#even the ones who are clearly suffering under the weight of only being kind of interested and really wanting to pass the class

[unopenablebox]

i love TAing. some parts of it are stressful but running office hours and just getting to talk through a concept with the students until we've identified the source of their confusion and successfully resolved it is so satisfying and fun.

[pencilofawesomeness]

Erza gripped the scepter hard enough to make her metal gloves creak. However, neither the hum of the magestone nor the act of using her strength to the fullest could placate her, and neither could it solve this matter.

“Jellal,” she said—slowly, carefully. Erza was positioned between him and the mirror, and she trusted her reflexes, but she still couldn’t help but to doubt her ability to stop him from escaping. Or, rather, from throwing his life away. “Let’s talk this through.”

Jellal chuckled dryly, without mirth. The bags under his eyes appeared darker in the light of the dorm courtyard. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both know that the Arcane Response Unit won’t be persuaded. I’m going.”

“The Headmage is speaking to them now. This is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll work this out.”

Erza absolutely hated not being able to do more. Her respect for the ARU and the role they played in this world absolutely did not diminish that this whole situation was bullshit and Jellal was being wrongly scapegoated. It was unjust and plain wrong. If Erza thought that marching up to the captain (a second time) and demanding this bogus investigation to be dropped would work, then she would have done it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, even she knew that this could not be solved with violence—or with caving in. They had to stand their ground and play this right, and that meant keeping her dorm here while the Headmage worked her wits and magic. 

Surely, everyone else would see the reason she clearly saw—even when Jellal himself doubted it. 

Jellal was only eight when he came to the Queendom of Roses. Only eight when they met. He was a shy and awkward child, and he refused to talk about where he came from. That was alright though, because even Erza knew that it was sad. That was why he had been sent to Grandpa Rob. Erza had just been thrilled for another fae child to join Rob’s home for orphans, because it had meant that there was at least one other kid she could play with without fearing their fragility. 

He was her best friend, and he was a good man. Erza wouldn’t have made him her vice housewarden otherwise. Jellal helped people and he was kind and he was careful and conscious of those around him, and he sought peace and balance above all else. And people seriously thought Jellal, as a child no less, was somehow responsible for an attempt to overthrow the Kingdom of Heroes’ royal family. It was utterly absurd. 

It was even more absurd that Jellal was willing to accept it. 

“Erza, I have to go. I— I did do those things. I can’t continue to ignore it.”

He might have succeeded in making that declaration cold, but the crack in his voice belied his fear. Erza’s determination settled. She swore to protect the people of Heartslaybul, and to lead them down a victorious path. She would even protect them from themselves. 

“I am the Queen here,” she declared, throat tight. “My word is law. And I say you stay.”

Jellal shifted into a ready position—to fight, to flee. The movement alone cut her to her core. “Erza, I’m not who you think I am. I’m not worth it.”

Her heart cracked. She wondered if the Queen of Hearts ever felt this pain, her desire to protect her people a visceral and painful thing. Maybe that was why she sometimes appeared so violent in history—because she, too, swore to protect her loved ones from anything. 

The past few weeks she had had to watch Jellal suffer under this weight. She watched him try to convince her that he wasn’t who she knew he was. It hurt to even consider. It hurt worse that he thought so little of himself, and little of her for not believing that she would trust him. 

Erza would not be easily swayed. Not even by him. She reached into her Inventory and she grabbed a long, weighty lance. 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Jellal lunged. His magic mastery was always an impressive thing, and he could boost his very movement. However, her reflexes were not to be trifled with either—and, she had planned for this. She knew him well, after all. 

“Now!” she shouted, and a flurry happened all at once. 

Erza employed Jellal’s own trick, hastening herself to meet his path and bodily block him with her lance. Behind her, several magic barriers were erected around the mirror, and Erza quickly added her own, for good measure. 

A vine wrapped around Jellal’s ankle, yanking him backwards and straight into Elfman’s bear-hold. 

The plan quickly fell apart though. With a potent burst of magic, Jellal ripped himself out of the hold. He levitated Elfman with ease and tossed him straight into Droy. 

“JELLAL!” 

Mirajane appeared in a fury, floating above him. Erza spotted the flash of guilt across his features right as the junior batted him downward with ice magic. 

“Stand down,” Erza ordered, a little desperate. 

But Jellal had his own share of determination, evident in the sweat gleaming on his too-pale face. “Don’t fight me on this.”

“Too late, man.” Jet, the only one arguably faster than Jellal thanks to his Unique Magic, swept Jellal off his feet right as he tried to get up. 

Mirajane met her eyes, and reluctantly, Erza nodded. 

“Soulbinder,” Mirajane chanted, and in seconds her UM manifested around Jellal, the dark tendrils physically rooting him to the ground and eating at his magic. It was a violent restraint, but it worked. Erza knew that any less Jellal would fight through. Not that he wasn’t making an attempt now. 

“Please,” she practically begged. “Don’t throw yourself away.”

Jellal tugged at the spell, a heaving breath making his exhaustion known. “You think I want to?” he whispered. 

In the silence that followed, the soft admission might as well have been a shout. 

“Do you think I want to go? To admit that any of that stuff happened? To— to accept the role I played?”

Erza swallowed. There was something dangerously shaky about his countenance. The strain in his voice was brittle, and her instincts whispered that something was about to snap. The air grew thick with that anticipation. “Jellal…”

“NO!” His shout was raw and hoarse, full of tears and anger and everything, that it startled Erza into silence. 

“I never wanted this! But I can’t change what happened. No amount of hoping and pretending will ever change it!”

The atmosphere shook. An ugly sort of magic began to fill the air. Erza realized it too late, when Jellal’s tears mixed with his sweat and turned black.

“It will never change that I was her pawn!”

[malemacrofics]



Ever since Bolin forced Zaheer to "put a sock in it". I've imagined what it would be like to be a pet or toy to that big, himbo lug.

The Side Effects of Spirit-Bending

Content: Gentle Giant, Underwear Entrapment, Cum Eating, Forgetful Giant, Musk, Bolin's just doing his best tbh

A/N: Probably the smuttiest thing I've written yet, I'm not gonna lie. But I am happy with how it came out! Hope you guys like it and, as always, requests are open even if I am kinda slow to get around to them. Also, if you guys have any macro headcanons or blurbs you wanna share, please do! I love talking macro, haha

I wasn’t sure what had happened, if I’m being honest with myself. I am (was?) part of the ground forces attacking Republic City with Kuvira. Her gargantuan machine marched alongside my regiment. My team had been briefed on all the things that might have happened. Everything from the Avatar throwing boulders large enough to fit in my apartment, or the Beifong family joining the fight and attempting to drop entire buildings on the machine. Even that, admittedly handsome, earthbender turning the streets to lava in an attempt to trap the mech was all in the briefing. However, the large purple mushroom cloud that erupted in the middle of the city once the mech fell? Or the resulting energy and shock waves that raced outwards from the epicenter? Those were new. I doubt any briefing could have prepared me for that.

I was one of the unfortunate sods to be close to the epicenter. Everything was basked in a strange, unnatural purple light for a few seconds. The light was quickly followed by an immense burst of heat and force that knocked me horizontal onto the road. Finally, in my last moments before I lost consciousness, I could feel immense amounts of electricity coursing through my body. Almost as though I had stuck my tongue into an electrical outlet. When I finally came too and everything wasn’t surrounded by a constant haze, I looked around to survey my situation.

There were relatively large pieces of debris surrounding me, and the roadway beneath me seemed to suffer a few cracks. However, the buildings on either side of me still reached high into the sky, in fact they seemed higher than they did moments ago. You did just probably suffer some kind of hit to the head. I reminded myself, trying to remain logical despite the rising panic I felt. At least I wasn’t trapped under some debris. I could feel slightly rumbling behind me, however I assured myself it was either an aftershock of whatever caused that shockwave, or a far off building collapsing under its own weight. Now wasn’t the time to get too caught up in worry of what ifs. At least, it wouldn’t have been the time for the panic if not for the massive shadow that began to loom over me. I quickly turned only to see a giant, large enough to eclipse the sun.

I had attempted to bend a nearby rock and blast it towards the giant’s leg, only for it to immediately grab its shin and yell out due to the sudden pain. However, as the giant bent over, and its face got closer to me, I could see who it was, clear as day. It was that lava bender from earlier. However, just as I was able to more clearly make out his face, his eyes fell on me with sudden recognition. I could see his large, green eyes quickly pass through emotions ranging from anger at the pebble I launched his way, to confusion at what I was, before settling on concern. The giant reached out a hand for me. My attempts to evade proved fruitless due to the sheer difference in size between us, as he was able to easily wrap his fingers around me before bringing me up before his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, little guy. I don’t want to hurt you! What happened?” He asked

“Let go of me, you big lug!” I responded, trying to thrash against his grip.

“Hey, I genuinely mean you no harm.” He said, opening his hand so I could stand on his palm, “See?”

I warily stood up before eyeing him suspiciously. “So, what do you want?”

“What happened to you? You’re like… five inches tall! Are you a spirit or something?”

“I’m not a spirit. And what do you mean, five inches tall?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, little dude, but you’re standing on my hand. Look around, everything’s giant compared to you!”

I took a look at my surroundings for the first time since the blast, and his words finally set in. The debris I was surrounded by wasn’t actually large. To a normal sized person, it would’ve looked like fist-sized rocks. I must have had a look of concern on my face, as the giant earthbender piped up. “Hey, little guy, don’t panic! Once this is all over, I’ll try to help you get back to normal, alright? My name’s Bolin, by the way.”

Hearing his giant voice grounded me back in our reality. “Right, thank you, Bolin. My name’s Arik. What do we do now?”

Before Bolin could answer, a voice behind him called out “Bolin! Where’s Korra?”

Bolin’s eyes went wide with concern yet again as he frantically tried shoving me into his pocket, only to find his pants lacking them. Then, I could see an idea cross his mind as he mouthed “Sorry” to me before pulling open the waistband of his pants. I didn’t have enough time to grasp what he was doing until I was unceremoniously dropped in and the waistband closed. I fell for only a few seconds until I hit something warm.

I had no light in my new environment, but considering what had happened, It didn’t take much effort to figure out what had happened. I was now face to, well, dick with Bolin. My entire body pinned between his member and the fabric of his underwear. My nose filled with the scent of his musk. I attempted to wriggle free from the confines, only to be met with the giant dick to slowly harden. As it got harder, I found myself with less and less space. Deciding it was better to at least be able to move somewhat, I stopped trying to free myself and instead just wait. Hopefully I wouldn’t be in here long.

—--

Bolin had an exhausting day. He and the rest of Team Avatar, as well as the air nomads, had to deal with Kuvira’s invasion of Republic City, which ended with Korra managing to bend a beam of spirit energy from almost point blank range. And if that weren’t enough, the sheer amount of that energy managed to rip another portal into the spirit realm. After all was said and done, Bolin just wanted to lay down and relax for a little bit. Luckily, Tenzin was more than willing to let him use a guest room on Air Temple Island.

Bolin opened the paper door and saw the room he’d be staying in for the night. A bed pushed against the corner with a wardrobe in the neighboring corner, and between them a large, hexagonal window to let in plenty of wind. He collapsed on the bed, initially face first before turning onto his back. All he really wanted to do was fall asleep, but after the day he was coated in so much sweat he knew he should shower first. But before he could begin to get back up and head into the shower, he could feel his blood begin to rush towards his manhood and feel it begin to harden. He placed his palm on his bulge and began playing with it through the fabric. “What the hell,” Bolin thought to himself, “I deserve it after the day I had.”

As he finished his thought, he pulled down the waistband of his pants and boxers and put his dick in his hand.

—--

Arik felt like the day might never end. He could feel each footstep Bolin took, causing his surroundings to constantly shift. It wasn’t terrible until Bolin began walking up and down some slope. The fabric and skin around him began to shift until he was pinned under looser skin, which Arik quickly identified as Bolin’s testicles. Their wiry hair coiled around his limbs until he was plastered to their surface, and his face now inches away from the tip of Bolin’s penis. As Arik tried to free himself from the hairs, Bolin’s dick would harden again, but with his new position, all he could do was watch as it also leaked small amounts of precum, coating Arik’s face, even forcing him to attempt to eat it if he still wanted to be able to breath. Ironically, the part of this whole experience Arik hated the most wasn’t being trapped against a sweaty crotch, but it was feeling his own dick harden at the experience. At least Arik could take solace in the fact he already had a crush on Bolin after seeing him in those moving pictures a few years back.

Eventually, Bolin began to move more slowly, and he heard some talk through the fabric of Bolin asking someone to stay on Air Temple Island. As Arik was feeling more excited at the prospects of getting out of Bolin’s boxers, he was met with a massive force pushing him closer to the giant earthbender. He was completely pinned against the fabric. Once the pressure alleviated, he attempted to untangle himself one final time in hopes of getting out. Once again, all he did was cause the giant member to grow harder. However, before it could leak any more precum on him, Arik saw light as the waistband of the boxers were moved. However, his hopes were quickly dashed as he watched Bolin grab his own dick in his hands before trying to jack off. Arik wriggled more out of rage, doing anything he could to free himself, but only causing faint moans to come from Bolin.

