What's this?" or "How does this work?" accompanied by a photo of something he didn't have in Leibniz and could very easily google but won't - because what he really means is I want you to pay attention to me.

who gets up first in the morning

Skug by like, a million miles. Serpine is 100% a night owl; given the choice, he won't put in an appearance before noon. He's one of those people who Needs his beauty sleep. But Skug can get in from a stakeout at 3am and still be up with the sun.

who gets jealous easiest

Nef 100% insecurity is like. His thing. It's a possessive sort of jealousy, though. It's how dare someone else take your attention away from me, rather than oh god what if he leaves me. As far as he's concerned Skug is His and he hates not being the top priority.

At this point in his life, though, he's learned to pick his battles. He used to get painfully jealous over Mevolent too, and Mevolent shut that shit down hard, so he's wary of getting humiliated again - probably a good thing, as Skug has very limited patience for possessiveness from him.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

Serpine has A Lot to catch up on once he settles im Roarhaven, but he goes through a month long 90s phase that Skug will be ribbing him about for the next century.

who collects something unusual

Before he had to flee Dublin-Within-The-Wall, Nef collected souvenirs from his victims. A bone, a lock of hair, a treasured possession taken from them during the pre-torture Shameful Strip. He had to leave all his things behind when he escaped, though.

who is the most tidy and organised

Skug, by a lot. Nef is...more of an "organised chaos" person. Skug finds this Upsetting.

who gets most excited about the holidays

Serpine, largely because this dimension has a bunch of different holidays he's never experienced before, or hasn't been able to celebrate for a really long time. His religion doesn't permit holidays dedicated to false gods, so he hasn't had a Christmas or a Halloween since he converted as a teenager, but...he's in a new dimension, and what the gods don't know won't hurt them. He wants to try this "Trickle Treating". Just the once. Mevolent was forgiven for far worse sins, after all. Like Vile.

If Skug isn't in the mood to celebrate, that has precisely 0 effect on Nef's plans. He'll just go out with Tanith.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Serpine. A huge part of his deep personal loathing for Skug during the War was that Skug outmatched and humiliated him every time they fought, and finally besting him was Nef's proudest victory. Even now that he's technically on team good guy, he still feels like he needs to prove that he's as good as or better than Skug. Thing is, Skug isn't competing, so really the only person Nef is stressing out with this crusade is himself.

who starts the most arguments

Nef. He likes to push things like buttons and boundaries, and he gets a kick out of watching someone snap. Unfortunately he also gets off on violence and he thinks Skug is sexiest when he's angry. He's very into dangerous partners who could and might try to kill him, so poking the bear is par for the course in his relationships. He's...not an emotionally healthy individual.

who suggests that they buy a pet

Valkyrie is the pet

what couple traditions they have

Furiously denying they're a couple.

what tv shows they watch together

They have totally different TV tastes. Nef likes to watch Absolute Garbage - usually reality TV infested with z-listers or nobodies making total morons of themselves in a desperate grab for cash and attention. He insists he enjoys the likes of I'm A Celebrity and The Real Housewives because the opportunities to laugh at and rag on mortals are endless, and that's partly true, but also he's just a slut for drama. And since he can't create drama anymore the way he used to in Mevolent's court, the next best thing is breaking out the popcorn and watching someone else start drama.

Skug isn't really a TV person, but he likes his cop dramas and true crime documentaries.

Nef will happily sit and watch Skug's TV picks, because there's usually either explicit sex or gruesome murder, both if he's lucky. Skug will go and do something else when Nef is binging garbage, because "I can feel the brain cells I don't have dying."

how they spend time together as a couple

Bickering. Fucking. Being salty. Bickering, fucking and being salty simultaneously. Arguing over the TV remote or the car radio. Snarking at each other for like seven solid hours on a stakeout.

who made the first move

Serpine. He finally lays a smooch on Skug at a New Year's Eve celebration (where Nef is celebrating. Skug is just there to ask the bartender some questions, because that giant stick up his arse doesn't even shift for the holidays).

Skug...isn't really sure how to react to this? So he just sort of. Arrests him for assaulting a Sanctuary official and sticks him in the holding cell for a timeout.

who is the best cook

Skug knows how to make sandwiches, Nef knows how to make pasta, they have this "functional adult" thing nailed.

