#childhood rivals

[inaissante]

Assigning a trope to each driver !

my masterlist

☆ max verstappen x you

in which you are childhood rivals

but somehow end up becoming teammates in f1,

leading to a lot of pent-up tension being released one way or another...

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

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Modern AU)

Made To Be by LadyKettleChips Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: Kate Sharma had always been a little pest, ever since the first day his kid sister had introduced her to the family. It was inevitable that they wouldn’t get along, not when they were in vastly different stages of their lives. Anthony Bridgerton was a stick-in-the mud and her best mate’s oldest brother. Easy to annoy and fun to mess with, he was her #1 target, but also a person she could rely on. And then life got in the way, and they grew up.

[rougesixteen]

don't mind me, i'm still mentally there

📸: getty images

[rp-partnerfinder]

Hey y’all, I’m an 18+ writer and account so all of my partners should be 18+ as well!! Specifically only looking for fxf/nb stories. I’m honestly open to most plots and genres, loving SOL and fantasy right now, with my fave tropes being enemies to lovers, childhood friends/rivals or anything we can incorporate a little angst into. Like this post and I’ll send you a message and we can get to writing!!

.

[wiltedrosewritings]

BETWEEN COMFORT & CHAOS | 002

wc: 4k

tense & pov: present, third person

tracklist:

001 | 003 | 004 | AO3

Following such an unpleasant event as puking one’s guts all over another’s shoes would prompt a sane person, at the very least, to ramble numerous, sincere apologies. Some might even feel guilty enough to offer monetary compensation for the inconvenience, to replace the shoes or pay for laundering.

Sanity had been left somewhere over the pile of sheets amidst Rin’s chaotic bedroom. 

Rather, she stands painfully still, too mortified to speak, or even blink. 

The queasiness persists - exacerbates the longer she forces herself to stand amidst the horrifying scene, helplessly witnessing the unimaginable unfold before her tired eyes. Her stomach churns, rejecting the decaffeinated, poor-excuse-of-a-coffee from earlier, unaided by the persistent and dizzying halo about him. 

Experimenting with a nervous and flighty gaze, she finds the discomforting symptoms to be alleviated by looking elsewhere, by rejecting him as the center of her attention. She watches what should still be in her stomach seep into the cracks on the pavement. As she does so, the double perspective of her vision collapses into unison and her legs no longer quiver. 

Sanity drained from her, the next-best thing she concocts, improvises in that split of a second, involves prying her body from its petrified stance and running. 

It is entirely not unlike her to run, to extract herself from an unpleasant and perplexing situation. She'd always been skewed towards flight rather than fight.

She’ll argue she’s doing him a favor by saving the rest of his clothing garments from her nervous incontinence. She'll hurry back to her life to pretend as though today never occurred, as though two distinct paths did not transect by some ordained force beyond her comprehension.

Then, he, too, could resume his life, unbothered, unchanged.

Life could resume its course, as it has always been intended to.

In her sanity-lacking mind, she’ll come to structure her cowardice like a favor, and suppress the knowledge that her fleeing is done out of self-preservation. Just like all those times before.

Nothing's changed.

As she runs, worn soles slapping over concrete, she can hear the ominous breath of a snowball hurling down her path. It ghosts her heels, its chilled breath biting her ankles. 

Desperate to be blurred between bodies and chatter, she swings open a door beneath a sign that reads Joe’s Cup, and with unnatural urgency and dramatic flare tumbles in.

Customers are baited out of their casual exchanges by her disheveled sight, their toothy grins thinning, and eyes roundly boring at her, through her, as if anticipating the pursuer to barge in after.

When he doesn't, their brows furrow.

They exchange quizzical glances amongst themselves, slurring comments beneath held breaths.

Rin's ears and neck burn flushed and a bead of sweat swells on her temple.

She shoves a path through a healthy herd of customers lined before the cashier desk.

A symphony of distasteful complaints follows suit.

Black-aproned baristas turn from their practiced choreographies, canisters in hands, their eyes chasing Rin's form as she clumsily parts a way to the guest restroom.

The weight of their collective gaze cloaks her figure like some thick winter coat. She sinks further between the bodies, cranes her posture lower to the ground, wanting to be swallowed into oblivion.

With blatant disregard towards the huddle of customers patiently awaiting their turn, Rin slips past the half-open door and locks it behind her.

They bang on the door, their patience fizzled out, and holler an assortment of vile curses, each one punctuated by a rumbling fist colliding against the metal of the door.

Rin’s heart rams in her chest to a similar alarming rhythm.

She slides her back against the rumbling door, collapses on the ground like a shattered vase. Toys with the pieces in her hold as her mind races loudly. All futile attempts to piece them back together.

Broken things cannot be restored. They must evolve if they are to survive. Adapt to their incapacities.

She hasn't yet learned to stand without her crutches.

Rin folds the work excuse in her hands, shoves it in her back pocket after sending an image of it to her superior. She'd been accepted as a walk-in at an urgent care clinic, and managed to milk her migraine for its benefit.

She walks home, thinking the mindless toggling of her feet, scuffing one in front of the other, over and over, will do her racing mind a measure of good. Over bumpy cobble on the sidewalks, over the smooth cement of pavements, over the zebra pattern of pedestrian crossings. It gives her something to focus on, something to slow her mind. The shuffle of her shoes over gravel fills the quiet spaces, doesn't allow for intrusive thoughts, intrusive fears.

The sound shifts to something expansive, reverberant, as she draws to a halt over a yellow strip of tactile tiles just before a pedestrian crossing.

At an uneasy standstill, she squints at the red human silhouette illuminated across the street. Thinks that frowning at it will make it succumb, flicker green.

It doesn't.

The spaces she'd been trying to occupy in her mind empty, replaced with a gnawing vacancy that ushers forth all those thoughts she'd been avoiding.