I finally managed to free one of my arms, using it to free the rest of my limbs. As soon as I freed myself, I began to climb the massive balls I was pinned under for the better part of the day. I finally stood tall at the base of Bolin’s penis. His eyes were closed as he continued to jerk himself off, and I knew he wouldn’t hear me at this distance. I summoned the rest of my energy to begin running along his torso. At first, the run wasn’t terrible. His muscular build granted me enough traction that I wasn’t too worried about slipping, despite the… activity he was currently doing. However, as I began to reach his mountainous pecs, I felt a massive force hit me from behind, throwing me down onto the earthbender’s skin. A white, salty liquid covered my body, and in only a few moments more drops of it hit where I was, all the while I could hear Bolin moan in pleasure. After I picked myself up and wiped off my eyes, Bolin’s eyes fell on me. He quickly grabbed me before sitting up. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry Arik! I completely forgot you were down there!” He apologized. “You’re like, totally covered with my cum now huh? How about we shower and I can try to make it up to you, sound good little guy?”

I simply nodded, as any attempt to open my mouth caused the earthbender’s cum to enter my mouth, forcing me again to swallow it. Bolin stood up and entered the bathroom attached to his guest room. He disrobed after placing me on the counter of the sink. I could see his full body in all its majesty, from strong arms and muscular torso, to his thick cock and tree-like legs. He was built like an adonis. He reached behind me and slowly turned on the sink, just enough to let the waterfall in a single stream rather than a few pitiful drops. He let me climb back onto his palm so I could more easily climb into the basin. He even used his finger nail to cut me off a little chunk of soap to wash myself up with. Meanwhile, he turned on the water for the actual shower and entered. I wasn’t able to see him in any detail through the frosted glass. However, once he was done, he looked just as stunning as the remaining water coursed over his skin. He walked over to the sink and turned off the water. He quickly dried himself off with a towel and wrapped it around his waist before grabbing a small cloth, likely for people to dry off their hands after washing them, and gave it to me to dry myself off with.

Once I was done, he let me climb back onto his palm and took me back into the main room. He placed me onto the table beside the bed, before walking over to the wardrobe and looking through the extra clothes in there. He finally settled on an outfit, it’s orange, yellow, and red fabric making it clear it was an air nomad ensemble, however it still looked natural on him. “I doubt there’s anything in here that’ll fit you, little guy.” Bolin said in an apologetic tone. Before I could even try to reassure him, he turned on his heel and faced me “But don’t worry! I have an idea. Just stay right there, alright?”

Bolin quickly left the room after finishing his thought, only to return a few minutes later, a bundle of fabric being held in one hand, and what looked like a few cookies in the other. He set it all on the bedside table right next to me. “I figured Tenzen’s kids might still have their doll clothes, and I was right!” Bolin said, proud of himself. “Any of these suit you?”

Bolin then began rummaging through the pile of doll’s clothes. There were an assortment of clothes, many reflecting clothes of the different nations. Finally, I settled on an outfit that somewhat resembled Earth Kingdom fashion, with deep greens contrasted with brilliant gold. Unfortunately the pants were a little big for me, but Bolin quickly fixed that by pulling a thread from a shirt I didn’t like and tying it around my waist like a belt. “You look so cute like that, Arik!”

“T-thanks” I sputtered, a blush quickly coming to my cheeks as I looked away from Bolin’s face. I was then nudged by one of his fingers, atop it a small piece of a cookie he had brought back for me. I didn’t want it initially, until I felt my stomach rumble and remembered that the only thing I’ve eaten all day came from Bolin in a more… intimate manner. In the end, I graciously took the crumb and sat closer to the edge of the bedside table. Bolin and I talked for the rest of the night, him trying to get to know me better. Eventually, as we were preparing to go to bed, he said to me “I promise, starting tomorrow I’ll talk to Korra to try to get this fixed.”

“Bolin, can I be honest with you?” I asked, slightly nervous about his response.

“Yeah, of course, little guy! Glad to see you beginning to trust me more.” He responded with a small chuckle.

“I don’t know how much I want to go back to normal…”

“What do you mean? You want to stay like this forever?” “I don’t know about forever, but after getting this tiny and being found by you, things have been kind of… nice, I guess.”

“Even after I accidentally hit you with my cum?” “Weirdly enough, yeah. I had a massive crush seeing you as Nuktuk, and now getting to be taken care of by you? I don’t know, it’s kinda nice. Even if I did spend most of the day against your sweaty crotch.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it was kind of nice getting to take care of you. And I promise it’s not normally that sweaty.” He said, with another small chuckle to himself. “But I want you to know, if at any time you want to grow back, I’ll talk to Korra and see what we can do. But until then, how about you be my little pet?” “Deal.”

With that, Bolin stripped down to just a pair of boxers and laid on the bed, pulling the covers over him. “So, Arik, where do you wanna sleep? Wanna try laying on my chest, hearing my heartbeat? Or maybe you wanna go back into my boxers? Bolin Jr. is already beginning to miss you.” Bolin said. And sure enough, you turned around and began to see a small bulge growing under the blanket. “No pressure, though” Bolin reassured you.

A/N: Sorry for the vague ending, but wanted you guys as readers to decide where to sleep for the night, lol.

[g0os]

So, Hortus de Escapismo was an event, it happened.

(Spoilers filled rant ahead)

Fredrico became the first non-papal saint for some mysterious reason (tune in next episode to find out). But I cant say I didn't like him, I'd go so far as to say he's one of the only truly good people in the event, the only one willing to go against the law, even if that just means following it's words than the true intent behind them.

Clement (gardener deer guy) sure was a character, the twist at the end really did his character dirty, he was a sweet guy pushed to his limits by poverty that tried to hold hope and help people, working as a balance to the bishop who's hope was dwindling. Then suddenly he's also been planning to bomb the monastery because it's better to die together than live apart? I guess? It wad a bad twist to set up a final boss.

And why was Arturia the final boss? Did they really need to save her for the next event in this plotline? She was subtly built up as a antagonist with questionable lines doted here and there, Fredrico rushing off to stop her when given the barest idea of here presence, building her up as a mastermind that pulls strings from afar, but no deer boy.

As for her character, I like her, she's my kind a insane, clearly a bad person but the kind I wouldn't mind an event dedecated too, hopefully she gets more screne time in the next event.

On to the two that join Fredrico on the trip, Spuria is unlikeable, but that felt intentional? She's a sceming ass that uses others to her benefit and doesn't truly commit to Oren's plan out of self preservation.

Richele on the other hand is likeable but just as selfcentred as Spuria, they both put themselves first but their personalities give them a nice contrast to otherwise bland characters.

Now that I've mentioned him, WHY HAS NOBODY JUST SHOT OREN? He tried to do a massacre! And it's just pushed to the side once they're past that plot point. Seriously the baddest man just walks away from this event without a single consiquence.

And Lemuen, I can't say I like her, I can apreciate her as a character, someone who grew up in a racist society trying to do her best for people in a way that doesn't damage her worldview.

I loved the scene (and just the general concept) of a wheelchair bound girl zipping around a monistary chasing some eldrich abomination with a sniper rifle, woman couldn't be further from relistic if she tried, the CG of the stair covered path is the real cake of that entire scene.

The Sarkaz goobers (I've come this far, I sure ain't stopping here) were neet, though not the real focus, which is kinda wierd, they were the only characters that were facing any real stakes, do you abandon your friends so they can live a better life without you, even if it means your struggle will only get harder, I liked Gerald, he felt old, the reminders of his past being dreged up and forcing him to confront his past and recon with his action ultimately leading to the conclusion which felt a bit under cooked, he off's himself then they lose focus on the Sarkaz subplot until his brother tries to run away with Fortuna and nearly dies then their just dropped till the epilouge.

As for Fortuna, though I feel Delphina death was a might contrived I'm willing to accept that for what came of it, even if it too was dropped for the real story, her pain only caused by the circumstances she can't control, racist laws and inpovrishment push aother to break under their weight. Andoain was right, yada, yada.

Who else, the bird kids? They were cool 'n' fun nice lil subplot, saw their mothers twist coming from a mile away but it was still heartwarming to see.

The tenticle man? Was there? More set up for later events probably, really wish they gave his screen time to litteraly anyone else.

So as a whole I feel this just suffered from a degree of character bloat, Spuria and Richele don't really contribute anything to the actual plot that someone else couldn't have and beyond the start of FedEx's character arc this event really just felt like set up for later events, which sucks, I really hope that Arturia is actually the true villain of her event even if they make her a protagonist.

So yeah, I'm gonna call it here before this goes from rant to 5,000 word essay.

Racism bad, genocide bad, feed the poor, Andoain was right. Arturia please dom me.

[most-canon-non-canon-ship-poll]

I, the poll runner, made this poll because they suck that much

Why Mileven is shit - a submission-based essay, part 3/3

Mileven - a currently canon het ship from the Stranger Things fandom between Michael (Mike) Wheeler and Jane (Eleven) Ives/Hopper/Byers/IDK

This doesn't mean she will never have another relationship, it doesn't even mean she is "alone" while other people are in relationships (although personally I think there is nothing wrong with not being in a relationship tbh... some people need to unpack this). It just means that she reclaims the power to decide if and when she will give love to someone again, a choice she's never really had. As for Mike, I believe his low self-esteem and what makes him feel so different is his feelings for Will which have steadily stepped out of platonic more and more as time has gone on, and THAT is the truth that is hard to admit, not his apparent love for El that she has been begging for him to say. Mike and Will are written so perfectly as a romantic duo that it is wild to me that anyone would ship Mike with anyone else. Mike deserves more than to be a shitty friend and El's boyfriend (because if he really does just love El, then his actions are just him being mean and weird with no cause or explanation, which I can't imagine is the case), Will deserves more than to be the sad gay in unrequited love who only suffers, and El deserves more than to be some boy's "superhero" who is loved for what she can do more than for who she truly is. She deserves to shake the shackles of male control, and yes... Mike unfortunately falls into this due to his feeling responsible for El's wellbeing because of the unfortunate circumstances they met under. Plus he's, in my opinion, fallen even harden into this parentified role in Hopper's absence (those parallels are insane too, don't even get me started). Anyway, all that to say... Mileven is an objectively bad ship that doesn't fit with the story Stranger Things is telling. It doesn't serve any of the characters involved in a positive way, and Byler is a significantly more touching and well-built couple. Personally, even the argument that El will be "crushed if they break up" doesn't really carry any weight. It's clear that she has already hurt so much IN THE RELATIONSHIP, so ending it just seems like the logical next step (and I'm among the people who believe she wanted to break up at the pizza place tbh). Why should she stay with someone who can only love her in life-or-death situations? Why should Mike be with someone who makes him feel worthless or not enough or like his personal experiences and struggles aren't valid? Why should Mike and El settle for a relationship that takes so much work but makes them both ultimately unhappy (it's giving Karen a d Ted). Why should Will just accept that in a world of demogorgans and alternate dimensions and telekinetic lab children, the craziest and most unlikely thing is a queer boy like him finding requited love with the person who makes them feel better for being different and encourages them to fight on? I just don't think the writers are telling that kind of story. I love El, Mike, and Will... I hope they will get a beautiful ending. To me, a beautiful ending would include Mike and El mutually caring for each other enough to admit that their relationship is not good for either of them as El deserves to be loved and needs time to heal, and Mike deserves to embrace his truth and his own feelings without feeling insignificant or unlovable (and ultimately be rewarded for embodying one of the show's core themes: that forced conformity is bad, you will never feel gratification or happiness by pretending to be something or someone you're not, it's okay to be a "freak" and it's okay to be different and to rebel against the limited, restrictive forms of "happiness" society pushes. After all, forced conformity is one of the real villains in this show, as clearly stated!)

[oldguardleatherdog]

im begging you to rethink that pinned post. FAT TRANS PEOPLE are begging you to reconsider that post. none of us are telling you to be kinder to trump—we're asking you to be kinder to fat people. we don't deserve to be thrown under the bus for a dig at him that won't even hurt him. there are a million ways to insult him without talking about his weight. his weight is not why he is evil, and we are not evil for being fat. think about why this is even where you want to go with your insults. if the person taking away the rights of trans people was in a wheelchair, would you insult them with ableism? if the person taking away the rights of trans people was not white, would you insult them with racism? why would you fight bigotry with bigotry? WHO does this help?

we ARENT trying to muzzle you, or trying to assimilate. we are asking you not to use your comrades as cannon fodder. calling a fascist a fatass is not some kind of radical protest. the only people who will be hurt by it are the ones you claim are your friends. fat people in your life will hear you and think to themselves that you find their bodies worthy of mockery.

personally, i like to say that i look forward to using his future grave as a gender neutral bathroom. more creative insults are often stronger, anyways.

personally, i like to say that i look forward to using his future grave as a gender neutral bathroom

On that, we agree! The rest... not so much. I'm glad you didn't heap invective on me or tell me I'm a bad person in your reply so I'll share the following with you and ask you to hear me out.