#skulduggery pleasant #skulpine #sp headcanons #[blows kiss into the tag] for the skulpine anon 😘#theyre toxic and terrible for each other but theyre also the same brand of dumbass and i love it

15 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 3 years

Note

Have you seen Linkara's review of The Dark Knight Returns? He goes into why the view of Robin as a soldier, popularized but by no means invented by Miller, is so dangerous.

I have not, but I need to refresh my memory before I go check it out because I’ll either agree with it or be infuriated by it and I can’t remember which just at the moment but would like to before I restart that argument ten years later.

LOL, so like, I knew Linkara yeeears and years ago. We were both regular posters on Gail Simone’s messageboard on CBR like fifteen years ago, maybe longer. Pretty sure we even met in person a couple times at Gail’s annual SDCC breakfast meetups, but not sure. I do know for sure though that he and I were both involved in a three way argument about this very topic with another guy.....I just can not remember if he was the one who agreed with me or the one we were both fighting with about it, LOL. I THINK we were in agreement as while I wasn’t like.....as pro-DC as most YABSers were given that it was Gail’s board and I mostly hung out at the X-boards and just swung by YABS once a week or so BECAUSE I couldn’t stand all the ass-kissing that went on at that board so that DC writers and artists would hang out and post regularly, LOL, like I’m pretty sure I remember Link as being one of the less....vehement of the pro-DC camp.

(Tbh, one of the biggest ways in which I disagreed with Gail on stuff is I UNDERSTOOD her feeling a need to be civil with other DC pros even if she didn’t like them personally, I just....couldn’t manage the same and didn’t feel any desire to try. Like for example, not sure how many people know who Ethan van Sciver is, but he’s a long time high profile DC artist, best known for his GL stuff.....but he used to hang around YABS pretty regularly. EvS is ALSO a haaaaaardcore conservative, Trumpian, and all around terrible person. And he always was.

Like he’d play it civil back then but his opinions were downright hateful on a variety of topics, particularly towards marginalized groups, but he was good at picking just the right moments to half-assedly walk something back the second he took something ‘too far’ - so like, the end result was he said it and everyone saw and remembered, but before anyone could react he’d drop the mea culpa card and be like oh I’m sorry I know that was out of line, I was just caught up in the moment and it’s all good cuz this is all friendly debate anyway right? We’re just talking here.

And he’d pull this crap all the time but because he was a DC pro, people would let him get away with it and warn people off coming down on him so he didn’t feel unwelcome at the board. Now the painfully ironic twist here is that shockingly, totally unexpectedly.....fast forward to about five or six years ago where good old Ethan burns a shit ton of bridges and decides well why not make things a dumpster fire for everyone in my vicinity....and he became the driving force behind a bunch of alt right comic book fans starting their own weak ass version of Gamergate, only called Comicsgate. It never was nearly as....big...as Gamergate was, but it was still ugly. And the thing is, Ethan sicced his sycophants on other industry pros he’d worked with over the years but always disagreed with on politics.....like really let the ugly fly....and most of these pros included Gail as well as a bunch of the other DC professionals from back in the YABS days.

Because thing was....that was literally WHY he’d hung out at YABS so much back then, despite being so far in disagreement with most of the progressive leaning board. He was always just interested in stirring shit up, he never actually had the slightest interest in debate or seeing the other side of anything....he just knew how to play the right cards to get the right people to come to his defense and cool things off rather than run him off, in the name of keeping things civil and such...all so he could start it all up again a couple weeks later.

And this is literally why that kind of thing doesn’t work for me at all. Because he wasn’t really that subtle even then, most people knew all along exactly what he was doing, and letting him get away with shit that would have gotten anyone else banned purely because he was a industry pro just meant that his opportunities to subject anyone in his vicinity to just vile, hateful shit ended up more protected than all the marginalized posters on that board who didn’t come to it to see his shit but had to constantly listen to it anyway because people were more interested in making excuses for him than making it comfortable for everyone else.

And in the end, he ended up turning on the very people who’d protected him from everyone else ripping into his hateful viewpoints with the directness they merited. Which just. Sigh. To me just smacks of a whole lot of unnecessary years spent putting up with his barely veiled bullshit until he didn’t bother even veiling it anymore....even though the reality is NOBODY was ever buying into his veil of it in the first place and we all knew what was right behind it all along. Anyway. Not that it matters LOL, but good old Eth, was one of the primary reasons I decided not to go into comics when I had a couple of opportunities come up, as I decided to focus my efforts on Hollywood at the time instead. Lmao, I figured if I was going to have to keep my mouth shut about coworkers whose opinions I vehemently disagreed with in the name of professionalism, I might as well focus on the profession that would pay me more money to keep that to myself. Look, at least capitalism is useful when ADHD and trying to pretend to be decisive about life choices.)