The fresh and recent image of him unblurs amidst the eye of her mind. Comes into center focus.

She shakes her head, in denial. It can't be.

Shakes it also in disbelief. How can it be?

It all seems like some big, unfair mistake. It's not that she'd been fantasizing of her soulmate meet-cute everyday of her life. She didn't really have expectations surrounding that event, that revelation.

It wasn't expectation what she had, no. Rather, she held an air of justification, as if life owed her basic decency of fairness. It was a naive belief, she now realizes. Thinks of all the times life had shown its unfairness to her parents, friends, peers, strangers on news reports. Of course, all those times seemed something distant, removed from her; she'd been wrapped in the youthful sense of invincibility.

The human animation flickers green. She doesn't notice until a body blurs past her, leaping onto the zebra pattern, cardboard coffee tray clutched in their grasp.

Momentum stalled by the weight of a dense, racing mind, Rin's slow to follow suit. The cement of the pavement feels as though it has liquified around her shoes, slowly consumes her like that of quick-sand.

She doesn't want to go home and be reminded of all the tasks that have piled up over the course of days. She doesn't have the mental agility to juggle it all today. Only wants to sit and stare off into space, allow herself to process and absorb, to contemplate what should follow. What happens next?

Instead of following through to the next crossing a few buildings down, she sharply turns right into an alley. A Chinese restaurant at its corner; the aroma of greasy fried rice and tangy chicken infiltrates her nostrils. Recalls forth memories as vividly as a single song encapsulates a transformative moment in life. Glimpsing at the corner table next to the glass panes, she pictures herself, minus a few years, chuckling in the company of her parents, rolling her eyes at something Jennie had said. Her dad had been on his second plate of Kung Pao Chicken. Her mother had held her hands clasped before her, concealing the tender smile that would stretch her cheeks as she took in her family.

Like some abrupt craving, she longs for the safe feeling of then. Longs for her mother's embrace, for her reassuring words that would always promise things would turn out alright, even when the odds made it questionable.

Rin's fist taps a rhythm against a navy blue door.

She glides back a stride over the creaking porch, peers out of the white frame of the balcony, towards the driveway. It's empty.

An irregularly-shaped stain on the concrete makes itself known with its bold contrast against the pasty white cement; a whisper of the car that's usually parked there.

The garage door is shut.

When the navy door swings open before her, she startles a little, inhales sharply, as if she'd not been expecting a response. It hadn't occurred to her that someone could have stayed behind; that the missing car on the driveway indicated absence, perhaps only of one party, not the entire family.

"Hey," she greets softly, hands dug into the pockets of her coat because she otherwise doesn't know what to do with them. The way she doesn't know what to do with herself.

Try as she might to hold herself together, Rin's about to collapse into a disheveled mound of shards on her mother's doorstep. She'd managed to piece a few together while at the coffeeshop, and shoved the rest of the unsorted pieces into the pockets of her coat. Now, it's starting to seem like even those pieces she'd adhered are laxing.

The women in the door-frame beams, lines crinkling at the corners of almond-shaped eyes.

She eagerly pats her hands dry on the kitchen rag draped over her shoulder. Once satisfied, in a swift motion, she tugs Rin into a firm embrace.

A flowery essence saturates Rin's nose as she nuzzles into her mother's hold. The one she'd been hoping for; the one that can cure all sorts of maladies, scare off all sorts of night demons. "Mother." It's a word emanating relief in its mere utterance.

Though Rin's tense shoulders ease, fists unfurl to clasp around her mother's rounding back, and eyes momentarily flutter, she quickly resumes the flighty and scouting dance of her gaze over her mother's shoulder.

Her mother exclaims into her ear in a half-cackle, half-sigh "My darling daughter."

Rin continues scouting for signs of company within the house, even as her mother withdraws with a disarming smile. Scouts for the characteristic detached query of her father from the living room "Who's there, Donna?"

It never comes.

"Come in, come in, child! You'll freeze." Her clasp is warm on Rin's chilled hand.

"We've missed you...missed you horribly, child. Oh, that father of yours. He's so terribly blunt and unsensing with his words. Just between us two-" she draws near in hushed whispers "-he's expressed his regret for how things ended last time. He'd never come out and say it, but I can tell. Can read him well."

Thirty years of marriage will do that, Rin expects.

Though she doesn't question her mother's literacy and fluency regarding matters of her father, she takes her sentiment dubiously. Pierces the lacy white veil of a benevolent lie. Understands her mother's kind-hearted motive in uniting her family once again.

Rin might not be as fluent regarding her father, but she knows him well enough to be a prideful, righteous man. Knows him enough to be certain he'd never apologize in vain, in platitudes. He'd only ever apologize if sufficiently convicted, and convinced of his error; those occasions have been few and sparse.

Recalling forth the argument of that night, it is pretty clear to Rin that he'd felt justified in his perspective. It was adamant, the way he'd shoved his way of life down her throat like some pill. His way - the only way.

Rin’s keen for any suggestion of her father’s presence. Not in the way two old friends scower a crowd for the familiar sight of one another. Not in the long-missed way. Rather, with guilt.

She doesn't feel ready to admit that she'd been wrong, even though she's sane enough to recognize that she had been.

Admitting it would require her to express a plan for correction - which she doesn't yet have. She'd like to remain lost and searching for a little longer. Doesn't want to have it all figured out yet, the answers lined up and pristine.

Rin’s head throbs. The louder her sister squeals, the tighter the pressure within her skull grows.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and averts her gaze from the luminescence of the open-plane kitchen as she slumps into one of the tall stools lining the island. 

A sudden wince wrinkles her brow; the band about her head tightening.

Every time she shuts her eyes, she relives the earlier events; the mental imagery reeling within the eye of her mind like a scratched CD that keeps stuttering under its needle.