This was my reply to a very snarky and very freshly-unwrapped-activist critic on another platform:

I'm not sure why, but many well-intentioned people - well, some of them are well intentioned, a lot of them chimed in to hurl insults and invective at me - have missed the point by an alarming and troubling country mile. You have jumped to the conclusion that my goal here is to somehow annoy Donald Trump, and that this indicates I am a hopeless, horrible, fat shaming thug. I resent that deeply. I grew up obese. I know what this is like. Do you really think so little of me, a lifelong gay activist with 37 years of service to the leather community fighting for our rights, someone you have never even met, that you think you can lob such a high-handed and patronizing sentiment my way with no regard for how I might feel? Check your human decency; you may be a quart low. If you got the impression that the intent of this post was to brigade Donald Trump, I'm not sure where to begin. The point is not about fat. The point is that as I stated, Donald Trump is our murderer. Our community is already suffering. People are fleeing, literally uprooting their life and moving everything in an economy where there is no money to spare, because of this onslaught against us. And you and others have to be so self-involved, so conditioned to respond with boilerplate sloganeering and empty SJW admonitions, that you put the feelings of a hypothetical few ahead of the thousands, the millions of us who are in danger right now? Sorry. I don't buy it, and your stubborn, nearsighted stance makes you and those who share your view complicit with Trump, Libs of TikTok, Chaya Raichik, Matt Walsh, Tucker Carlson, Elon Musk, Moms for Liberty, Gays Against Groomers, and every legislator who's pushing trans bans, drag bans, treatment refusal to LGBTQ+ people, and legislation being drafted RIGHT NOW that will remove ALL of us from participation in civil society. The purity culture that is in vogue in our community today is clearly dangerous to our welfare and our continued existence. As Al Gore once said to Bill Clinton, "You could get with the goddam program." I am not making fat jokes. I cannot say it any more clearly than if I were to tattoo it on my forehead. If you or anyone else is hurt, then grow a spine and thicken your skin. Activists need to be sensitive, not delicate. Neither I nor any other OG activist who marched 10,000 miles through the streets 30 years ago to save ourselves from AIDS is going to mollycoddle you or indulge you. If you're not currently in activist mode, you are wrong. If your priority is to put the potential hurt feelings of a very few ahead of the suffering of the forcibly detransitioned in Florida and the unspeakable plans that are being readied for a vote, you are complicit, along with everyone who holds that sentiment. If "body shaming" is your pet cause, well, enjoy being proud of your body when the Proud Boys show up with automatic rifles and assault weapons at a drag fundraiser in your town, as they have been doing regularly over the past year in Texas, Missouri, and the Midwest. What next? A benefit for Kiwi Farms at the LGBTQ+ Community Center? Spare me. I have no time or tolerance for this.

Soooooo, there you have it. That's not just a Wall O' Text - it's an entire amphitheater with seating for 100,000! And every brick is meant to be dismantled one by one, handed to every queer activist we've got, and thrown with velocity and vigor at the head of Donald J. Trump and all who want to see us beaten down and dead. Make sure your aim is true.

Thank you for writing, for asking, and for reading.

[uwuthrad]

Hi I made a thing

Inspired by @nerevar-quote-and-star suffering for our sins by a writing a no-doubt deeply cathartic fic about a Bishop/LDB/Ulfric “love” triangle, I finished writing this thing yesterday evening, wherein Bishop gets very, very dead.

I meant for it to be silly and funny, but it’s Bishop so it got slightly dark and stalkerish. Please don’t take any of this too seriously.

On Tirdas, Onmund woke up to the full weight of Brelyna Maryon dropping onto his stomach.

His recollection of the following events was, unsurprisingly, rather confused, though Onmund did remember lurching upright, wheezing something about being under attack, then his right buttock being pricked rather sharply by a mean set of claws, Brelyna laughing, and finding himself belatedly throwing a sheet over J’zargo very naked, very present body.

"Um", Onmund said, which was about as eloquent as you were ever likely to get out of him, if he was completely honest with himself.

J’zargo’s claws dug deeper into his backside, and he winced.

"Yes, yes", Brelyna waived airily, "you and J’zargo’s very secret, very illicit love affair that nobody knows anything about. That’s not important right now." She paused, possibly for dramatic effect, though was it dramatized was the need for Onmund to cast a healing spell somewhere Colette could never see. Brelyna leaned forward, like a child sharing a secret: "Léonie’s here! And she has a man with her!"

Onmund raised his eyebrows - both of them, because he never quite got the hand of raising just the one, no matter how long he spent practicing in the mirror. Even the digging in his arse took on a bit of a doubtful quality. The Archmage might spend a fair bit of time running about, but she was around on an almost-weekly basis, so he didn’t quite get how her coming might warrant such an exuberant reaction first thing in the morning.

And as for "a man"…Léonie was almost always accompanied, and often by that short blond scholar from Cyrodiil, the one whose talking speed always made Onmund feel dizzy. Perfectly good company, though, once you got an ale into him, just to mellow him out a bit.

Onmund was kind of wishing for an ale right at the moment too, no matter that he’d barely even begun to wake up. "What’s with the man, then?", he asked, hazarding a guess.

Brelyna bounced on the mattress, which had some painful subterranean results and made Onmund wonder if he could get away with pretending the scars were from a sabercat. "He’s- it’s- oh, you’ve got to see it to believe it!" She bounced off and away, launching herself at the door with a vivacity she only ever exuded in the midst of a mugwort tea-induced high. "Just- get dressed, hurry, and, oh, go tell J’zargo to do the same and join us in the Hall of the Elements! Trust me", she said, which made Onmund lean back on some deeply ingrained self-preservation instinct, "this is gonna be great."

In true Brelyna fashion, it turned out the exact opposite.

Onmund would be willing to admit, under oath, that his first impression of the man they called Bishop was ever-so-slightly marred by the fact that he had his breeches stuffed full of cotton on the right-hand side and a snippy sort-of-lover on the left one. It had taken them months to work up to this, he mourned, and now J’zargo was refusing to even look his way.

So. Bishop.

He was, indeed, a man. (Brelyna got that right, at least, Onmund thought a little snippily, and then immediately felt bad about it. None of this was Brelyna’s fault. Well. Almost none of this.) A Nord, though on the shorter and slighter side, with about the right number of limbs and other appendages. Nothing wrong with him at first glance, except for the fact that his hair had clearly been carefully styled to look unstyled - Onmund’d know, he’d lived with a Khajiit for years now - using some strange shiny substance that had to be some sort of slime.

But truly, the mind-boggling fact about the man was that he… hovered. Over Léonie.

Over Léonie, who was, well, herself - resplendent, an old poem whispered at the back of Onmund’s mind, each day growing closer to something one might only call divine - but wearing her polite little bureaucrat’s smile, perfectly even and serene even as her eyes danced with magic and mischief.

Onmund knew that smile very well. She had worn it, too, in Labyrinthian, down into the guts of the ancient city that had swallowed a generation of their predecessors, and when Morokei had grumbled, one with the walls, You will never leave this tomb.

She had smiled as she had answered in kind, voice soft and melodic and resonant through the soles of Onmund’s feet: I beg your pardon, but on that matter we must agree to disagree.

Today, she smiled at Onmund’s baffled and wary face, an invitation to share in on a joke, and this was when Onmund knew Brelyna was wrong: this was going to be awful. He was going to come along anyway.

 Léonie was held off from explaining until they were all seated on a boat headed for Windhelm, though Bishop, by nature, it seemed, beggared all explanation.

"This is Bishop", she said, nodding to the man across her on the boat. She had wedged herself firmly between Brelyna and J’zargo on one bench, leaving Onmund and Bishop to awkwardly share another. It was awkward for Onmund, in any case. Bishop was crossing and uncrossing his arms at an alarming rate, huffing and puffing like a fire struggling to kindle.

Onmund eyed the rather small and shabby seafaring vessel they were all currently squeezed on, and discreetly cast a waterwalking spell on himself. It might be spring everywhere else, but the Sea of Ghosts followed her own rules, which were generally pretty chilly.

"Yeah", Bishop interjected, before Léonie could add anything further. "And who are you sorry lot, huh?"

Léonie made a half-shrugging, sort of "see what I mean?" gesture. "Those", she said, very slowly, as if explaining to a child, "are respected scholars of the College of Winterhold, and my former classmates besides." A pause, where she tilted her head very slightly, stilling, bringing to Onmund’s mind the effigy of the old owl god for a moment, with its forever-face of serene stone. "They are all dear friends of mine."

From Bishop’s reaction to those words, you might as well have thought they were curses. "You- Ladyship, you would count those poncy robe-wearing wizards as your friends? Are you out of your mind?"

From Onmund’s place on the boat, he had the perfect vantage point to see J’zargo’s mouth drop ever-so-slightly open in shocked offense while Léonie only nodded thoughtfully, seemingly unsurprised. Brelyna mouthed the word Ladyship to herself, and Onmund experienced a nauseating flashback to the days where he would "borrow" his sister Sala’s romance novels to read in secret.

He was not ashamed of the fact that he had liked them now, wasn’t ashamed of liking romance now, even if it involved rather fewer roses and quite a bit more explosive substances than expected, but still. He tried imagining calling anyone "Ladyship" outside of, well, a countess or something, and almost crawled out of his skin in reflexive cringe.

"Oh, get this", Léonie added, then turned to address Bishop: "I am married. To a woman. Who, incidentally, happens to be a thousand-years-old vampire you’re very lucky is currently off to visit her mother in the Soul Cairn, or you would be short a pair of testicles and I a pair of eardrums."

Bishop leaned back - there was no other word for it - strutting his stuff. "You mean to tell you’d like to have a threesome? You’re the only woman for me now, wench. I’m not interested in what any other female has to offer."

Léonie spread her hands open on her lap. "You see it now", she said, bypassing Bishop’s contribution entirely. "First I believed this man to be cursed, and in search for a remedy I took him to every temple and healer I knew. I took him to the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, and Danica Pure-Spring had him stand under the Gildergreen’s dusky shadow as she performed every cleansing rite she knew. She found nothing, so to the Temple of the Eight in Solitude we went, where the priests had him recite the prayers to each of the gods while attempting to cure him. This was no good either, so I tracked down the former priestess of Talos in Windhelm and convinced her to attempt helping him as well, though it was for naught. I left him in the care of the priests of Mara in Riften for seven days and seven nights - though, by this point, it was mostly because I needed to go get seriously drunk - and on the eighth day, I found him at the foot of my bed, waiting."

Onmund shivered. Léonie smiled thinly.

"I am not a little ashamed to admit I reacted violently. But I was startled, and the spell flew before I could stop it." She paused there, thoughtful. "You know me for what I am. The spell I used is one that felled dragons. Yet… on this man, it had no effect."

They, all in unison, turned to the subject of the conversation. He preened. "You know I can handle anything you throw at me, sweetness", he boasted.

"Quite", Léonie said dryly, while Brelyna mimicked throwing up over the side of the boat. Or maybe not mimicking at all, come to think of it. That’d be fair enough, honestly.

"I shall spare you the rest of our tour of Skyrim’s finest healers, priests and curse-breakers", Léonie waved. "Just know that I went as far as to sail all the way back to Solstheim to seek the Skald’s ancient wisdom, sought out the council of the Greybeards, and called upon a reformed daedric priest. All agreed: no curse, no ill was laid on this man, except perhaps for the one of ordinary dullness. But it was the last of these council who gave me this lead I am now pursuing: that Bishop here might not be cursed, but instead be the curse himself."

The…curse? winked at them. "Tough love with this one, ey", it leered.

Brelyna leaned forward, all eager interest - of the scientific, dissecting kind. "You think he’s a dremora? Sent by someone to torment you?"

"It’s possible", Léonie shrugged. "I did mightily piss off Hermaeus Mora with that Solstheim business, and you know how he holds a grudge."

Onmund did not, in fact, know, nor did he ever wish to.

"Oh, and there was Vaermina that one time, though that was a long time ago - anyway. Dremora are more Mehrunes Dagon’s realm - he might be mad at me as well, come to think of it, with that whole business with the razor-"

Onmund always liked talking with Léonie, he reflected, not just because she was good company, but also because she always reminded him that he was, in fact, quite content with his quiet little life as a scholar and his cozy little reading nook and his drinks with the colleagues on Loredas, none of which ever involved any daedric prince whatsoever.

"Right, the main problem with the dremora theory, mostly, is that I’ve tried every scrying technique and detection spell I know, and he shows up as human on every one. I’ve tested spells that might strip off a disguise - oh, please don’t-"

"Sweetheart, you know you don’t need any spell to make me strip for you", Bishop purred.

Léonie closed her eyes, briefly, visibly gathering her strength. "So", she continued through gritted teeth, "he’s either the work of something extremely skilled in illusion, or he’s genuinely a human man who has been cursed with cursing me." She opened her eyes again, a brilliant, dangerous tiger-green. "And whatever has him attached to me doesn’t allow me to lose his tail, reason with him, get rid of him or otherwise dispose of him", she ground out very quickly.

J’zargo perked up, the conversation back on familiar ground. "Has this one tried-"

"Yes", Léonie answered flatly. "I have tried. Everything. Every spell I know. I have had skilled warriors try to crush his skull, stab him in the chest, and pincushioning him with arrows. It all bounced off."

Silence. Léonie cleared her throat, suddenly looking bashful. "I hope you don’t think that.. Power’s getting to my head or something like that. I only tried all this after I was pretty sure it wouldn't do anything, and even then I’m… I’m just so tired."

Léonie suddenly looked alarmingly close to crying, which made Brelyna and Onmund - both equally helpless with emotional people - exchange a panicked look. J’zargo actually took the time to roll his eyes at them before enveloping Léonie in a side embrace that Onmund knew for a fact was sinfully comfy. Khajiit fur, man. You don’t get anything else like it.

"This one has been better than any of those who sit on this boat could claim to be", he rumbled chidingly. "This one has tried to help the other one, but she cannot; perhaps it is nobody can. But if this one cannot soothe his hurt, then it is time to stop him from causing her more pointless suffering. Together, we will solve this. Of this there is no doubt."

Onmund politely looked away when he heard her sniffle, giving her the illusion of privacy, only for his gaze to land on an entirely too-still statue beside him.

He raised his brows at Brelyna, who shrugged, unrepentant. "He looked about to cause a snit about J’zargo touching her", she sniffed, and showed off the gleaming paralysis rune on her palm. "It was that or throw him into the sea."

 They arrived at Windhelm a couple minutes before Brelyna’s spell wore off, something Onmund felt reluctantly impressed by. He took great pleasure into rolling the man onto the shore like a barrel of mead.

The plan, Léonie had told them once her tears had dried, was to try and pawn him off to whatever entity would take him.

Alright, so perhaps Léonie had put it in slightly more elegant terms, but Onmund’s mind had sorted through the bit where she went "Boethiah owes me one, sorta, so I was hoping-" and gotten pretty stuck there.