Long ramble nobody asked for aside, like I said, I can’t remember Link’s take on this particular topic but it’s likely the one I agreed with for the most part. My own take has always been that Miller sucks and if he said it chances are I said he was wrong because he is about everything and my religion is people saying so and by people I mean me. My religion’s also big on self-actualization. Not sure what else, I did just make it up and I think I’ll probably just stop there so I don’t accidentally make it a cult.

But yeah. I mean, maybe it’ll surprise people given how critical I am of the abusive elements of canon, but I’ve never applied the child endangerment/child soldier argument to sidekicks. It’s obviously not that they don’t get hurt in these stories and even traumatized, it’s not that they’re NOT in danger as kids....it’s just why I put such an emphasis on it being their choice to fight crime and be heroes and NOT something that Bruce or any other mentor or parent pushed them into.

Because this is one of the reasons why death of the author more often than not just doesn’t work for me. Authorial intent matters. Readers are always free to interpret a text however they want, regardless of authorial intent....but IF a writer has a specific intent behind a narrative choice, chances are most interpretations that refuse to align themselves with that viewpoint aren’t really all that RELEVANT to the story the writer was trying to tell in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong. Those other interpretations can still exist. They’re allowed to exist. People can abide by them all they want. But if someone’s takeaway from a story is a deliberate choice to read it entirely different from the story the writer intended it to be.....like, their interpretation is all well and good, but it’s not actually at all a RELEVANT commentary on or review of the story the writer was actually writing. They’re not actually saying the writer did a poor job of telling the story or was wrong in how they did it....because they’re not actually talking about the story the writer was actually telling.

Thus their commentary on it exists. But it’s just not that relevant. Because nothing in it even CAN offer an opinion on how else the writer could or should have written that story....because the story they ARE talking about isn’t the story the writer was even interested in writing.

Now, there are some times when authorial intent DOESNT matter. And when criticism of it is entirely fair and earned even if it’s of something the writer didn’t consciously or deliberately write into their story at all. But these things are almost ALWAYS unconscious. Unlike what I was just talking about, where the writer was very consciously writing the story a certain way for a reason, and thus people who aren’t interested in reading the story the way it was written to be read just can’t offer up a commentary that says anything useful or meaningful about the story that was actually written...the flip side of this is when the writer puts things they don’t intend into the text, but still are very much there all the same.

And this sort of thing applies to things like micro aggressions or racism, homophobia, sexism....things where a writer didn’t sit down intending to be offensive or alienate their readers but still put in things that they don’t think to view as offensive due to their own privilege and lack of experience EXPERIENCING the microaggressions that marginalized readers might be all TOO familiar with and thus can’t avoid reading into a passage where the writer might not have INTENDED harm or offense, but delivered it all the same. Because they didn’t think to put it into their story, they weren’t TRYING to....but they didn’t think to avoid putting it in there either, even if it’s because they didn’t know to until it’s pointed out to them that it’s there.

And this also applies to when the writer puts into their story, via whatever viewpoint they’re writing from, things that herald from their own viewpoints, how they view the world, even in terms of unconscious biases or expectations....but things that readers can still interpret as something they vehemently disagree with, even if the narrative seems to condone it. Because a lot of these viewpoints are things where the way they’re written....even just not coming out as clearly not condoning or agreeing it can effectively be read as tacitly condoning it.

So to apply all this to the idea of child sidekicks and child soldiers:

They’re not one and the same, and thus treating them as one and the same or interchangeable is IMO an inherently flawed perspective that doesn’t ever have anything USEFUL or RELEVANT to the stories that most people are trying to tell with child heroes and sidekicks.

With the notable exceptions of Miller, Ennis and certain other writers who by their own admission usually aren’t even trying to write about superheroes but rather deconstructions of the genre as a whole.....the vast majority of comic book writers, even the ones I dislike LOL, aren’t writing about child soldiers when they write characters like the Robins. Because CONSCIOUSLY, with INTENT, they’re already trying to write something completely different:

Child heroes and sidekicks are almost universally written to be child (although to be really fair, for the most part they’re largely teen) empowerment allegories. They’re youth power fantasies.