She'd open them abruptly only to find her sister leaning onto the counter from across. Inquisitive and expectant eyes boring into her.

In her vague – vague – "debrief" (more eye-rolling than retelling), she omits the puke-on-shoes part of the, for obvious reasons. Her skin still crawls with shame at the sheer recollection of it.

Jennie’s unsatisfied with Rin’s reporting abilities. Says that if she worked as a news reporter or journalist, she’d be the smallest-spoken one. "The dullest one," she corrects. She’d be fired for lack of views. 

"That would be great!" Rin feigns excitement. "Considering I hate being the center of attention."

Jennie's voracious curiosity ignores her elder sister's remark. “I need details. It’s hard to picture the exact moment when you don’t narrow down all the immeasurable possibilities by being more specific, Rinny.”

Jennie crosses her arms over her chest, leans over the counter, inquisitive eyes prying the desired answers from her sister’s uncooperative lips. “Did he sweep you off your feet after you tripped? And then WHAM-” she slams both her palms on the counter for added emotive effect “-you fell madly in love?” 

Rin’s face sours the more she shakes her head. "Not exactly..."

Jennie proceeds undisturbed, goes into a reverie of her very own formation, gaze lifting from Rin’s to disperse out the windows. 

The sugar child, Jennie, since birth had been pampered to the point of coddling. Everything she'd ever been taught and told, even reprimands and remarks meant to correct behavior, had all been sugar-coated - an attempt on the behalf of parents desperate to avoid making the same mistakes they'd made with their first-born.

As the fragile princess of the family, it is only natural succession for Jennie to inherit the belief system of the Bronson parents.

Rin, on the other hand, cultivated a seed of distrust towards the notion of soulmates, of fate, from an early age. While her classmates would rave about them endlessly, playing games meant to predict each others', Rin buried her nose in the musty spine of a book each week.

Not a determinist by nature, Rin never has been a follower - or a mere tolerant of the suggestion that two souls are betrothed to fulfill and complete one another. The notion suggests that the two aren’t complete on their own to begin with. Rin abhors the thought of herself as fated to depend on a single other person for the rest of her life; or to consider the possibility that if she never finds that other half, she’s doomed to experience life half-best. Hates to think the universe has buried answers to her identity within some arbitrary other being of which she’s not even sure she’ll tolerate or feel attraction towards. 

To Rin, fate is turbulent and fluid, like water which takes the shape of its container, it bends to one's individual will. She holds that life is what one makes of it, and by deduction, so is love. It is a choice, not some compelling force.

Ignoring Jennie’s pleas for further details, Rin rambles her stream of consciousness beneath her breath: “I just don’t get it. I can’t understand why. Why now? If he’s been my… my–” 

Whereas Rin stammers, mouth parched, for the appropriate words, her sister confidently voices “Your soulmate!”

She’s beaming twice as bright, to make up for Rin’s disappointingly low mood regarding the matter. 

In Jennie’s world, this is likely the most exciting turn of events since scented highlighters, calligraphy pens and transparent desk organizers. 

Face soured with an impending cringe, Rin reluctantly confirms her sister’s statement: “Yeah…that.” She doesn’t even know the weight of the word, its meaning beyond the label. The cringe never quite reaches its climax; she remains in a state of tense preparation for it. Waiting for the thunder to rumble, after having spotted lightning. 

“If he’s been that all along, how come I've only just found out now? Why didn’t I start seeing a halo back in high school? Can these things be missed? I mean...can the fates make mistakes?” 

By the kitchen sink, back turned towards Rin and Jennie, Donna shuts the faucet. She pats the excess moisture onto the rag draped over her shoulder. Clearing her throat, she turns to face them, leans her hips against the counter such that it digs into her flesh.

"My darling, no one truly knows. The way no one ever truly holds the answers to life." She looks deeply into Rin's worried gaze, holds its weight. "Some believe you are only ever made aware of a soulmate once both parties are ready."

"Ready?"

"Hm," Donna nods. "To this day, Scientists disagree on the formal definition of 'ready.' Studies have been inconclusive - it means something different to everyone. It's specific to the individual."

Donna rakes her steady gaze over Rin, who visibly appears to be rejecting the pill being force-fed down her throat. There’s been a lot of that, lately. Growing pains.

Rin had been hoping her mother's words would soothe her, the slightest, if not straight into acceptance then, at least, into neutral contemplation. Instead, they're making her heart tremble a little erratically in her chest. The slightest flutter, as if instead of a beating muscular organ she houses a butterfly, flapping its wings clumsily against her ribcage.

They way it's going, she wouldn't be surprised to be told that it's skipping beats.

“Unless your life goal is to continue the research of said scientists and stipulate a worthy response, why should you bother asking such questions?” 

Amidst the intense staring contest being held between Rin and their mother’s well-meaning gaze, Jennie quips in, “Does that mean that there’s a possibility I have met my soulmate already and just don’t know it yet?” 

“I wonder who it could be.” She starts listing names, pinning them to her extended fingers as mental placeholders. 

Rin diverts her fixed gaze away from her mother. The woman is relentless. There’s no way Rin could counter, not now, at least, not while her mind is clouded by so many other questions.

It hasn't sunk in. Honestly, Rin's dubious if it ever will and that's frightening.

Instead, Rin transfixes onto Jennie's comment. “Focus on your studies. I better get a copy of your final results or I am not taking you out for mannis next week like we planned.” 

Jenny withdraws in on herself, masks an eye roll beneath her wispy bangs.

“I’ve never felt quite ready for a soulmate.” Rin’s distrust persists. What most would call the long-awaited day of their fates, Rin is convinced is an impractical scheme only meant to ridicule whatever drop of hope she could muster. Leave it to the trust issues she carried every day of her life, of whose origin she is constantly unaware of. “I don’t think I feel anymore ready now, and yet…” she waves at the air around her, gesturing to some higher presence amongst them. “I just...don’t get it.”