They climbed a mountain. A small mountain, Léonie had claimed, at the top of which sat the shrine to Boethiah. Something she just happened to know. J’zargo and Onmund retreated to a safe distance while Brelyna (a dark elf and therefore culturally insane) and Léonie (functionally a dragon trapped into a human body and therefore bound to go insane eventually) lead the way up the path to the daedric shrine they were about to sacrifice a guy to.

This, Onmund reflected, this was why when people asked what Léonie was like, he always blanked out and said: You had to be there.

And really, you had to be there.

Bishop trudged along even further behind, painfully and confusedly, but to his inquiry as to whether they should just carry him, Léonie had just told him he’d find his way to her eventually. It was, as she said, inevitable.

They broke for lunch on the steps of the shrine, watching the black dot of Bishop grow, indeed, inexorably bigger.

"What happened here?", Onmund asked, upon seeing the remnants of what was clearly a long-abandoned encampment.

"Boethiah challenged her cultists to a fight to the death with me", Léonie said simply.

"Ah", Onmund said. "I assume they lost?"

Léonie tilted her head thoughtfully, regarding him with that serene, faraway expression she sometimes wore when she looked at something far past you. "They fought to the death in the name of their god", she finally replied, simply. "I don’t think they would have seen it as losing."

"Right", Onmund muttered, and carefully didn’t ask any further questions.

 "Well, Ladyship, this was quite a trek!", Bishop exclaimed, theatrically puffing out great breaths. He seemed to expect some sort of response to this. Possibly one of fawning admiration.

Léonie slammed the butt of her staff into the ground and hauled herself up. "Bishop", she said, very carefully. "I’m now going to try to kill you and bind your soul to a daedric lord. If that sounds at all unpleasant to you, please feel free to express it in words or gestures, or, if impossible, by turning around and leaving."

Bishop laughed. "Is this what it’s all about? My, my, I didn’t realize you were into these kinds of things, m’lady."

Léonie breathed out through her nose, audibly counting to ten. "Bishop, I am not playing a game. I am not joking."

He leered. "Oh, I know", he purred. "I’m all yours, wench."

Léonie looked heavenwards. "Let it be known", she called out, "that I tried everything."

The whole coterie of them trudged up the stairs, Bishop looking spectacularly unconcerned with the audience considering he seemed persuaded he was about to have some particularly kinky sex, but whatever. Not Onmund’s problem right about now. Or really, ever.

"This is the Pillar of Sacrifice", Léonie declared dully. "If you touch it, it will bind you and only I will have the power to release you. Which I will not do."

"Well-prepared, aren’t we, wench?" With one last uncomprehendingly victorious glance at both Onmund and J’zargo, he strutted up to the pillar and touched it.

It glowed blue. It did, indeed, bind him.

"Now I’m going to stab you with this ceremonial dagger", Léonie recited in a monotone, vaguely waving a wicked-looking blade. "Any objections?"

"Hit me with it, babe", Bishop replied.

So she did.

 "This is the grossest suit of flesh I have ever inhabited", the strangely double-honed voice of what was apparently Boethiah declared grandly.

Just don’t think about it, Onmund. Just don’t.

"Tell me about it", Léonie muttered. She leaned her cheek against the graceful metal curve of the Staff of Magnus, eyes half-closed, looking more like a hungover student than someone facing down a daedric prince.

Don’t think about it, Onmund. Spare yourself.

Boethiah-as-Bishop sneered. "This is against the spirit of the agreement."

"Your whole sphere is acting against the spirit of the agreement", Léonie shot back sleepily. "If anything, I thought you’d be proud."

"Being proud has nothing to with being satisfied", the avatar of Boethiah currently wearing the corpse of Léonie’s stalker snarled.

That’s a new sentence if there ever was one, Onmund thought deliriously, and then promptly shut off that line of reasoning too.

Léonie shrugged. "Tough luck." She rolled her shoulders, straightening. She started counting off points off her fingers. "Person who trusted me, followed me willingly - even knowingly! - killed them in cold blood with the appropriate tool at the appropriate location…." She grinned up at the Daedra, swinging the staff around so it rested across her shoulders, leaning her elbows on it like she was carrying a frigging yoke. "So, you owe me something, Boethiah."

The spirit of Boethiah seemed to hesitate, then give in to some baser instinct and stomp its foot. Hard.

"I am not Clavicus Vile", it sneered once the ground had stopped shuddering, "to be bargained with, mortal!"

"And I am no mortal", Léonie replied, evenly, serenely, and for a moment the curve of her arms had the chilling grace of a dragon wing, opening to take flight. "But your words bind you, Boethiah, prince of plots, He-Who Destroys and She-Who-Erases, and here on your sanctified ground, with your sanctified blade, at your holy word, I have done the worst thing that I will ever do, and like the fire burns the ground, so must your deed follow your decree." She smiled thinly. "I am alive because this one is dead."

"Indeed", Boethiah murmured. "Fine. Have my artifact, be my champion, sow chaos and discord wherever you go, we all know you’ll do whatever you want anyway. I still think it’s against the rules that the thing you really want is also the thing you’re giving me-"

"Oh, just take him away, will you?"

When what used to be Bishop turned into ash and started to blow away with the western wind, Léonie sat down on her arse, like a child, and, like a child, wept.

Over the huddle formed by their covenant of four, three to shield the fourth from relief and sorrow intermingled, J’zargo’s clawed hand found Onmund’s, and held on tight.

[imperatorium]

Considering how much peepaw nihil grew to dislike copia, what was his first reaction to sister bringing him to the church claiming him to be her young “protégé”

OKAY WE ARE TRYING THIS AGAIN after tumblr decided to wholeass eat the half-written post I'd crafted last night and be like, "teehee, oops!" about it.

At least it gave me the opportunity to confer with my partner, who really is the Nihil expert, and confirm that, for the most part, what I was going to say was correct.

So! Copia was raised alongside the legitimate Emeritus boys as "an orphan" and, thus, has been not just part of the Church but pretty involved with its inner sanctum since infancy. Sister was responsible for the other boys' upbringing and this gave her the opportunity to keep her baby boy close (closer than you've known) without actually subjecting him to the built-in hardships of being an antipapal heir.

To Nihil, especially while they were children, Copia fell under the same umbrella of skittish disinterest that he also had in One, Two, and Three. He never really Got It, but it didn't bother him. He trusts Sister and if she thinks this extra child is worth the effort - honestly, if she thinks anything, he'll mostly just let her do it. And he'll go back to vibing & keeping it tight while she does the work she wants to do.

I'd guess, too, that there's a part of him who probably thought he understood that Copia was Sister's special project as a coping mechanism for "not" having a child of their own. But it's not something he ever dwelled on because that would require too much concentrated thought on how that (traumatically) came to be the case, how sad he is that it's the case, and the further complication of Sister being someone who clearly does not want to present as maternal but is choosing to be a better parent than any of his boys could ever have hoped for despite having no reason to do so or to be seen as being so.

As a functioning member of the Church as he grew up, there was only so far Copia could get within the ranks - for a while, even Sister felt like maybe the best she really could do for him was keep him close to both her and Nihil as Nihil's assistant. Especially as the Ghost project's second iteration grew, she couldn't always guarantee that she would be available to help the way she would prefer to and Copia had the benefit of by osmosis learning both antipapal responsibilities and Sister's ways, so who better to sub in for her when she had to play momager to the band? Obviously Nihil would have preferred Sister's assistance, but I don't think he and Copia had any issues during this time. I'm sure he found it comforting that he could work with someone who kind of, for the most part, already had an idea of how he functioned and liked things done thanks to Sister's tutelage.

The Problem With Copia didn't actually come to be A Problem until Three lost his position as Papa. To Nihil, Copia very suddenly seemed so obviously a symbol of his own failure, of everything he suffered and worked and tried to be and do for Sister rendered completely pointless. To him, Copia meant that his legacy, the divine burden and honour that Sister trusted him with, was definitively over. An unbroken lineage that could be traced back to Lucifer himself now broken, after all Sister did to prevent that (of course not realizing that it was never about the bloodline to her, it was about him), because of him. Moreover, it was a harsh, devastating reminder that instead of installing some "random" "orphan", this should have been his & Sister's child. Sister is Prime Mover and together they would have made the Antichrist, but (to his knowledge) they never could.

So, that's the trouble. Ironically, Nihil sees Copia as an insult to what he and Sister could have had, should have had, should have done together. And not only is that difficult on its own, it's also A Lot to have to think about. He doesn't want to have to think that hard. The weight of age and trauma and exhaustion is already crushing him. He just wants to smoke weed and write music and kiss Sister and not care about anything else. This severely harshes that buzz.

WORSE, for some reason he extra can't understand, Sister seems okay with all of it. She sees and understands everything, but for some reason does not seem phased by the same concerns he has about what (he thinks) Copia means. And she dotes on him!! That's time and attention Nihil wants, given away to someone who has been allowed to destroy every last thing he and Sister wanted to build.

And despite the fact that I've written two stories where, hey, maybe there's a glimmer of hope and Nihil does figure it out (before Sister musters up the ability to Reveal The Secret), I don't think that's true in proper canon. Neither Copia nor Nihil know and the tragedy is that even at this point, if it came out, the damage is already done.

[halechief]

❛ i feel like the burden is being shifted back and forth. the burden of being the one who is pleased. ❜

❝  the burden.  ❞  she cannot help but echo it back to him, for a moment lost as she considers how he always seems to find the words required to render most any feeling in every facet of itself. no side left unilluminated, no edge left unsharpened. it is fair, she thinks, for their peace to be painful. they were never supposed to have it.  ❝  i think we can probably handle that. ❞  she worries that she is making light again, scraping away at some severity he means to instill in her, staring another warning in the face and willing herself not to see it, so that it cannot break what has been so delicately mended. it is work, even if she loves it. even if she prays for it to be true with eyes squeezed tightly shut on some mornings before she ever dares to roll over and confirm that he is there, that he exists in more than just the desperate vacuum of her mind, or a shifting vision in her periphery. he is there, finally a relic no longer — but being with him is not made any less of a challenge simply because it saves her.

there are cracks in the foundation that she can no longer see clearly, or contain. they arrive and assert themselves in the smallest of gestures : his hand will trace along the banister coming down the stairs, and for a moment she will think of the weathered one from the house in maryland. another day she will pass by where he is seated in the living room, reading a book he has already read, or perhaps one he had saved for this eventuality, one he dared not open before the opportunity to do so beneath a roof they both resided under had been won. earned. she will recall how many nights he avoided sleep. how many nights it would not come even if he did attempt it. how she lost the same nights in their staggering number, how both of them suffered and went on suffering, and might well have still been, given any small, shifted circumstance. on those days, the estrangement that he maintained, and even cultivated between them will come stealing in through those narrow fissures and meticulously loosen every carefully tightened bolt of her composure, throw open every latched well of emotion. she will resent him in one breath . . . and let it decay in the next.  ❝  are you happier?  ❞  she wants that, more than anything. infinitely more than a life clean of complications, or loss, or anger.

whatever anger there is will not survive beneath the burden of her relief, even if it should. even if whatever light there is between them will always cast another shadow, even if there are spaces that they will never again fill in one another . . . private hurts that are not within their power to heal. nothing survives the suffocating weight of what it means to her, that when he says this she can turn her hand to let her fingers touch his pulse. nothing can prise from her the notion that whatever there still is for her to experience, it is only worth experiencing with him. it is not owed to any sense of loneliness or grief that only he can comprehend, it is not owed to an inability to imagine life with someone else. she has imagined it. she had given it the effort that seemed to be expected, perhaps even owed. she has thought on more than one occasion that it might have been a kindness, to release him from her. that letting him go might do him more good than it could ever do for her, whether he would have wanted it or not. but she has always, from the beginning, been selfish. she has always wanted more than was proper, more than was offered, more than any person should assume themselves entitled to. it is impossible for her to parse how on earth he had seen his way past that to choose her, to set them on the path that culminates now beneath their feet when she steps closer, her palm resting gently over his heart as she chooses him, too, not for the last time. 

❝  i am.  ❞

[bananacreamphi]

Building off the Zisu centric fanfic idea I posted the other day, I feel like the second half of the story would be focused on healing, physically, mentally and socially.

After her whole breakdown comes to a head Zisu would be left with nothing—she’s lost her job, her hand, and her reputation. Meiji Japan was not very kind to disabled people and in Hisui it would probably be doubly so since it’s really tough out there plus the village was willing to throw a child out to the wilderness if they didn’t pull their weight. And Zisu would damn well know it. I think Cyllene and Pesselle would be the real MVPs in this part since they’d probably be the only people left to support Zisu after she burned pretty much all her bridges with the security corps (and Ingo and the protag and the professor’s assistant probably). Kamado would probably have to be convinced, but I had an idea where just before Zisu really gets ill she tears him a new one about how he ungratefully threw out the protag after all they’d done and nearly caused countless deaths, just like the person she’d gotten into had said to her. So he’d eventually relent and not kick her out per se, but since Zisu clearly is unwell he would refuse to reinstate her as head of the security corps.

I could see Zisu being forced to leave the village but still be supported by the galaxy team, just moving to another settlement (like the future location of sunnyshore city) to uphold the town’s reputation, but I feel like that would be too cruel. Maybe she would focus on training pokemon full time, at least temporarily, and they would help her recover emotionally. She clearly has a deep bond with them, since she has a Hisuian Zoroark which are notoriously wary of humans and a lopunny which only evolves via friendship where Buneary’s friendship level starts at zero. At the same time she would have to do some serious introspection as to why the fuck she reacted so badly to some rightful (albeit probably very badly worded) criticism. Cue more flashbacks to how when she was a child she had to survive a really shitty life while trying to keep a smile on her face, possibly with crappy/no parents, war, famine, etc.