They’re stories about kids, about teens, getting to be the ones to save the world. About kids who don’t need adults to save them because they save themselves or their friends. Kids saving other people, other kids, grown adults. Stories about child HEROES are written as metaphors of hope for the future and the promise of the younger generations, or power fantasies where kids who feel helpless and powerless in their own lives can read these stories and vicariously imagine through the characters the idea of one day having the power to save themselves or other people, what that would be like, what they’d do with that.

But here’s the important part, and why people interpreting these teen and kid heroes as child soldiers doesn’t really offer relevant commentary to stories that are written to be allegorical youth power fantasies, regardless of authorial intent or death of the author....

And that’s because the key ingredient here, the thing that’s not really up for debate or open to interpretation....is that these stories can ONLY ever be allegorical.

Because like I said before, child heroes and child soldiers are not the same thing. There simply IS NO REAL WORLD EQUIVALENT for child and teen heroes as comic books style them.

And that’s why the fact that with most every child hero in comics, no adult makes them be a hero. They choose that for themselves, it’s almost universally characterized as a self-determination or empowerment moment rather than one of coercion like Miller likes to characterize it. His choice to characterize Bruce essentially drafting Dick as Robin to fight alongside him does nothing to provide commentary on any other superhero story, no matter what he’s told himself or his fans, because his story is the only one where Robin was drafted!

You can’t condemn narrative choices that nobody but you has actually written and then act like you’re saying something about any narrative other than your own fsjsjfshfzgzfhgs.

And you also can’t claim that you’re just seeing in the text something that’s inherently there and the other writers didn’t just see to avoid like I was talking about being a valid critique....because what’s being commented on there isn’t anything that was written unknowingly. Other writers consciously wrote the same things as Miller in terms of a child engaged in all that violence....but they deliberately wrote those moments to be metaphors of a kid that gets to save themselves and other people and CHOSE that, which is inherently opposed to the interpretation of a kid who is ONLY in harm’s way because he was forcibly drafted by a more powerful figure or force who cares neither what he wants or if he gets hurt.

These two ideas are mutually exclusive. They can not coexist in the same narrative because a character can not be powerless and self-empowering about the exact same specific choice. And thus anything that’s said about one of these narratives is inherently unable to say anything that’s relevant about the other....because the other is not written by its writer TO BE the kind of narrative that particular commentary is dissecting. It’s not TRYING to be that narrative, so no review of it can possibly say how flawed it’s execution is of an idea it’s not actually trying to execute.

And the differences between child heroes and child soldiers are not just limited to choosing that or being drafted and these other differences are equally key.

The biggest being that child heroes can not be seen as ‘basically’ the same thing as child soldiers.....UNLESS you are also perceiving adult heroes as basically the same thing as adult soldiers. And not even law enforcement or police or temporarily deputized or whatever else you want to spin it as....SOLDIERS, specifically. You don’t get to bring up something as charged as child soldiers and then get vague with your terminology when the close scrutiny that brings to your analogy stops working in your favor.

If sidekicks are child soldiers then you must in conjunction view adult superheroes as soldiers. And not in the abstract one man war on crime way Miller likes to consider Batman in his attempted deconstruction of superheroes. ACTUAL soldiers. If there’s no room in your comparison for child heroes to differentiate from real world child soldiers, there’s no wiggle room for the adults either.

And again, except for Miller, Ennis and specific others who by their own admissions are not TRYING to view superheroes the same way most other comic writers are, but fail to see that genre conventions are largely interpretive and thus seeing room for different interpretations of superheroes isn’t actually a commentary on how other people see and write those same heroes....like except for these select few, most writers are not writing superhero soldiers unless they’re Captain America or Captain Atom. Yes I know there are other superhero soldiers but let me be pithy. Even those aren’t really the same as their real world equivalents.

See, real soldiers don’t make distinctions about whether or not they’re willing to use guns. Their personal views on killing are not prioritized over whether they’ve been told to use lethal force to accomplish their objective. They have a chain of command. No matter the rationalization, they pledge their loyalty to singular nations and the aims and objectives of those specific nations over the abstract of acting in defense of the whole world.