“Give it time,” mother reassures, aware she’s coming across as redundant as a broken record skipping tracks. She elaborates, so as to not have the sentiment lost on her eldest daughter: “Give him a chance. People do change, you know. Other times, there’s more to the story than what was originally revealed. Maybe hear his side of it. Maybe it’ll surprise you.”

“Maybe it won’t.” 

A hopeless sigh seeps from her mother’s lips. She sees her eldest daughter has a long way to go and a lot to learn. She can’t help but to be reminded of her younger self. Of the many petty, unnecessary fights she crafted out of immaturity and stubbornness. And how much time it robbed her of. 

Time is money, as most say. In mother’s book, though, time is memories. Memories which are priceless. One of a kind. Unique reminders to persist living. Promises that no matter how difficult it gets, how dark the night dims, there will be moments of light and comfort further down.

A sudden thought occurs to Jennie: “What if someone’s never ready?” 

“Some people do go their entire lives without a soulmate." Donna frowns. "It’s not uncommon. Matter-of-fact, I was reading about one man’s testimony - an 80-year-old man who’d lived alone for most of his life. One day, walking out of his driveway to grab mail, he spots his neighbor. She had just returned from a visit to the family in Chicago. As soon as he caught sight of her–” she snaps her fingers before her two girls “-he starts hearing strings, violins, harps, of that kind. He’d initially blamed his hearing aids. Had thought they were broken. Then, she asked him ‘Do you hear that?’”

“That’s when he knew," Jennie rushes to conclude. Then exclaims "That's too sweet!" before even receiving confirmation from her mother that that was what happened. How it ended. Her uncontained eagerness in her clapping and thrashing makes her weight tilt unsteadily on the stool. "What happened next?"

With a deep inhale, mother concludes her recount, “Sadly, the old man passed away a week later, while in his sleep – painless, thankfully. Apparently, he’d had this long-going arrhythmia. That night, a clot traveled to his brain. Truly, a sad story.” 

Rin lifts a hand, flushes it against the bony traction of her sternum, where there's an alarming racing.

What if she's like that man?

What if she only has a week left to live?

Could that be the punishment imposed by the gods for her neglect of this revelation?

Moved to tears, Jennie scowls in her mother’s direction. “You had to set it up so well only to rip my heart out! Couldn’t you have lied to us? Told us they’d lived happily ever after?” 

Rin rolls her eyes. “More sugar-coating? What good would that do? I mean just look at you?” 

Jennie slaps her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Slicing the incrementing tension between the two, mother voices “Then, there’d be no lesson.”

“I’m all for telling the cold, hard truth, mom. Give it to me straight, no rocks,” Rin starts, “but even I’m at a loss with this one.”

“Is the lesson supposed to be that life’s brutally cruel?” Jennie dabs at her lash line with a napkin. Her mascara smearing the cloth. 

“Well,” mother starts, “that could certainly be one. Though, I was specifically referring to gratitude. Appreciate what you have while it’s still yours. You never know how long you have. Never know how long its been, until the rug’s pulled from beneath you.”

Jennie inhales longly, sniffles. "When can we meet, Mr. Soulmate, anyways?"

Taking that as a queue to leave, Rin groans and slips out of her stool, drags her upper torso over the counter in dramatic gesture. As if the news is all too burdensome to carry; a weight strapped to her back when she's meant to be ascending a mountain.

She pretends to have not heard the question as she pries open the fridge and stares down at the half-empty containers lining the shelves.

“Jen, dear. Let’s give your sister some time. It’s much too early. I think she barely knows his last name as it is.”

“Growing up, I always assumed..." Rin tears into triangle of cheese spread - the dainty, individually-foil-wrapped, picnic kind. She concludes: "it was Dickhead. Who knows?" Shrugs and tears another bite. "I might be right.” 

While Jennie giggles innocently behind her curled chestnut bangs, Mother glares disapprovingly. A scold is delivered without the need for words. 

“It’s alright, ma. The hatred is mutual.” 

"Was he that awful in high school?" Jennie hadn't shown much interest in Rin's daily teenage tribulations back then, much too preoccupied playing dollhouse with her neighborhood friends. As much as she's actively trying to recall a single detail about him, she's growing convinced Rin never mentioned him until now.

Rin shuts the fridge, turns and bores her eyes in a knowing way. A what-do-you-think? look. A why-else-would-I-be-so-opposed? look.

"We're all sort of awful in our youth. All so confused," Donna justifies.

Jennie objects, "I'm not!"

A mild frown starts deepening the aged-lines on her mother's countenance. She turns to dry the freshly washed dishes before Rin is able to witness it deepen further, darken as if casted over by shadow.

Palpating the sudden shift in mood brough on by her comment, Rin draws close and wraps her arms around her mother's torso, anchoring her chin over her mother's shoulder. It's the kind one can viscerally acknowledge but are reluctant to voice. The type that makes you want to ask "Did I do something wrong?"

Rin weighs the reality that ridiculing the entirety of the soulmates notion means ridiculing the love her mother had worked so diligently to protect and nurture in her marriage to her father. It belittles the daily efforts, the daily trust it takes to make a marriage survive so many decades.

"I'll try, mom," Rin mumbles, barely audible against the fabric of her mother's shirt. Loud enough only for her mother's ears.

She pats Rin's head with her moistened hand, dampening Rin's crown in the process, as if baptizing her with well wishes and dish foam.

Watching from her wobbly stool, Jennie tilts her head to a side like a puppy before hopping off to join in on the hug. “Give me some sugar, too.”

"You've had all the sugar, you brat." Yet she pulls her into the embrace with a knuckle rub over her bangs.

Jennie pokes her tongue out mockingly.