Then of course there’s the matter of Zisu rebuilding her relationships. She would have a lot of apologizing to do. Professor Laventon, if he had even been upset at all, would probably forgive her instantly. The prof’s assistant would require more convincing since both versions seem a little more wary and less of a cinnamon roll. Then there’s the person she had the initial argument with. Assuming it was the protagonist, then they would probably be burned by the adults in Jubilife in general rather than specifically at her, and just happened to lash out at her. But Zisu, having pulled her head out of her ass and remembered how much it resonated with her own past, would agree that she should have stood up to Kamado back then and would swear to do better. And then they would hug her and apologize too and start crying (a little).

On the other hand, if it was Ingo she had an argument with, things would be a lot more personal. Since he presumably knew Zisu before the protagonist showed up and watched them get thrown out despite doing nothing wrong, he would probably be incredibly betrayed and lose trust in her. He would be keenly aware of his status as an outsider and if someone who saved the nobles from suffering got kicked out under threat of imprisonment, who’s to say he wouldn’t be too? Plus he has direct ties to the Pearl clan, so if there was a war then the galaxy team would be killing his fellow clan members. All that combined could leave him deeply resentful, and so his anger would be targeted specifically at Zisu because he considered her a friend. Afterwards he would stomp off and decide to stay away from the village until he calmed down, only to find out the whole Everything that happened and wind up distraught, blaming himself for causing the whole thing. They’d both have a lot of explaining to do,and would also both probably cry.

In the case where Ingo didn’t start the argument, then Zisu would be entirely at fault. Ingo just expressed concern for her and she flipped her entire shit at him for literally no good reason, spooking him, probably making him cry (a little, secretly), and potentially threatening relations with the Pearl clan. Kamado would rightfully be pissed off at her for that and it would also factor into her losing her job. Again Zisu would need serious backup not to get thrown out. She’d probably do a full on dogeza apology for him, and idk maybe even some sort of diplomatic gift, which would make things kinda awkward. Ingo would definitely forgive her, knowing she was in a bad place emotionally and didn’t mean it even if it was upsetting at the time. He’d vouch for her. And yay!!! They can spend more time battling now!!! Making the best out of a shitty situation.

[sagaofstardustmkg]

And remain forever strong | X | MM Trial.3 | Re: Timekeeper

If Caleb could prove he wasn’t the Timekeeper, he would, and if he was, he would simply eventually confirm it for them, that had been the entire basis for her to ask him to do it for them, it’d be easier that way, in more ways than one; the back of her mind knew that she wanted him to dismantle their points, and steer them elsewhere. That’d be easier.

It’d be easier if she didn’t have to see Ben’s suffering as Caleb stands, kisses him and walks away; it would be easier if she didn’t see the tears fall down his face, hear the crackling of his soft voice, the hurt in his words, the expression on his face that doesn’t suit him but it’s entirely understandable.

Inside her pockets, her hands fidget for a few seconds until she slowly takes them out and places them down on her lap, staring at them in silence as tension rises and bubbles around the world in the room, the more she thinks, the more her eye stings with a burn that does not come from her magic.

It hurts that if everything so far is correct enough then --- their speculation on the weights carried by Caleb are more than likely also correct; if not wrong in only the sense that they must be worse than her imagination would let her guess. A breath catches in her throat, she continues to look down; her hands slowly curl and uncurl, over and over.

She takes a short, quick inhale and then an exhale, her vision briefly blurs and she squeezes her eye shut tightly, takes another inhale, opens her eye and exhales. She’s got it under control, of course, she wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t. But she still swallows, unsure of what, if anything, she can say.

There is perhaps nothing at all she can do at this stage, not for Ben, not for Caleb, the two were always the kind to have everything answer whenever she needed one, even if that answer was an honest ‘I don’t know’ because sometimes it is good to remember no one has every answer to every problem.

Their perspective often conflicted with hers; only natural for it to be that way, she knows they’re both better people than she could ever hope or want to be but that’s exactly what also made them so admirable in a way; kindness and light in places where she couldn’t, wouldn’t ever offer them.

Both of them have been kinder to Mari than she’s ever deserved; more times than she’s earned it and she knows; they’re nicer to her than she’s to them, or to herself, and they don’t have to be, they just are; even knowing her flaws, knowing well some of them aren’t the exact sort of flaw one can overlook, and they don’t. For a change, she should do the same for them.

It hasn’t been long that she’s kept her gaze down, but she rises to look at the room firmly, the same tired look in her eye, expressionless calm all over. Her hands finally stop fidgeting, one goes to search one of Mayumi’s own and when she finds it, she gives it a light squeeze, the other moves stays under the table for now.

She inhales and exhales and stares at Caleb in silence; the exhaustion all around him is practically palpable; it’s strange that someone so clearly powerful looks so very … defeated, at the same time, at least to her. But she knows defeat doesn’t mean someone has given up, all of them being right here, right now, means Caleb hasn’t.

At least she hopes he hasn’t.

She doesn’t want him to. She doesn’t think he would want to, and trusts him not to. Not with what she imagines is at stake here.

Inhale, exhale.

Slowly, she looks away from Caleb and at Fumie and Bo, Mayumi, Ben, and others; people she cares about and people who’ve cared for her. And though she’s never been a good person herself, nor has she ever known how to help someone, knowing she doesn’t have to do it by herself, her gaze again moves to fix on Caleb; who she knows has probably, despite everything, helped her and everyone else over and over and over.

And it is now her turn to at least try.

Blank and calm, she speaks up, looking at him the same way she’s come to look at him every other time, really, calmly and with a tingle of a sense of familiarity in her eye, something akin to recognition. Her voice is the only thing it can ever be, firm and self-assured:

“Pars magna bonitatis est velle fieri bonum.”

[tired-teacher-blog]

hello my beautiful teach, can i ask you for a Dabi x marriage proposal to his gf? I know it’s a scenery very unlike him but that’s why I’m so curious about it. Thank you so much for your time

Hello my beautiful anonie ❤️

It would be a dream come true if something like that were to happen. So let this be our wishful thinking.

Title : Always and forever

Characters : Dabi/ fem reader

Genre : Fluff, just fluff

Masterlist

"So what do you think of marrying me?"

He paced the room mumbling under his breath. He wanted to find the perfect words but it was clearly a lot harder than he expected.

You and Touya have been together for years, five to be exact. You've been with him through thick and thin, and you watched him in his best, and in his worst.

But never once did you think of leaving him, even when he wanted to "release you from your shackles" as he would put it. Because yes, he's always thought that dating him can only be burdening, and he loves you too much that he would rather suffer being apart from you than watch you enduring the consequences of sticking with him.

But you're a spitfire, stubborn and fearless. You just never back down.

"Will you marry me?"

No, he wanted his proposal to be special, those words are overused. But then again this was special on its own. Did he ever think about settling down and dedicating himself to someone? Let alone considering the possibility of having kids one day? Absolutely not.

To be honest, when he first met you, he thought it was just an opportunity to relieve some stress and that's that. But you're not the kind of person one can easily get over.

He found himself going back to you, seeking for more because no matter how much time he had spent with you, it was never enough. You've become his addiction.. and he's become yours.

"Wanna get married?"

He mumbled again as you walked into the room.

_ "Who are you talking to?" You asked with a smile and playfully scanned the room.

_ "No one, just myself." He walked up to you and pulled you in his arms kissing your temple.

You giggled and melted into him.

He's the love of your life, someone you can't see yourself carrying on without.

You've never told him before, but you usually imagine how your lives would be if you were to have a family together. But you know that's not something he would ever consider with the way his life is.

And you're okay with it, as long as he allows you to be with him.

_ "The shower's yours." You beamed looking up and kissing his nose.

_ "We would've been both done if you'd let me shower with you."

_ "Seriously? You know you can't keep your hands to yourself, we'd still be in there." You teased burying your face in his chest again: "Go ahead, I'll be waiting."

Water run down his body as he stood there doing nothing.

"Hey let's get married."

Would that be good enough? But it doesn't sound like a proposal, it sounds more like he already knows what your answer would be.

But he knows. Even if you refuse to show it, he knows you dream of a peaceful life with him.. a family.

He knows because he sees the way you longingly gaze at the kids who pass you by on the street, or the way that sad smile appears on your face everytime kids' commercials show up on TV.

And it's not that he doesn't want all that, it's just that he worries. But he's willing to make the necessary changes for you and for himself.

Both of you deserve to be happy.

You were already drifting off when he entered your shared bedroom. And only when you felt the bed dipping underneath his weight, did you regain full consciousness.

_ "Touya, what took you so long?"

He couldn't tell you he spent almost an hour thinking about a perfect way to propose.

_ "Well I'm here now." He smirked throwing his body on top of you.

You couldn't help the giggle escaping your throat, you loved those sweet carefree moments you sometimes shared, and you wished to have more of them.

_ "Touya you're heavy! Get up get up!" You played it dramatic expecting him to join your little game, but he said nothing and actually got up.

_ "What? Wait I'm joking!" You freaked out a little and pulled his arm.

_ "I know babe I'll be right back so wait for me." He kissed your cheek and left the room.

You stayed there for a while not sure of what happened exactly. But he asked you to wait for him, and that's what you did.

"How about we get married?"

He breathed out holding the ring he just fished out of his jacket, fondling it between his fingers as he pondered.

That would be casual, yeah, so it's cool right?

But cool couldn't be said about him, not when he had spent the previous week trying to get you the perfect ring without you finding out.

He finally picked a blue sapphire ring.

You've always told him that his flames have the most beautiful color, something no one else has told him.

And even if it wasn't the usual complement he would get for his quirk, he still loved it.

_ "Touya, what's going on? Is everything okay? You've been gone for a while." You walked right up to him trying to understand the situation.

He was startled, and without realizing it turned around with the ring still in his hand.

The sparkling blue gemstone caught your attention and you stopped dead in your tracks trying to figure out what it meant.

You didn't want to get your hopes up, so you kept quiet waiting for him to explain.

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He tried to remember what he practiced but his brain was blurry.

_ "Touya, what does this mean?" You were on the verge of tears and you couldn't wait any longer for him to speak.

But he still couldn't say a word, so instead he took your hand and looked at you through hopeful eyes.

_ "Is this what I think it is? Are you proposing to me?" You finally dared asking the question you've always hoped he'd ask you.

He knew he needed to say something, he couldn't just stay quiet.

"I want to be with you forever."

Yes, perfect. That was exactly what he wanted to convey, he was finally able to speak the right words. And your reaction was evidence.

Your tears fell down as you smiled brightly blurting out your response:

"Yes! Yes! Always and forever!"

You jumped in his arms and he engulfed you in his embrace, kissing you softly and finally placing the ring on your finger. It felt right, and he regretted not doing it much sooner, but nothing is lost, you two have the rest of your lives ahead and you will spend it making each other happy.

[rosebloodcat]

I know it's currently a fanfic trend for everyone to assume that the player character in Pokemon Legends Arceus is an amnesiac like Ingo. That their memories have been scrambled and fogged so that they don't know themselves anymore

But, if I may suggest some drama/angst, what if they weren't an amnesiac? What if they didn't have scrambled memories? What if the only thing they forgot was how they got thrown into Hisui?

But, other than that, they still have their full memory. They fully knew who they were and where they came from. They just haven't let themselves talk about it.

Why?

Because they're afraid of causing a time paradox.

This is clearly the past, or at least the past of a world similar to their own.

And time travel isn't unheard of in pop culture, so the idea of it coming to them isn't impossible.

But with that knowledge comes the fear of the kind of repercussions that come with that.

What if talking about the future changes it? What if telling people about what they know hurts them? Or hurts someone in the future? What if they make things happen too quickly? Or even prevent them from happening at all?

So they keep quiet and pretend they don't know anything. That they're clueless and confused and know nothing about what happened to them.

They hope that if they keep their mouth shut, they can protect the future (and possibly themselves as well). What if they play along and follow the rules and tasks presented to them, they can go home without causing a catastrophe.

Of course, that adds new drama when they meet Ingo.

Because, for just a moment, they think that they aren't alone. That they're not the only ones having to deal with the worry/stress of being thrown so far into the past with no idea how or why. That there was finally another person, an actual adult, who could help them with this mission they'd been given so they could get home. A single moment of hope/relief/comfort. (Especially if they know who Ingo is!)

Only for the next words out of Irida's mouth to crush it when she reveals he's got amnesia.

That they're still alone, burdened with the knowledge of the future and why, exactly, that they don't belong in this world.

And now they are saddled with a new dilemma: do they tell Ingo what they know?

Do they share the burden they've been carrying? Risk putting the same stress they've been suffering under on his shoulders too?

Or do they continue to keep their silence and spare him from the weight of such knowledge?

Personally, I think that's some delicious angst and drama that no one has really explored yet.

[secondhand-trash]

If I Only Knew Your Name

A/N: so this was an idea I got while mindlessly picking songs to listen to on Spotify’s Indie rock playlist and came across this one song that just made me want to write something about it hehe accidentally put this aside for a whole month but I’m so glad that it’s here now lmao I had a lot of fun writing this

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x reader

Description: After a drunken night of passion, Atsumu had nothing he could find you with, not even your name. So he took the matter into his own hands and tried to search for you using the power of the internet.

Warning: drunken one night stand, suggestive descriptions, Atsumu is an embarrassment and I sure hope you cringe while you read it as much as I did when I was writing it

Word count: 9453

The song:

Young Love (feat. Laura Marling)//Mystery Jets, Laura Merling

-

One night of love

Nothing more nothing less

One night of love

Had left my heart in a mess

-

You woke up with a sharp pain spiking down your back, in a room you were sure you had never been to, on a bed that wasn’t yours.