Now again, maybe that applies to Captain Atom, but for the most part can you say the majority of comic book writers are TRYING to write Superman, Batman, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman etc through that lens? No. So while Miller really thinks he said something when he wrote his Batman with guns, fighting in the Middle East, killing people left and right, none of that actually ‘showed’ people that at the end of the day, Batman is no conceptually different from a real world soldier like. No all he actually did was write his own take on Batman, and said look, he’s a gun toting murderous asshole, huzzah I have deconstructed the modern superhero!

Like. Shut up Miller. Honestly.

But seriously. Superheroes do not have a real world equivalent and neither do child heroes. Even when it comes to nonpowered ones like the Batfam, they’re still deliberately written in a larger than life, four color perspective that requires a suspension of disbelief at the front door. We ALL know and understand that they aren’t a blue print for how to go out and be a real world vigilante. Even real world vigilantes exist. But they don’t look anything like the Batfam and it’s disingenuous to pretend they do for the sake of teh discourse. Nobody honestly believes that there is even the OPTION of going out one day and deciding to become a comic book style vigilante like one of the Batfam. It’s why even they’re termed superheroes despite the lack of superpowers. On a CONCEPTUAL level it’s understood that the stories being told about them require an extrahuman medium. You can not simultaneously write characters according to a mythic scale but then attempt to interpret that very writing on a real world one. It doesn’t work.

Which brings me to my final piece of this pie. Or puzzle. Idk I’ve been doing this response for awhile I forget what this is.

And that is again, the difference between interpreting a story in a way the author probably didn’t intend and understanding when a story isn’t meant to be interpreted in the way you’re trying to.

And this difference is how I can understand and reconcile the idea that it’s not inherently abusive for Bruce to allow his kids to fight crime at all, even though that would inherently be child endangerment in the real world, but at the same time, I can view him as abusive in other ways that don’t make allowances for the differences between real life and comics.

Basically it boils down to: CAN this specific element of a story be duplicated in real life or mirror a real life action or idea? Is there a direct parallel to a real world equivalent at all?

I can view Bruce fighting crime or saving the world alongside a child Robin without viewing that as child endangerment or inherently abusive, even when Robin gets hurt in the process....because there is no real world equivalent to those parts of a story. NO ONE, child or adult, is going out there and doing those things Batman and Robin style. Even the people who dress up in their own real life vigilante personas basically just do niche neighborhood things like walk people home from the bar. And even people doing real life vigilantism in terms of taking out criminals, like, that’s usually more of a personal revenge thing and not one where they’re trying to attract attention via a costumed persona. When you think real world Batman and Robin, nothing comes to mind for a reason.

And thus this says nothing inherently abusive about their dynamic, even according to real life parallels of child endangerment, because it’s not a real scenario. And thus it’s not TRYING to say anything about real life. It’s innately allegorical. It’s power fantasy emphasis on the fantasy.

In contrast, when you have something like Bruce hitting one of his kids.....no matter who the characters are, that specific interaction and the dynamic it presents DOES have a real world equivalent. That’s just parent/child abuse. And thus even if the writer didn’t intend for it to be interpreted that way, it’s still a valid interpretation. If it looks like a parent hitting their child, you can call it a parent hitting a child.

Batman and Robin fighting killer mind controlled plants together? Can’t happen. I’m not going to call it child endangerment when it’s not a realistic scenario and not meant to be, and I’ve already been presented with a valid alternative interpretation of this being a child empowered to help save people alongside his superhero father. There’s no point in condemning a dynamic that CANT be translated to a non allegory in real life.

But Bruce hitting his son? A father no matter how good hearted normally, being affected by extreme stress or grief or something else that makes his behavior take a turn for the worse and reach a point where he physically lashes out even if he never would have in the past? Nothing remotely allegorical about that. That story has too many real world equivalents to dismiss as having nothing to say about abuse in real life. Even if the writer didn’t intend for this to read as abusive because they were thinking of how much worse Dick has been hurt fighting alongside Bruce and never held that against him even though technically it was Bruce letting him get hurt....doesn’t matter. That interpretation still requires viewing through a lens that can’t exist in reality. No kid can ever excuse a parent hitting them by thinking of how much worse they got hurt taking down their local mob together and if he didn’t blame his dad for that cuz he wanted to do it to help people then how can he blame his dad for hurting him in a moment of anger? Umm. Doesn’t track see? They’re not the same thing at all.

Or another one that really bugs....I’ve heard people defend shipping a Robin while underage with an adult by saying if they’re old enough to make the choice to risk their life and have that choice respected, they’re old enough to choose who they want to be with. Umm. No. That’s not just apples and oranges that’s genetically modified grapes and seventeenth century cannonballs.