"No, really, could it be Ian?" Jennie starts. "After he kissed me, I felt lightheaded."

"Kissed?" Rin abruptly withdraws from the embrace. "First of, who? Second, what? When??"

A grin tugs lopsidedly at Jennie's rosy lips.

"Miss Jennie, you don't mean to tell me you've already shared your first kiss?" Rin gawks, feeling lightheaded herself. Mocks a fanciful accent in light of the reality TV they've watched together, mimicking the gossipmonger hosts that bring celebrities onto late night shows and probe at personal lives.

"Second, actually," Jennie corrects. "The first was Choi Joon. It was a little awkward and toothy but it was memorable. I walked straight home from school and crossed it off my bucket list."

Rin dances her incredulous gaze between her oddly calm mother and her sister's mischievous grin.

"Does dad know, too?"

They don’t say anything. They don't need to. Of course he doesn't. Jennie would not see the light of day if it were otherwise. She'd be locked in her bedroom until her eventual wedding - which wouldn't come to happen in her socially-deprived state.

Rin's expression falls flat and lifeless, completely surrendered to her unfortunate fate. "I can’t believe my little sister got her first kiss before I did. That’s pitiful."

"What's more?" She asks no one in particular, blankly lifts her gaze. Oh right! My alleged soulmate is my childhood rival and life-long enemy! I’m pitiful!" Slumping back down into her stool, she slams her forehead over her folded arms. A gavel sealing a fate.

[long one (for me). honestly, i got stuck about 3/4ths of the way and could not get myself to write anything of significance from that point onward. so if the ending feels a bit rushed, it's cuz of that he he

it's why i don't like long chapters. makes it so hard to keep track of everything, to not ramble aimlessly :/

I don't LOVE this chappie cuz it's so filler-y and I feel it overexplains the lore behind the soulmates but it's this working draft for now or nothing at all]

[bleucalire]

« Mr Henry (🐇) was lost in the woods ! But Anthony found him !! »

[chandralia]

“define bkdk” ??? you’re either gonna sit there for 72 hours straight or I’m gonna say “soulmates” and you’re just gonna have to understand

[vyxensworld]

*The Squad is on a hike* 

Uraraka: It’s beautiful out here. 

Todoroki: And quiet. 

Kaminari: Too quiet. 

Kirishima: Did we lose someone? 

*cut to Bakugo with a bear in a headlock and Izuku ready to fight*

[morgaseus]

A little brainrot abt Dr. Ratio (he is kinda giving ‘archmage of the mages tower’ vibes. He acts like he doesn’t care about you but deep down he does! He just doesnt know how to act like it😞)

Not even a year in the relationship yet you already want to divorce him. You can’t stand him! That haughty arrogance of his! It feels like hes belittling you with every chance he gets! Its getting in your nerves! He even acts like you both arent married. Not even a simple greeting. What happened to hi, hello, goodbye, i’ll be away for a while, i’ll be home late. The food that you you leave for him for dinner always goes cold and uneaten. He just comes and go and do as he please! You know its a marriage of convenience, it probably means nothing to him, its just empty promises written in a paper after all. But you still want to be civil with him, he’s the man you married after all. But you couldnt take it it anymore! So, when the chance presented itself, you stormed in his office slamming the divorce paper in his desk.

“I want a divorce” you crossed your arms “i’m done with this marriage, sign it”

He looked at the paper for a moment and then at you. You gripped your left arm, feeling nervous under his stare. But you feel hopeful, he’ll probably sign it. There’s no strings attached anyways. But to your dismay he merely put the paper to the side and went back to whatever he was working with

“I wont sign it and as you can see I’m quite busy, please see yourself out”

Yep. You feel like you’re going insane

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: Sedulous Desire

Yandere Orc Bully x AFAB Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, violence, pantyhose kink, uncomfortable content, bullying, nonconsensual kissing, etc

From the moment Lash laid eyes on you when you walked into her class, she hated you. Lash Hearth hated you. She hated how cute you were. How doll like you were while she was riddled with scars from her parents. It wasn’t fair.

Lash may have been an orc, but she didn’t deserve the way the other students at this school despised her… and yet they loved you. A cute fairy. So delicate and dainty compared to her bulky, adolescent body. She couldn’t stand it. She was so jealous.

And so began to bullying. She would pull on your hair and she’d scribble over your art with red or black crayons. Hell, she even put thumb tacks in your gym shoes but you never got upset with her. You were nice to her despite her behavior. It only infuriated her even more, especially as the two of you began to get older.

You tried to be her friend, you truly did. You’d help Lash with her homework and you’d compliment her but she’d growl at you and insult you. You had even invited Lash to your birthday party since she didn’t have any friends, but she destroyed your cake. Lash wanted your life. It wasn’t fair… she wanted to be loved like you and if she couldn’t, then she’d ruin you. If she couldn’t be happy, then neither could you

Lash sometimes spilled water or paint on your clothes and tell you it was an ‘accident.’ Lash would trip you and kick your books away. But you still picked them up without so much a word or a tear. Why didn’t you react? Why didn’t you scream or cry from her relentless bullying? Why didn’t you cower in fear like the other students from her intimidatingly muscular stature and large tusks? Why couldn’t she break you?

The first time she saw you bare was in the locker room. Her golden eyes were wide with shock and awe. A heat spread between her legs that confused her. She hated you… so why did her body tell her otherwise? Lash didn’t understand that she confused a crush with hatred… she truly wish she would have realized this before she inflicted so much emotional damage on you…

It was when high school hit that Lash finally received a reaction from you. She had decided to try to give you a shove down the stairs but you had caught yourself. The orc bent down to sneer in your face, “why don’t you get the hell out of my way, cupcake-“

And that’s when you swung your small body around and sucker punched Lash in her ugly face with a force she didn’t even know you had. She hit the floor with a loud smack, blood fell from her face. Her nose bent to the side with blood gushing from it. You broke her nose… you hit her… and for the first time in her life, Lash felt her heart hammer in her chest and a heat consume her. She wanted more. More. More. More. Something dark woke up inside of Lash that day… and so began the obsession.