Your head was heavy and every cell in your body screaming that you just wanted to fall asleep again when you stirred awake. You would have, had it not been the fact that you were not in your own room slowly started to settle in. There was a brief moment of blankness in your mind as you took in your surroundings. The room was still dim, the sun barely shining through the windows that were half covered by the shades. The domestic messiness crossed out the possibility that you were in a hotel room or some odd space behind the club you clearly remembered being at last night. 

You did not move as your eyes glanced around the space. Trophies and picture frames were lining up on the shelf at the corner, all of names and faces you couldn’t match up with any of the ones that you remembered. The linen covers you were sitting under was sturdy on your skin, a dark red on top of brown sheets that you would have never bought for your mattress. The scent of the fabric was foreign to you, making your morning state of mind more and more alarmed at the amount of information you were trying to take in. You had to admit that it was very soft on the skin, not the slightest bit uncomfortable as it rubbed against your bare arm when the duvet fell off of your body as you sat up.

You felt a moment of frantic terror at the registration of your own bareness, with your legs feeling terribly cramped, waking up on a bed that you did not remember getting into.

Everything clicked when you stiffly turned to your side, and found someone laying next to you.

The broad back facing your side had you clutching the sheets up to cover your torso that now felt chilly with the lack of layers. The man, whose name you did not think you know and what you had done with him last night you could not remember but was certainly able to guess, was still soundly in his sleep. Now that you were painstakingly unable to ignore his presence, you picked up on the soft snores that lingered in the air, making your legs that were rubbing against each other under what you could only assume to be his spreads tense up as the picture of what happened to get you right where you were slowly got clear. 

You would prefer not to think about it in detail, albeit the fact that it getting vivid in your mind sent a trail of heat from your core right onto your face and burning out the fuse in your head.

There was a slither of shame and guilt as you found yourself staring hazily at the man, his sculpted back spasming with each breath. Your hand gripping at the sheets in front of your chest only served to pull it further down his torso, revealing the dip at his waist and his arms that curled tighter against his body with a shiver. Blonde hair sprawled out messily on the pillow, and you felt chills creeping up your spine at the recoil of your fingers fisting those locks and brushing against the fuzzy patch of his undercut as he hovered above you.

Panting, grunting, moaning.

Your skin burnt up at the lingering feeling of a firm grip on your legs, the warm trail of his lips down your neck, and the unmistakable dullness between your thighs.

The heat settled into the pit of your stomach as a weight, twisting your guts until it resembled what felt like a bitter mix of shame and guilt.

Fuck, you slept with an absolute stranger last night.

You bite back a groan, slamming your hands against your face before letting them run down in a weak attempt to clear your head.

This was why you never go to clubs anymore.

The jolt of your body as you sat up straight pushed the sheets off of you and you winced at the soft whimper from the person next to you at the sudden movement. Your naked state was simply uncomfortable, not feeling like you were in your own skin at all as ironic as this was. You couldn’t help but hug your arms around your frame as you frantically looked around to see where your clothes and belongings were, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw the clothes you wore last night littering across the floor in all its messy glory. 

Your clothes were all wrinkled up from the careless placement, a clear display of the passion and impulse when they were being taken off. Your hands were the same kind of frantic as you rushed to put everything back on, not caring about tugging them in properly or the fact that you did not even look into a mirror at all to see if you were at least presentable. 

You did not hear the groan from the man that tossed over to his side on the bed as you slipped out of the bedroom, careful in softening your steps as you let the door clicked and darting your eyes around to see where the rest of your things were.

If you remembered correctly from the weak reconstruction of what happened last night, then your clutch should be somewhere near the door.

The giggle that slipped past your lips as he swung the door shut turned into a laugh when he latched onto you immediately. You could taste the hint of vodka lingering on his lips, bundling up your senses together with the warm breaths against your neck when he trailed down. It was like floating on a cloud, the way you latched yourself on this handsome man and he seemed to be unable to get enough of you. You barely heard the thump of what you were holding in your hand landing on the floor as your limbs went weak, swinging your arms around his broad shoulders when your mouth fell agape as he sucked down on the soft spot right on your neck.

It was right where you left it last night, the one and only clutch that you felt was suitable for you to bring to a club. There was a hint of hesitation as you rushed to pick it up, holding it in your hand when you thought of the person who you had left on the bed by himself.

What do people do after a one night stand? Talk? Have breakfast together? Or in your case, ask them for their name because you did not remember one thing that happened before you stepped into these doors?

Dear god, no.

So you did the only logical thing you could think of, and rushed out of the door without even looking back.

It wasn’t until you were far away from the apartment building you ran out of, the weight of your body shifting from leg to leg as you waited for the train to slowly drive into the station that something did not feel right to you. Your fingers fidgeted in reflex as you shoved yourself past the small gap between each person stuffed into the cart, a bad habit you had formed as a kid when you were nervous.

Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach when the lack of metal brushing against the tip of your finger finally clicked in your head.

You cussed under your breath, knowing exactly where the thin, gold band must be.

-

Miya Atsumu woke up with a pounding headache, in his own apartment that he forgot how he got back to, on his bed that somehow felt emptier than usual.

At first, all he could focus on was the clear hungover that he was suffering from. His tongue felt dry and he scrunched his face up at the bitterness as he tried to gulp. The half-drawn curtains were not doing it in shielding the sun that already came out, making him squeeze his eyes tight and blinked a few times before finally adjusting to the brightness. Stretching out on the bed, Atsumu whined at the soreness pulling at his muscles, feeling his joints pop as he arched his back and sprawled over to the other side of the bed.

He froze in place, arms still spread over his head and legs bundling up the sheets, before jolting up in one rapid movement only to wince at the horrible spinning in his head at the rush of blood up to his already heavy head.

Yet, dizziness and all that, Atsumu was sure that the feeling of someone being here with him last night definitely wasn’t just a drunkness induced illusion.

He groaned at the untimely pang of pain that pulsed at his temple, ruffling his hands through the locks of his hair that was tangled up from him tossing around the bed. The slight pull at his scalp at his impatient detangling method made him hiss, but it also served to get his wires just a little more sorted out than before. 

First things first, he was very naked and combining that with the certainty that he must have had someone over, it wasn’t very hard for him to connect the dots. He ran his palm over the ruffled sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles and searched if there was still any hint of warmth left on the fabric. He cursed under his breath when nothing else but coolness met his skin, scolding himself for acting like a fool over some one night stand that did not even wait until he woke up to leave.

There was a lump at the back of his throat as he stayed there, holding onto the hovering position he took on the bed without a single thought.

He snapped out of it when he realised that he was in his own space, just staying still and letting time passed without doing anything. Atsumu had a strong feeling that if he stayed in bed any longer then he would just be miserable for the rest of the day and he really couldn’t afford it if he couldn’t manage to get over himself soon enough. 

For all that it was, there was no bigger asset to his career than this very body that he felt like trash in right now, and god knows how much trouble he would get if people learnt that he let his performance slip because he couldn’t bounce back after a drunken hookup.

His steps were floaty as he climbed off his bed, stumbling into the bathroom and harshly gripping at the faucet. The water streamed out as a strong current and he splashed it against his face in a sadistic force. The coldness was stinging his skin, with no help from the way he rubbed his hands down his face and back up his chin.

He looked terrible, Atsumu thought to himself when he stared at the reflection in front of him. His eyelids were pulled taut with his hand, cheeks squished under his palm before he pulled away meanly. Bloodshot eyes made him wince and his face was so dropsy it looked like he had cried himself to sleep.

A loud slap echoed in the empty bathroom when he clasped his face a bit too hard in a desperate attempt to clear his head. He whined, rubbing the area that went numb and then heated up. There was a slight flush around the area he had slapped down, but he was feeling more in touch with reality afterwards.

Alright, so what happened last night?

It would be a lie if Miya Atsumu said he had never had one night stands. He would argue that he never go out with the intention for one, but sometimes one thing leads to another and it just happens. Some were good, some not really, some he hadn’t really think of until now when he was desperately thinking of what it was that led him to now. 

He hadn’t wakened up with a hungover this bad in a long while. Being in a profession that demands that much of your physiques meant that there was not much room for the more self-destructive type of letting loose. It was strange, Atsumu pinched the center of his brows as one hand on the kitchen counter held his body still, he didn’t quite remember the deeds of what was happened once the door to his room was closed last night.

Wow, he looked up with eyes widened and huffed at no one, that was such a douchebag thing to say.

He, however, remembered the person that stumbled through the door with him in shocking vividness to even his surprise.

He would have to pretend that the lack of follow up did not send a blow to his ego, reassuring himself that there was no way it was because he behaved terribly that the person had to run off before he even woke up. He was bitter about the fact that they had left without leaving even a note, something he had no idea he cared about at all until this very moment when the silence of his home became just short of irritating in his pounding head. 

Could have at least said ‘I had fun last night but I gotta go’.

Atsumu rubbed his temple, slowly rotating his arms backwards to get rid of that dull cramp.

Or maybe leave their number somewhere too.

He paused in his track, standing awkwardly in the middle of his tiny living room.

Did he want their number?

He shook his head violently to rid of the meaningless thought, an act he would immediately regret when he remembered that he was having a hungover as the dizziness made him stumble on his feet. 

A crisp clang after he took a fumbled step to steady himself quieted all of the voices in his head. That was not a sound that aligned with what his brain expected from his worn-out room slippers kicking against the wooden floor. Atsumu held his head as the rang of what sounded like something metallic registered itself in his mind, blinking at the empty space right in front of his feet.

His eyes darted around the floor, searching for whatever it was he must have stepped on to make that sound. Atsumu was ready to settle for the possibility that he was starting to hear things when a quick flash of light from the corner caught his attention. He walked towards where it was, and slowly crouched down.

It was a ring, a very tiny one. It looked rather ridiculous being held between his calloused fingers, the thin golden band arching off the afternoon light that had shined on it. A very simple design with no gems or carvings along the surface, something very much so the opposite to his taste. He knew it was not his, from the size to the tone to the lack of anything all over its rim.

And then he remembered the first time he saw the ring, on someone else’s finger, just last night.

-

Atsumu would not classify himself as a party animal, despite the common speculation shared by people who knew him but not well enough. He could deal with house parties just fine, but clubbing had never been much of his thing ever since he woke up outside the back of a night club once with the worst ring in his ear he had ever experienced. 

If it wasn’t part of his job, he would much rather be anywhere else than this overly opulent club that his team’s sponsor had booked up for their event. But business was business, and if he wanted to keep having his own room in away games then this was the price he had to pay.

Was it a nice club? He couldn’t say, but it sure was an expensive one if he was to make a guess based on the decor. So expensive that it was a bit tacky, if he dares to say. It was like the owner wanted to remind you that this was high-end and decadent. Imagine what you would see in a basic mansion on a real estate agent’s website, then dim it up and add many hi-fis, what you would result with was likely close if not identical to the space he was in. It was loud and hard to escape from, his ear pounding together with the baseline every time it blasted through He would never quite understand rich people, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his drink and scrunched his eyebrows together. He forced down the urge to poke his tongue out at the obvious taste of syrup, trying to pass it off with a cough into his fist as he plopped down on the barstool. 

“How’s your drink?”

The smooth voice reaching into his ear was mismatched to the booming club he was in. Atsumu turned his stool to the side with a push with the heel of his uncomfortable leather shoes and was met with an entertained gaze. You sat with both feet on the footrest of the stool, a posture that seemed rather childish for the night club bar you sat in front of. With your bare forearms lazily placed at the edge of the bar table, your finger tapped casually against the rim of your cocktail glass, the pink liquid inside looking like it was glowing under the neon lights. He could not map out your features too clearly but your head tilted as you looked at him through narrowed eyes, a glimmer behind your lashes from the many lights that hung above your head. 

Miya Atsumu was an adult now and in his adult mind, he knew that the proper answer he should give to a stranger asking about the sugary mixture he just poured down his throat was that it tasted decent, expensive even, like the club he was sitting in now.

“It’s kinda shit,” he felt a strange swell in his chest when you let out an unfiltered snort at his answer, leaning back with his arms folded in front of his chest as he licked his lips, “yours?”

You lifted up the glass and necked down the rest of the coloured water, smacking your lips as the sweetness spread in your mouth. “Like the type of stuff they mark up and sell to high schoolers who couldn’t buy real alcohol.”

The bartender at the side threw you two a sharp look and you two sat up straighter, before bursting into a fit of laughter. He supposed you had to be tipsy at the very least and probably so was he, what sober person giggled like a child over trash talking overpriced liquor at a bar? “Why are you here at this trashy place?” you asked, now resting your chin on your palm with your elbow propping you up.

You did not know him, Atsumu was almost delighted by the fact that you likely just struck a conversation with him because he was another bored person trying to escape to the sidelines of dancing bodies just like you with no other intentions. “Got an invite and couldn’t say no because of work reasons,” he wasn’t exactly lying, he just didn’t say that he was supposed to be one of the main guests of this function.

“Ooo...” you let out a soft whistle, tilting your upper body forward him, “are you a big shot?”

He smirked.

Yes. “Not entirely.”

“Hm...” you sat back, your smile pursed as you tapped your finger on the table, “not denying it, huh?”

The vibration of your hum sent shivers to his spine and he blamed it on the very spiked drink he just gulped down. Atsumu ran his hand through his hair, a move he discovered in his teenage years that could let him smoothly fixed his hair while also flexing his arm. “I try to stay humble,” he replied, earning him a playful eye roll from you.

The melting ice clinked in the glass when he held it up against his lips, still looking at you from the corner of his eyes as he tilted it and let the pungent liquid run down his throat. 