That logic doesn’t apply because neither of those things is the underage character choosing ANYTHING. They’re fictional. Everything they choose is just what their writer wrote them choosing. But again, one of those choices is one that an underage reader CANT choose in real life and have respected by every adult in their life, and thus will never have a bearing on their life as anything BUT an allegory they have to interpret and translate into something actionable they can apply to their life and choices. The other choice is them being written as presented with an option that’s actually a textbook real life grooming technique and something abusers use to justify the relationship they’re trying to cultivate with a minor by saying aren’t you mature for your age, aren’t you old enough to know what you want or to do this or that in which case you should be old enough to make this choice?

See the difference? Putting on a cape and going out to fight robots? Not directly applicable. Saying yes to the grown man saying he wants to have sex with you and thinks you’re old enough given this other choice you’ve made that highlights your maturity? That’s a choice that can be presented both to a Robin or a real life minor, but a writer justifying that choice for that Robin by saying well he’s already previously made this other choice that has no real life equivalent.....that creates a pretty misleading interpretation to people reading that story and not stopping to think through the distinctions between what KINDS of choices the writer is presenting these characters with and then justifying via their narrative.

And while I haven’t watched the video you’re referencing, anon, I would definitely agree that this is an example of how viewing child heroes as child soldiers is....not great. Aside from being cynical, misusing the idea of death of the author and helping to validate Miller’s choices and thus ego which is NEVER a good look LOL....it also intentionally or not paves the way for putting fictional types and MEANS of harm on an even playing field with real life ones and acting like it’s all one and the same with no distinctions to be drawn. And this doesn’t actually offer anything substantive or constructive about holding characters accountable for reasonable expectations of harm, when the sources of harm have no reasonable equivalent and thus only exist in the medium of being a youth power fantasy in which the child involved is fictional and can’t truly be harmed, with the harm done the second the scene ends and where the character can be back in fighting form the very next scene. Thus the only lingering element there IS the power fantasy.

Nope, all it actually does is muddy the waters in the REVERSE, and make it so it’s actually easier to justify or rationalize types and means of harm that DO have a real world equivalent, but by pointing to examples from a fictional medium and emphasizing the fictional character’s lack of being harmed while de-emphasizing the fact that the writer has full control over depicting this in a solely positive light that doesn’t ALLOW the fictional character any angle from which to voice that this CAN result in harm when not written for fictional characters according to a writer’s specific intent.

And that’s that about that. My opinion: you have it.

11 notes · View notes

bastardtetsu · 4 years

Text

haikyuu + musical theatre boys

hq characters & what they’d be like as musical theatre boys - what they’re good at, what kind of shows they book, how they are to work with, roles they’d play, etc. | starring: sugawara, oikawa, bokuto, kuroo, tendou (+ tsukishima, kenma, akaashi)

for weeks my head has been full of hq!MT boys, inspired by over a decade of being a theatre kid, and @karasimpno has only enabled my debauchery. these are just a few of my faves, but i have more theatre boys where this came from so if this doesn’t flop maybe i will post more hehe

PART 2

tw swearing, musical theatre references, oikawa slander

SUGAWARA [tenor] this bitch is SO talented it should be illegal and he books like crazy. nothing like a pretty soft boi with the voice of an angel in musical theatre <3 not really a dancer but moves very well, also can act the house down like you think he’s this basic MT boy but then it turns out this mf has range and is not afraid to use it. will go from playing the sweetest, most charming leading man to a complex, terrifying villain, and the whiplash will make you fall in love with him. a dream to work with, obviously. very strong with classical text as well. his ability is frankly terrifying and far too powerful. the type of boy you cold read with once at a callback and never see again, but playing opposite him for those 2 minutes is enough to make you think about him for the rest of your life

lucas in the addams family, anthony in sweeney todd, the princeton/rod or nicky/trekkie/bad idea bear track in avenue Q, the emcee in cabaret PLS