Lash began to steal your underwear whenever you changed in the locker room. She’d press the soiled garments up to her nose and greedily inhale the heady scent like a drug. Why did you smell so good? It wasn’t long before she found herself sucking on the garments like they were her favorite candy. She felt like a sicko but she knew she was just following her biological urge (she’s delulu)

Lash’s stomach now filled with butterflies every time you glared at her. You’d smack her hand away every time she tried to touch your hair. She was in love

Lash’s bullying reached an all time high but you fought back now. The principal had to pull you off of her when she held up the mangled body of the local cat you fed. Lash was in a state of euphoria from how beaten and battered you made her. Her ribs were cracked and her jaw was dislocated… but your eyes were on her. They were filled to the brim with emotion only directed for her but she didn’t care. She had received yet another reaction from you and it made her heart soar… you were worthy of her. And that was when a realization came to her. She loved you.

Lash loved how you were soft and sweet but you could fight. She loved how your small fists did so much damage to her massive body. How soft your lips looked. How your hips were perfect for her hands to grab onto. You were made for her… how didn’t she realize it before?

The principal nearly expelled her but Lash told the principal it would be discrimination since this was an orc tradition. Orcs chose their partners based on strength and violence… and Lash had found her partner.

Rather than continue to bully you, Lash now brought you flowers. Arm fulls of vibrant red roses with all the thorns removed the stems. It was such a strange sight to see your tormentor now absolutely love sick for you. It disgusted you.

Lash would sensually eat fruit in front of you in the cafeteria and make crude gestures at you with her fingers. It frightened you but you only had a few more weeks left until you graduated from this magical school. You couldn’t wait to get out of here… and away from her.

After graduation, she continued to try to chase after you but you told her to leave you the hell alone. You weren’t interested in her, no. You hated her. And it upset Lash. Why did you hate her? She could be a good mate, she was strong and massive. You’d be so safe with her… so why didn’t you want her? Were you still upset about grade school? Lash could make it all up to you. Her tongue was longer than most of the men genitals in this school. She was sure she could please you better than any man or woman.

You explained to her that you would never want to be with someone who tormented you for so many years. Who made your life a living hell for their own twisted fantasy. That physically and emotionally tormented you day by day. It was a firm no.

Even when Lash went down on her knees to beg for forgiveness, you didn’t budge. So she did what she had to… she took you by force. What an orc wanted, an orc took.

So here you were in her home as she shoved her tongue down your throat. Her large green hand forcefully held your head back by the hair so you couldn’t escape. Her golden eyes filled with lust while she watched you try to struggle from her hold. A few tears gathered in your eyes from how pathetic you felt under her but she shushed your cries with her lips and her tongue. Her tusks lights grazed across the soft skin of your cheeks, which made you gasp. Yes… she was a strong mate wasn’t she? She was perfect for you and you were perfect for her.

Lash pulled away from you, a thick string of saliva connected the two of you together. Lash quickly began to tug at her clothes with haste. Her large, green hands quickly began to work on yours as well. She needed you now. She needed to devour you or she felt like she’d lose her mind.

“Your clothes have to go… I’m starving.”

[redhoodie1723]

esteban ocon being considered really tall when he's shorter than my dad, brothers, and a lot of my male friends is so funny to me

part 2 part 3

[arkhammaid]

max has always been fascinated by the way the tifosi treat charles. it's fanatical, pure insanity, the way they grasp for him, hands reaching out to touch. and that was before charles won the WDC, way before, even back then when they still had seb in ferrari.

he has seen the jokes, the cursed jesus!charles picture and tifosi kneeling in front of it, he has seen babies handed to charles as if they're asking for a blessing- he has seen many things, which just prove to him how much the tifosi love charles. they love him more than seb, more than schumacher, heck, on some days one might think they love him more than ferrari.

but the insane thing is... charles loves them equally back. he bleeds red, he drives red, he dreams red, he wins red. it's his color, mind, body, heart and soul and the tifosi know it.

their behavior doesn't change when lewis joins ferrari, their favorite is still charles. but it starts to change, when charles beats his ongoing streak of WDCs, claiming his own.

it's then, when max begins to see the true power of tifosi and their belief.

or

tifosi * their belief in charles + a ferrari WDC win (by charles) + a sprinkle of insanity = man turned god charles leclerc

OR

in which i'm too lazy/busy to write a proper lestappen fic worthy of this idea (maybe in the future, maybe i'm opening the docs rn to set up a draft, maybe-) which is very much PJO/greek mythology inspired, based on the idea that gods only have so much power if mortals believe in them. but what if millions of mortals start to actually believe and pray to someone they think is blessed, the predestined, a god to them?

heavily inspired by these infamous pictures and this incredible fanart (and ofc the jesus!charles poster, yk which one i'm talking about...)

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Regency Era)

Plan Bee by starkswinterfelling Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: As intimate and life-long friends, the Bridgertons and Sharmas believe that once they have promised Anthony and Kate together in marriage, they have secured their children’s everlasting happiness. That would be, of course, if they had the co-operation of said children, who were never content in following the deal their parents had so neatly laid out for them. Fate, indeed, had other plans.

[rougesixteen]

austria 2019 vs austria 2022

it's always nice to see two childhood rivals maturing together.

[maraudersmyloves]

yall, childhood friends that both start bands and become rivals?? like im talking im trash-talking ur music but also help ur dad with his gardening and writing songs bout the other without them knowing and going to the others concert under the guise of wanting to see if they can actually sing or the songs ar just auto-tune

[wiltedrosewritings]

BETWEEN COMFORT & CHAOS | 001

wc: 2k

tense & pov: present, third person

tracklist:

002 | 003 | 004 | AO3

Inconveniences.