You nodded, returning to the laid back posture you kept before he sat down next to you at the dim corner of the bar table when you realised he wasn’t going to say more. “Fair enough,” you pretended to sound disappointed, holding your hand out in front of you to swiftly turn your attention away.

“You?”

“Got dragged here by a friend who works for the organiser,” you huffed, “don’t even know anyone here besides from them.”

Atsumu felt the warm buzz of the liquor spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, settling onto his face as a tipsy fever. He did not look away from you and he was sure it was exactly what you wanted, mindlessly toying with your hand as you faced away from him. Your shoulders pulled back as you slid the thin ring off your index finger smoothly with your thumb, twisting it with the tips of your fingers before letting it fell down another one, all while pushing your hips back against the stool as you crossed your legs.

“Nice ring,” he tipped his chin slightly.

“Oh, this one,” you held your hand out to him, spreading your fingers apart to show him. You pulled back just slightly when he reached out, grinning teasingly at him when he quirked his brow up.

“my grandma gave it to me before she passed away,” you sighed, caressing the band that sat on your finger dreamily, “shoved it into my hand on her death bed and made me swore to never lose it, said it was given to her by her first love when she was a girl.”

“Oh,” Atsumu let out a soft gasp, “oh wow, I-”

He rolled his eyes when you broke out into laughter, the longing expression all gone from your face as you let out a hiccup through your giggling. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He clicked his tongue, letting out a huff, “Lying isn’t good.”

“Neither is talking to a stranger at a club but I’m still here,” you wet your lips as you flashed a childish smirk, showing him your hand again. He was certain that he was drunk now, because there was no other way he could excuse the pounding in his chest when you didn’t pull away this time as he reached out to hold your hand for a better look.

“I got this as a pack of 5 for 800 yen online,” you said proudly, “quite the deal, if you ask me.”

He hummed in approval, letting out a shaky breath when you slowly pulled your hand out of his grip, the tip of your finger ticking the center of his palm before you lifted it away. It sent electricity trickling down his spine, the feeling of your touch lingering on his skin even as you were steps away from him again, once again staring at him with a smile tugging on your face like you were waiting for his move.

Was it a challenge or was it an invite? Either way, he was ready to take on whatever you were offering.

“You still owe me some sort of compensation for toying with my poor heart like that,” he mused, mimicking the way you leaned towards him from before.

You sniggered, “And what do you want from a poor stranger like me?”

The music playing through the speakers stopped temporarily and for a moment, the projected light illuminated his figure briefly before moving to another spot. You had not taken a good look at him until now, knowing full well that the attractiveness of anyone under the pink, dim glow of the bar was not to be trusted.

But he was really, really good-looking, even when you could actually see his face properly. 

The next song started playing and the party people on the dance floor cheered. The loudness that returned made your head ache and you scrunched your nose in annoyance as the dj yelled into the mic. Atsumu threw his head back as the music returned, tapping his finger against his jaw.

“How about,” he said, knowing that you and he were likely to be on the same page, “you make it up to me by letting me buy you a drink somewhere where the drinks aren’t shit?”

You chuckled at his unfiltered suggestion, your laughter slurring into a hum as you grabbed your clutch by the side of the bar. “I can make up to you,” you asked as you stood up, tilting your head to your side, “by letting you pay for me?” 

He nodded, smoothing out his shirt as he got up from his stool too. 

You shrugged, pressing your palm to your face to let the coldness of your hand calm down the heat on your face as you grinned.

“Take me somewhere nice then, big shot.”

Even through his tipsy haze, Atsumu was sure that this was the most irrational thing he had done in a while but as you took his arm while he pulled you through the crowd and out in the open after being stuck in the same space with many drunk and sweaty bodies afterwards, he was quite certain that he couldn’t care less whether this was stupid or not.

If he had any regrets about it, he would just blame it on the alcohol.

-

Now that he was staring at a fake gold ring you got as a pack of 5 for not even a thousand yen, Atsumu could only tear at his own hair in regret when he realised that he didn’t ask for your name or contact at any point during which you went from the first bar to one he actually liked, then to many other because there was no way he would get this drunk after just two drinks, and finally stumbled through the door of his own house, before you disappeared as if you had never been there at all.

It was all the alcohol’s fault, fuck alcohol.

It was not his first time taking a near-stranger home and even though he wouldn’t want to say it out loud to people, he also couldn’t guarantee that this was the last time either. He should just forget about it and move on with his day, maybe make some tea, maybe get some soup to cure this heaviness in his head so he wouldn’t make it too obvious that he hadn’t been taking care of himself the way he really should. After all, there was really nothing he could do about it since he didn’t know anything about you other than what you looked like and that you wore cheap jewelry. But it left a strange tightness in his chest when he toyed with the gold ring in his hand, knowing full well that drunk or not he did enjoy his time with you even before it really got to the fun fun part.

He really should have just asked for your name like a normal person instead of trying to look cool and mysterious the moment you talked to him at the bar.

Miya Atsumu let out a sigh no one was there to hear as he slowly accepted the fact that not only was he hungover, he was also hung up, and put the only evidence he had of you ever being there with him into the key tray by his door.

He would figure out what to do with it later but for now, he was starving. 

So Atsumu set off for the only one place he could think of that couldn’t kick him out no matter how annoying of a customer he was.

“Say, Samu...” 

Miya Osamu sighed, putting the plate he was drying at the side and let the damped towel fell from his hand onto the side of the sink. His twin had finished his food a long while ago yet he was refusing to leave, planting his face down at his counter like a pile of mush as he took up the precious space of Onigiri Miya’s bar seat. Osamu liked to think that he was a supportive brother , by all means. He fed Atsumu, listened to his childish whines and didn’t kick him out when he started getting so loud that the other patrons sent him a worried glance. Maybe he should have pretended that he was about to head out for errands when he saw his twin marching in, slumping down on the stool like he owned the place (Miya Atsumu claimed that he had unlimited access by relation, Miya Osamu denied it with his life and told all his employees to just kick his twin out if he said that bullshit to them).

He was so nice, Osamu thought to himself, he was far too nice.

“What is it?” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest when he heard Atsumu’s muffled voice.

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone without knowing their name?”

Oh god, what was he up to again?

“Depends,” Osamu snorted, picking his towel again when he realised that it was nothing too serious that he should stop his work to listen to, “if it happens to someone else, then sure, maybe, everything is possible. But if you're telling me that you think you’re in love with someone you don’t know,” he paused, before breaking into a wide grin, “I think I might laugh.”

“Hey!” Atsumu yelled, his fist slamming on the counter as he snapped his head up. The bang caught the attention of several other customers at the shop and Osamu sent them an apologetic bow before glaring at Atsumu who was rubbing his aching hand for slapping it against the wooden surface. “I’m being serious,” he muttered.

“Alright then,” Osamu nodded absent-mindedly, "so what are you going to do about it?”

Atsumu’s raised hand froze in the air before he slowly, robotically put it down, down, down until it was back on the counter together with the rest of his upper body.

Osamu’s nodding got firmer now, letting out yet another snigger, “Thought so.”

Atsumu let out a groan, deflating onto the counter more and more with each whine. He looked sad and pathetic, even more so than he usually was and even Osamu who was born immune to whatever teary rent he put on was starting to get concerned.

“Was the sex really that good?”

“it is not about the sex,” Atsumu mumbled, leaning his chin on top of his folded arms as he sighed, “I just... think we had a connection.”

Osamu laughed, the ugly kind, and earned himself a sharp glare. “A connection, huh?” he giggled, “you’re down bad.”

“It’s not funny...”

Hiccuping as he tried to calm himself down, Osamu placed a hand onto the kitchen counter to steady himself as his body vibrated. 

“I still think you’re overreacting,” Osamu took in a deep breath, catching up after finally regaining his posture, “besides, you’re technically a public figure, right? If you can’t find them, why don’t you just try and get them to find you instead?”

Atsumu’s hiss about how he wasn’t overreacting stuck at the back of his throat when paused and thought of what Osamu had suggested.

“Huh,” he sat up a little straighter, eyes rolling inside of their sockets as he pondered, “that’s actually not a bad idea.”

"Of course it’s not,” Osamu huffed, “I’m the smart twin.”

“What did you just-”

Osamu ignored Atsumu’s glare, turning around to resume his work now that he seemed to have fulfilled his responsibility as a brilliant, amazing brother. He gave it a month, no, two weeks max before his brother forgot all about this person and moved on as if Atsumu had never shown up in front of his door with puffy eyes and a love-sick expression. 

Oh, he just couldn’t wait to hear all the excuses and denial when he brought it up again the next time they get into a petty argument.

-

It was a terrible idea.

The Inarizaki volleyball alumni group chat exploded when the first post of what would be many to come was published for the world to see. Suna Rintarou, always so quick with capturing his old teammates embarrassing moments, kicked Atsumu out before he sent out links, screenshots, and pinged every single member of the group who did not read his message immediately. Miya Osamu refused to speak up about it, keep denying that he knew anything about it.

“I do not know this person,” his fingers hurt from how fast he was typing, not even bothering to correct the typos in his message before hitting send to clear his name, “I have no idea what has gotten into him but I’m not responsible for it.”

He was, in fact, telling the truth. Osamu was just as shocked and wide-eyed as everyone else was when he came across his twin’s post on Instagram as he scrolled through his feed mindlessly after work. Let us just say that all his sleepiness was gone when he saw his twin’s pretentious selfie of him standing in front of a window (shirtless), his hand holding onto the frame as he looked out into the grey sky. The posture was optimal for him to flex his back, letting the light seeping out around his frame do the trick of accentuating his muscles. Atsumu’s face was not entirely in the frame but Osamu did not need to see to know that he had his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze lowered into a look that was supposed to convey the message of “wow look at me, I’m so sad, and I’m also hot”.

Miya Osamu felt a metallic ting in his mouth when he imagined Atsumu’s face, so heart-wrenchingly similar to his own, making that look.

He got spammed by the group chat as soon as he clicked out of the app in horror, refusing to look at that monstrosity any longer. Ginjima was losing his mind, Akagi sent out strings of just him keyboard smashing, Oomimi replied with a very concerned sticker and proceed to not show up again, Kita who was not actually on Instagram at all said it wasn’t very nice of them to make fun of their friend like that but also didn’t quit the group chat himself. Ojiro was the last one to reply, seeming to be rather irritated after Suna kept tagging him and tagging him until he finally went online. Unlike the others who were still comprehending what had possibly got into their friend, he sent out a screenshot but this time with the caption of the post highlighted.

“Is he ok? Did he got dumped or something?”

Osamu did not look at the caption before it was brought to his attention, already feeling the impact sufficiently enough from the visual itself. He felt chills running through his arms and spreading to his entire body when he glanced at the string of words, his face scrunching up in disgust at how any sane person could type it out with their own hands.

“My world had not seen light since the day you left it without saying goodbye.”

He silently switched his status to “do not disturb” when the group chat exploded once again, knowing exactly what this was and that he was fully responsible for the pain he was experiencing right now.

Osamu tried to convince Atsumu that if anyone saw these, the only thing it would persuade them to do was run away instead of reaching out to him but it was to no avail. He was convinced that this was romantic and if he kept it up, it would create enough buzz that would possibly lead the stranger he was hoping to stumble across one of these painfully awful posts and recognise him. The posts kept coming and every day, Osamu felt more and more of an impulse to just block him for good so he wouldn’t have to open his feed each day with the fear of seeing things he did not want to see. 

One day, on a beautiful weekend morning, when he finally had time to sit down and have a nice breakfast without rushing, Osamu opened his feed to see a glorious picture of his twin chest down (shirtless) on the bed, with the camera panning up to close up on his face from below. The blanket covered Atsumu’s torso loosely, showing just enough of his waist but not too much that he would get flagged. He had the lower half of his face behind his forearm, staring into the camera with such a sultry stare it made Osamu’s skin crawl.

“If I can start over, I’ll give up all I have just for another night with you.”

Osamu nearly didn’t manage to hold himself back from spitting out the water in his mouth.

The word slowly spread among the community. Suna, ever the enthusiastic teammate he was, shared his recently discovered source of joy with fellow EJP Raijin member Komori Motoya, who in turn spammed the latter’s cousin who had no choice but to acknowledge his teammate’s questionable online presence. Sakusa didn’t think he could ever have such a reaction to something that was not physically there to bother him and proceed to show it to the nearest person he could grab in the locker room, but not without reporting the post for containing unsettling images. 

If he had to suffer, then he must make sure that there was someone else suffering with him too. Sakusa had no intention of being the only person who had to see Miya’s pretentious bathroom selfie where he stared into the camera all while running his fingers through dampened hair along with a caption Sakusa did not even want to read in his head. The “someone”, captain Meian Shugo who was really not paid enough for this, sighed as he wondered if this was worth reporting to management as a potential pr crisis. Tomas, somewhat curious by the look on his captain’s face, asked if this was the current social media trend in Japan to which all the players present fought to clear that misconception from his head in order to defend their nation’s honour. 

Bokuto looked it up after hearing about the whispers and chats between breaks. “Why, this isn’t that bad!” he said cheerfully, “There are people complimenting him in the comments too! Look!” 

The rest of the team spent a good chunk of time convincing him that he should think more cautiously about it when he suggested that perhaps he should try to take on this dynamic posing style for his social media accounts too.

It sure did stir up quite the storm among his fellow athletes and the many fans that were wondering what exactly, or who exactly, it was that caused this sudden shift in his behaviour online. The few people who knew the reason for Atsumu’s melancholy, namely Osamu and some others who could not escape from a venting Atsumu, were almost certain that you would have to at least see his face somehow. If he was still hearing nothing, then it was probably about time he gives up and accepts that you just didn’t want anything to do with him.