OIKAWA [tenor] let’s be real oikawa already has an MT personality and it’s the worst kind. he thinks he’s rachel berry but really he’s kurt. he still books though bc he’s pretty and sings like an angel~ he can move really well and his jazz/MT style dancing is very strong, can also tap a little but it’s like barely enough to get by. his acting is kinda mediocre but his stage presence is out of this world and he’s hot so it doesn’t rlly matter, he stays booking leading men & disney princes left and right. truly is very talented at what he does, he’s just so annoying about it and constantly fronting all these skills he does not have, like he keeps trying to put leading lady songs in his book in their original key which is just.... not what those pipes are built for girl. bringing a whole new meaning to the nickname “flattykawa”

fiyero in wicked, pippin in pippin, conrad in bye bye birdie, aaron samuels in mean girls, joseph in joseph & the amazing technicolor dreamcoat, just all the basic mt boy shit

BOKUTO [baritone, tenor, everything in between, HIS RANGE] an absolute star. all-around amazing dancer (those muscles aren’t just for show babyyy) but especially tap and partnering (imagine him just lifting u.. god) powerhouse vocals across the board, his diaphragm is insane. he’s the type of MT who is always yelling even when they aren’t on stage, not even aware of it he’s just loud asf. always spitting everywhere too. no one is safe. acting is probably his weakest point just bc he doesn’t have a lot of versatility style-wise, but in no way is he bad at it i meannnnn have u seen how expressive and energetic that man is?? he does literally any golden age musical comedy leading man soooo well and is a blast to work with, such posi vibes & the character choices his himbo brain comes up with are so silly they’re genius

don lockwood in singin in the rain, gabey in on the town, bobby in crazy for you, jimmy in nice work if you can get it, robert in drowsy chaperone, will in oklahoma!

KUROO [baritenor] one of those fuckers who started doing theatre by accident, and immediately started booking out the wazoo with no training because he’s naturally talented and hot. i hate him so much. has that “idgaf i don’t have to try” aura about him, but his work ethic is actually?? really good??? once he starts learning more he really does put the work in. has that feeling of ease in his stage presence & good instincts that make up for his lack of training, plus his vocals have no right sounding that good on their own wtf. fucker thinks he’s frank sinatra, and honestly, it’s criminal how good he is at golden age material when most of what he books is contemporary bc of his dumb hair he’s not exactly a dancer but like…. bitch can move. plus he’s got body so that helps him a lot. mostly books leads anyway because that’s just how it goes when ur a hotboy with charm and talent. also he can fieRCE classical text??!?? (hint: it’s bc he’s a nerd) just stop being talented already jesus

melchior in spring awakening, sky masterson in guys & dolls, demetrius in midsummer, BENEDICK IN MUCH ADO PLS I NEED IT FOR MY HEALTH

TENDOU [countertenor] kicks ass at everything like he’s so talented and so versatile. vocals are insane, he has mad range and can do any number of character voices/impressions/dialects/what have you. his falsetto is unmatched (nice try flattykawa). we been knew his instincts are killer - character acting, comedy, improv, clown, mime, devised/alt theatre, contemporary MT, golden age MT, classical text you name it he can slay it all. his resume is so chaotic. he can body a super intense scene too, i feel like he trained in meisner & got traumatized from it and for a while he had an issue with getting too into character & doing crazy shit bc it was “method,” but eventually learned better<3 excellent mover, used to be a trina ballerina so his technique always shocks people even though he’s been out of practice for a long time (the dance world can be toxic and he was over it, so he yeeted all the way out of there a while ago). all around a wild human being with the ability to transform into numerous other wild human beings, creatures, abstract concepts, etc.

beetlejuice in beetlejuice, almost any track in cats but especially mungojerrie, mary sunshine in chicago, the porter in macbeth, CALIBAN IN THE TEMPEST PLEASEPLEASRPKEASE

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

+BONUS: NOT MTs

characters who have zero MT energy but still fit elsewhere in the theatre world:

TSUKKI is a sound tech who is mean to performers esp during sound check, has a particular vitriol against MTs (except yamaguchi)

KENMA is an ASM who rarely gives a fuck, also does lighting & projection design. doesn’t hate MTs like tsukki, but their energy is usually a lot for him so he tends to avoid

AKAASHI is a playwright & dramaturg, but he used to act and can recite shakespeare on a dime, sonnets, soliloquys, whatever ur heart desires <3 may also play an instrument and sometimes writes lil songs but he doesn’t flex them bc he’s shy bby

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu crack #haikyuu #sugawara koshi #oikawa toru #bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsuro #tendou satori #tsukishima kei #kozume kenma #akaashi keiji #mt boyz #.txt #e shitposts

58 notes · View notes