Small, quaint, little blips in a routine. 

Like tiny, little lint balls lining the inside of a shirt - a shirt that had been practically flawless prior to the misfortunes of laundry day; discomforting, irritating, but miniscule enough to dismiss. To learn to tolerate. 

Inconveniences. 

Small, quaint, little blips in a rushed run-down of a formerly organic routine. 

The first of which, a missed alarm - correction, it would have been ‘missed’  if so it had run in the first place. Rin, however, had forgotten to turn the dial on her bedside clock the night prior. 

It rang around 9 AM, instead; a rise time for off days. 

Today is Monday. The opposite of an off day.

Rin stumbles out of the cushioned embrace of her bed, entangled at the ankles by a knot in the sheets, which she doesn't became aware of until the solid wood of the floor slaps her chin.

The unanticipated impact leaves her breathless for a number of seconds, before she releases a long and painful groan. Her ribs contract at the slightest twist, in response to what Rin can only imagine is a developing bruise, as she starts up and towards the adjoining bathroom.

She scrambles for her cellphone amidst the sheets that billow around her like a dress, or a cloud.

When she lifts the screen to her line of sight, she squints through the dimness to find its display of a low battery warning. There's another painful blow to her cheek, only this time it's not from the dense, solid wood, rather the weight of realizing she'd forgotten to plug it in the night prior.

Unfortunately, this is not the first occurrence. She makes a habit of sleeping the night with her phone at the foot of her bed, unplugged. At first, only ever intends to scroll her socials mindlessly for increments of half-hours until midnight falls; means to lay it on its charging port by then, but more often than not, drifts into slumber before that point. In the morning, it's always the same; she reprimands herself, promises to never do it again.

The next night, unsurprisingly to everyone but her, she does it again. Jennie, her teenage sister, jokes that her forgetfulness will one day be her demise; says something along the lines of "She'll forget the date and place of her funeral."

With about 20% residual battery (estimating up, for the sake of optimism), her screen illuminates. A sort of squawk leaves her parted lips as she reads the time. A squawk like that of a goose with its tail feathers catching light.

She’s up, now, legs squared determinedly. Yet, she trips clumsily over sleep-drugged feet while they wrestle with the persistent tug of the sheets who plead Stay, just this once. 

Trampling over miscellaneous objects scattered around her bedroom floor, she reminds herself of the urgency with which she must clean her room, but it's only one of many tasks on her immediate to-do.

Right now is not the time.

Her tail’s on fire. Heart’s pumping erratically. Adrenaline saturating her system. Heat flushing her cheeks and nape. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

The second inconvenience of the day is a diluted cup of coffee, served not in her usual thermos, but in the first vase she could salvage out of the pile seated at her sink.

The amber liquid’s aroma falls flat and drowned over her palette; a cloud of candied cotton dampened by humidity on what should have been a sunny festival day.

Groceries, her mental to-do list elongates. Don't forget coffee for tomorrow. Don't' forget coffee, a voice in her mind recites obsessively.

Running groceries today tops all other items on her list in terms of priority. It's more urgent than the cleanliness of her bedroom. She cannot survive another morning living off crackers and a few pinches of coffee grounds. But even more urgent, she must catch her bus and make it to work before her boss hears word of her tardiness. 

Rin shuts her eyes, her grip strangles the ceramic handle of the mug as she forces the gulp down, despite the objection of her palette. 

She heaves a sigh upon succeeding, and brings the pads of her thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose, in a bid to discourage a growing migraine. 

Inconveniences. How even the ones you train yourself to dismiss grow unbearable under the right measure of pressure. They keep adding, amounting; a string being pulled, stretched, tensed until it snaps clean. Retracts and slaps you on the cheek. Leaves a red mark, blotchy with blood. 

She makes up her mind. Determinedly decides that today is not her day, could not be, will not be. There is no redeeming it, for the more she recites it in her head, the further it continues to manifest itself. Until she's too deeply caught in the whirlpool to convince herself otherwise.

Days like such make her wonder how many inconveniences, exactly, it would take to conclusively alter the course of one’s fate? 

The notion isn’t foreign to Rin. She’d read testimonies before, about people who’d been lead away from a tragic fate by some minor and random inconvenience – a blip, or glitch, or something that absolutely shouldn’t have happened, that wouldn’t otherwise have happened, on any given day. Say, the person whose car breaks down on the commute to work, who later discovers through a news report that a shooter unleashed havoc at their work-place, claiming the lives of a dozen victims. A dozen. Could have – would have – been a dozen-and-one if by some stroke of luck, or misfortune, their car had not broken down. 

In light of those rare, almost ordained cases, Rin attempts to see light in even the worst possible conditions. Today, though, her optimism is gasping for breath, attempting to match pace with her dashing body. She left it in the heaps of blankets at the foot of her bed. 

Silver linings fall dull and mute. 

Everything seems to serve as an obstacle in her blazing path.

The keys get lost. Shoe laces become undone. Chatty neighbor happens to step foot out of the house at the same time as Rin; there goes ten priceless minutes of Rin nodding incessantly and feigning a polite smile all the while trying to end the conversation that should have never begun. 

Left shoe still undone, her legs slice through the chill morning fog, as she sprints down her neighborhood street. Leaving the rosy-cheeked, grey-haired lady chatting to herself. (She doesn't notice until Rin's five doors down; never really talks to others to hear their perspectives, but rather feel self-important from the influence of their audience)

Rin's worn satchel is pinned under her arm. A young golden sun tints her cheeks with some life, as it streaks in between buildings. 

A green bus slows near a couple of gathered people. A half-a-second before it comes to a complete halt, it pries its gates open with an elongated creak. 

Rin’s still sprinting a few blocks down. Her chest is galloping, short of air; it burns in that oxygen-deprived way. The fine muscles of her calf, do to. As if they are wearing away under the erosion of acid.

Her pace slows from fatigue and resignation. Starts imagining what's the worst that could happen if she were to half-ass a last minute call-out from work. Stands like an awkwardly placed tree amidst the street, swaying, bag sliding down her frame, shoelaces sprawled over the concrete like roots burying her there.

The breath she gathers to lift her voice and plead for a bit of patience is knocked out of her lungs before the words form at her lips. Her palms slaps against the cold concrete on either side of her already bruised chin, her cheek suspended by mere inches. 

The culprit lies on the ground, by her feet, groaning and clutching his knee. 

Rin’s lips whisper a forlorn “Noo!” as her eyes watch the bus pick-up and drive-away. Tears pool on her lash line, either from the frost biting her face or in response to the overwhelming frustration that comes with the shattered expectations of what should have been a ‘normal day.’ 

Normal days are never extravagant, until you are deprived of them. Until you are reminded they are not something inherently owed to you, and that much like all things, they too can be deprived.

Chord snapped, patience drawn thinly, Rin sits up, heated and ready to pounce. Her sharp eyes lock onto the wrecker. She’s made up her mind. She’s ready to name him the culprit of all the inconveniences of today. 

When she glances over at the soon-to-be-subject of all of her projected frustrations, that’s when she feels it. The sharp, stinging slap of the metaphorical rubber band against her cheek. 

Her throat chokes with the threat of a sob. Just when she thought the day could not possibly get worse, it does. 

The biggest inconvenience yet. 

The bane of her existence. 

A subject she’d sought refuge in never, ever, seeing again. 

There’s a distinct luminescence haloing his crouched figure. Could be the early morning sun, beaming over the neighborhood. Could be a concussion. Regardless, it's dizzying. Has this optical illusion effect of making the subject in her field of vision double, like when she'd wear 3D glasses to the cinema.

Rin blinks incessantly. She can’t bring herself to trust her sight. Can’t believe she body-slammed into him of all people. In the seven years she’s spent living in the neighborhood, not once had she brushed shoulders with him. 

The last time she'd seen him had been at their high school graduation ceremony - which must have been nearly six years ago, now.

Weighing the abstract concept of time in her shaken mind, she finds it hard to palate how much time has lapsed, and how little he appears to have changed. Like a stand-still capture on a polaroid square, he's just the same.

He scrunches-up his nose in disturbance, and turns over his hand to the palmar side, eyes peeling over his newly acquired abrasion. As the seconds lapse, the adrenaline in his system wanes, and the sting of scraped flesh starts settling in. 

He winces and diverts his attention from it, gathering that looking at it only will make it hurt worse. 

Dark brown eyes meet Rin as he finally acknowledges the collision. The reality that he’d somehow inconvenienced someone even further than the day had started to inconvenience him. 

The halo persists through Rin’s desperate blinking. Futility lies in her attempts to clear her field of vision, as she rubs the dorsal sides of her hands over her eyes in a bid to remove what she believes is only a pesky little speck of dust, a lash, or even a tear. 

Inquisition curves his healthy brows but the curiosity quickly dims, becoming replaced with a sour frown. A distasteful grimace. Reality and recognition strike him. But worse than the reel of memories snapped onto the film player of his mind, is the Earth spinning vertigo that comes on as his eyes trace over the aura emanating off her. Brighter than the sun. 

Loud-bright. Like a mallet smashed against a bronze bell within his head. Like he’s suddenly developed synesthesia and every glimpse of light is painfully loud. 

Rin dances her gaze around, reading the disinterested people who brush hurriedly past. They appear awfully dull in demeanor and appearance in relation to him. Absent of any halo, they are akin to gray bodies blurred into the background scene of the lens of a camera. 

Slowly, and fearful, Rin draws her gaze back to him. Traces over the halo. 

That’s when her mother’s voice rings across her head, like an ominous tolling bell, indicative of an end. An armageddon. Her armageddon. When I met your father, it was like I could see for the first time.

Rin wouldn’t call this newfound sight, rather sudden-onset blindness. She feels like her optic nerves are being torn by the fibers. Imagines this distortion is was what cats see on a daily basis. Understands why they constantly want to strangle and mangle anything within their vicinity. 

She wants to strangle him. Toys with the idea the more she looks at him. The more the lights dizzy her. 

Somehow, she places the fault in his hands. She's still run by a childish instinct, to want to kick his shins and run away from his stupidly handsome frown. He had always felt like too much to handle, to understand, to wrap her tiny adolescent mind around. Now, older, and hopefully wiser, Rin still defaults to running away from complexity. Likes to coax life with a broad brush, shoving worries under her bed like monsters to run from, behind closet doors, into the margins of tomorrow. 

She figures that if she continuously runs, the problems will never catch up to her. But, she’s only selectively ignorant to the snowball effect. Hopes it amasses enough to crush her at once and allow her no room for reflection on how things could have – should have -- been. 

His lips almost mouth Don't run. Fear-stricken. Please, don’t run. 

Instead, he voices (cracking voice): “I think I’m having a stroke.” Then braces his clumsy weight against the nearest wall. His breathing quickens, mirroring the alarming panic blaring within Rin.

“What are the chances that we are both having a stroke at the same time?” 

He lifts his worried gaze, a bead of sweat forming on his temple, complexion awfully pale. Rin thinks he might just hurl. “What are the chances that you are my soulmate?” 

It’s funny, because Rin didn’t see this coming – Rin didn’t see much of today coming, but certainly not what happens next. 

Rin is the one that hurls. Chunky acid made its way up the column of her throat without as much as a warning. The contents – whatever it was she managed to down while standing in the fridge light last night. 

All over his lavish shoes.