One thing that these men who put their entire lives into volleyball failed to take into account, however, was that not every person in the world was particularly interested in the sport that lived and breathed. For people who only heard about the sport if the Olympics were coming up, whatever the players were up to in their private lives was probably not something they would care too much about.

Sadly, for Miya Atsumu, the exact person he was looking for was one of those people.

“The fans are starting to go crazy, no one has any idea what is going on with him,” you pulled your phone slightly further away from your poor ears as your friend let out an exasperated yell from the other end of the call. 

They lost you when they started talking about this athlete they had a celeb crush on and how they had been acting very strange in their posts lately, realising that this would become one of their ramblings about people with names you barely remember. They bombed your phone in the middle of the day when they found out that their company would be sponsoring a sports team they were obsessed with and did not stop until you threatened to block them until they had calmed down. You still hadn’t forgiven them completely for disappearing out of nowhere after begging you to attend a company function with them all with the reasoning that if they came across one of the players that would also be invited, you could be there to stop them from embarrassing themselves. That was not entirely useful, given that they were whisked away by their colleagues not even an hour into the event and leaving you all on your own.

If it wasn’t for them, then none of the events following that night would have ever happened.

But the past was past and as they called you again to talk about how they were heartbroken because their fav might be seeing someone, you did not stop them, obviously, since you were a great friend.

A sigh called your attention back and you silently closed your dash of animal videos to focus on what they were saying. “Are you even listening?”

“Uhm...” you hummed, “emo thirst traps, you were saying?”

“We tried to dig down all the accounts he was following but no one was posting anything that might match up to his posts,” they let out a whine.

“So,” you said, “are you still going to see him this weekend even if you are heartbroken or?”

They gasped before you suggested that if they didn’t want to go anymore, then you would do something else rather than sitting through a game you were not interested in. “Of course we’re still going!” they emphasised on the ‘we’, “who knows when I’ll get front row tickets again once the sponsorship ends and they aren’t giving the company tickets anymore!”

They paused. “You’re still going with me,” it sounded more like a threat and a statement than a question, and they asked again when you didn’t reply, “you’re going with me, aren’t you?”

You sighed. They were usually pretty laid back, except when it has something to do with volleyball. What was it with volleyball? It was like... football but with hands, tennis without a rack, basketball but with no basket. Ball sports, they were all the same in your eyes. But despite your lack of interest, the truth was that you wouldn’t have anything else to do if you didn’t go with them anyways and you did promise you would go as long as you didn’t have to pay a single dollar.

So you sighed again, earning you a displeased click of the tongue from the other end of the call.

-

Your lack of interest maintained when the day came. You didn’t think you had ever been to a stadium when there was a game going on before and the arena was already filling up with people waiting to get it by the time you were there. You were delightedly surprised when you learnt that there would be vendors selling food, silently deciding that the very nice yakionigiri you got from one of the stalls might just be the highlight of your day. 

The staff at the store looked vaguely familiar, but you had no idea where you would have possibly seen him before.

When the lights of the venue switched off out of nowhere and the crowd cheered, perhaps you could finally start to understand why your friend was such a fanatic for sports. There was something exciting and grand about the bright spotlights and the announcer’s voice pounding through your ears from the speakers. You peeked at your side to see your friend’s eyes glimmering in a way you had never seen before and chuckled to yourself, leaning back with your legs crossed to watch the game in a better position as the players’ names were called one by one.

You froze in place when you saw a very familiar face on every screen around the stadium. 

“Number 13, Miya Atsumu!”

What happened to not being a big shot?

Screams filled up the stadium, especially ear grating when the loudest person seemed to be the one right next to you but your mind was an utter state of blank. You were not expecting to see him again, ever again but here you were, with the next several hours of your life stuck watching the man you ditched after a drunken one night stand in the very front row. He looked more put together than your last image of him, the tussled hair replaced by a careful side swoop and the fitted jersey giving him a fresher look compared to the suit he met you in. He seemed to enjoy the attention, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he marched out and waved languidly around the stadium. 

You thanked the genius who separated the court and the seats into two floors, hiding you away with the distance even though you were sitting at the very front.

“Oh my god, he’s looking at this direction, he’s looking at this direction!” your friend’s vigorous tug at your sleeve brought your void gaze back to the court.

You were convinced that there was no way he could spot you from that far away. Hell, it was still up to question whether he could see any of the audience with all the lights shining onto his face. But for a moment, just a brief moment, you had a gut feeling that your eyes met in that split second when you looked down and his gaze stopped at right where you were.

“What are you looking at?” Hinata asked, turning his head to the direction Atsumu kept stealing glances at as they lined up in front of the net but saw nothing.

Atsumu shook his head, giving a laugh to pass off the moment when he lost his composure when he thought he saw the face he kept thinking of since that night in the crowd. It has got to be an illusion, he must have been blinded by the lights. Stupid lights, he cursed under his breath before turning to his teammate. “It was nothing,” he smiled, his gaze shifting to the corner he thought he saw you at before quickly snapping back to the court, “just... thought I saw someone I know.”

He did not look at you again throughout the game much to your relief. But this time, you found it hard to stop your eyes from following him around. You would like to argue that it was because you didn’t know any of the other players and the way your friend kept gushing whenever he did something made it hard for you to ignore him but the way he seemed to flourish on court. Something inside of you jumped whenever he scored a point and the live cameras panned up at his face again, showing the satisfied grin and slanted eyes plastered on him. He did what he does so well and with so much confidence and for some reason, that explained to you just why you decided to leave with him that night at the club in the strangest way possible. 

He was, still, very good-looking even under the lights and under your sober judgement, perhaps even more so than your blurry memory of how he looked like with a flushed face. But the true hit to your chest was when the entire stadium was watching him as he got to the serving position, taking strides forward before raising his hand to the air.

The world stopped when the entire ground fell to silence at his command, and you took a deep, shaky inhale when you thought of how this person had kissed you again and again on a drunken night until you were both out of breath.

-

Atsumu was almost 99.9% sure he truly did see you when the match ended.

That last 0.1% was deducted because it was a really good match ending with a win for the Black Jackals and as hot-headed as he could be, he knew better than to believe everything that his adrenaline-filled brain was trying to tell him. But with the spotlights of the stadium dimmed and his full attention no longer required on the court, Atsumu looked straight at where he was sure you had sat the moment the stadium doors opened and people started leaving. It was a blurry glance, just a quick in and out of his vision but he was sure he saw you slipping out of the front row before disappearing into the stairs. 

He knew he could still be wrong, but the sudden realisation that he might be the closest to you now than he would ever be again left him frozen in the middle of the court as he stared blankly at the exit. Reporters were starting to gather around the players and his presence was expected, but his legs started moving before the call of his name by the rest of his team could land on his ear. 

Pushing through the crowd, the gasps and shocked chatters of the guests who saw the player they just watched dashing out the stadium were none of his concern. All he cared about was to run faster, faster, past the hall and past the people of the stalls that were packing up. He might have just mistaken someone else for you and if it really was you, you might have already left before he could get to the front entrance of the stadium but that did not matter. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that you had been there and if he ran fast enough, there was still a chance that his search all along would not be in vain.

Miya Atsumu was not exactly a believer of fate or a divine destiny but as he stumbled with tired legs down the steps of the grand glass door, he silently made a bet with the beings he wasn’t sure were truly there that if he missed you this time, he would take the defeat that your paths were not meant to cross again and give up.

And the beings, who Atsumu believed was actually there for the first time ever, answered his calls.

“Wait!”

Your feet planted into the concrete when you heard a yell behind you. Your jaw dropped when you hesitantly turned around to see him, whose name you now know thanks to the match, stopping just a few steps away from you with his hands on his knees, seemingly out of breath with his arm reached out. His eyes widened when he looked up and saw that you had stopped there, and you were exactly who he thought you might be. He was heaving, sweat drenching his face but he still took a few stumbled steps towards you until he was right in front of you. 

A few words fell out of his mouth but were cut short by his panting. Your head was still not reacting when he finally managed to stand back up, looking right at you even as his breathing stayed erratic.

What does one say to a one night stand that they ditched right when the morning comes?

“So,” you blurted, trying to ignore the heat on your face and the anxiousness in your chest, “not a big shot, huh?”

He let out a snort, his voice cracking as he ran his hand down his face to wipe away the sweat that was starting to get into his eyes. He could finally take the time to look at you now, after confirming that you would not disappear if he did so little as blink.

You were gorgeous, and suddenly all the things he had wanted to say to you sounded ridiculously stupid.

I tried to look for you.

“You left your ring at my place,” he said, his voice still shaking from the sprint he took, growing softer and softer with each word that came out.

“Oh,” you replied, nodding stiffly to try and brush away your nerves.

“Yeah,” he nodded too, and opened his mouth again after taking a gulp to swallow down the knot at the back of his throat, “we should arrange a time to meet so you can take it back from me.”

“Oh,” you stood just a little straighter, “but-” 

But it was just one of the five I got in a pack so it really, really didn’t matter that much.

“You said,” he looked down, holding back a smile as he thought of what you had said to him, “you said your grandma made you swore to never lose it.”

He remembered.

“Yes,” you pressed your lips together to stop the chuckle from coming out, “yes I was.”

“So you should come and get it back from me,” he suggested, the last note of his sentence going up as if he wasn’t sure of himself either.

“Yeah,” he beamed when you smiled sheepishly, “I should.”

“Ok good, good,” he murmured in joyful disbelief, grinning ear to ear. The grin faded suddenly when he thought of one very important thing he had forgotten to do last time and must not forget this time.

“Can I have your name?”

You burst out into laughter. “You can have my number too, if that’s what you want,” you mused, “Miya.”

 A rush of heat washed through his face at the sound of his name out of your mouth. He would die if you call him by his first name later on, he was sure of it.

“Yes,” he said almost embarrassingly fast, “yes I would love that. I-” he groaned when he realised that he still had his phone in his jacket that was left in the locker room.

“Wait for me here,” he had already started walking backwards, snapping towards you with his hand out as he added in panic, “don’t go anywhere!”

You still hadn’t stopped laughing when he sprinted back into the stadium again like his life depended on it.

-

Bonus

Miya Atsumu deleted all of the posts he made during his search for you the moment he added your contacts into his phone, but what he did not count was that there were other people who would preserve those precious memories for him.

It was a few weeks after he caught up to you in front of the stadium and several days after your relationship went public. Your friend had nearly torn your eardrums apart when they learnt that you were the mysterious person they had been hunting after but overall, dating Atsumu had been great, even to the point where you thought it was so stupid of you to run away from him in the first place.

You got a notification that someone direct messaged you on instagram as you were getting ready for a date night.

It was not someone you know but there was a verification mark next to his username. Clicking into his profile, you assumed that it must be one of Atsumu’s friends in the volleyball circle when you saw the line saying “EJP Raijin middle blocker”.

“Hi, I���m Suna, I was on the same high school team as your boyfriend was. I don’t think we have met but I’m sure we will be very good friends.”

Before you could manage to type out a reply, he sent you multiple pictures and you paused as they loaded, wondering what Atsumu’s old high school teammate might send you.

You blinked when the pictures finally finished loading, and silently dialed your boyfriend’s number.

“Do you have something you forgot to tell me about what you have done in order to try and find me online?”

[plan-d-to-i]

Excuse me. Forgive me. But misery truly loves company, i couldn't bear it alone and i honestly didn't know who to go to.

 I love mdzs believe me i do but i can never fully enjoy being in this fandom because more than majority of the fandom have their heads up Jiang Cheng's ass and every platform i go to most people are either victimising him/under the Yunmeng siblings fanvideo most of the comments are like "actually Jiang Cheng suffered a lot too, The one who was hurt the most is clearly Jiang Cheng" bruhhh/ or shoving his godawful ass in where he is unwanted.

 I just wanted to search for some Lan Qiren contents, preferably funny fanarts or headcanons, you see. I wasn't even surfing long before i find this. Yes it is my own fault for not filtering purple shit's name before searching but alas i saw it and i can't unsee. It's kinda like a last straw because lately it has been real struggle find good contents about other characters that Jiang Cheng and his victimself isn't somehow shoved down my throat. So yeah. I'm an evil pos for subjecting you to this, dragging you with myself and staining your eyes but i simply had to get it out of my chest. Sorry again.

Hahah...🥲 I feel you. I think the best way to really enjoy mdzs is far far away from its fandom. Maybe on a new sm platform where only artwork can be uploaded... not encyclopedia length twitter threads about why a fully grown woman was justified making everyone around her miserable and whipping a kid for existing. But that's another matter...

ok back to LQR, why would LQR fw jc? WWX may break etiquette rules but does jiang cheng respect these :

Talking behind other people's back is prohibited.

Sneering for no reason is prohibited.

Arrogance is forbidden.

Do not succumb to rage.

Do not fear the strong.

Do not bully the weak.

Do not disrespect the younger.

Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others.

Do not break faith.

Do not make assumptions about others.

Do not insult people.

Morality is the priority.

Harmony is the value.

Do not act impulsively.

Make sure to act virtuously.

Do not forget the grace of the forefathers.

Be careful with your words.

Be respectful and humble.

Stop the bad habits.

Be strict with yourself.

Be easy on others.

Do not hold grudges.

If others win over you, do not envy them.

Love all beings.

Honor good people.

Uphold the value of justice.

Shoulder the weight of morality.

Embrace the entirety of the world.

Perform acts of chivalry.

Have courage and knowledge.

Have courtesy and integrity.

Have affection and gratefulness.

Have wins and losses.

Be fair, and others will follow.

Believe sincerely.

Have a strong will and anything can be achieved.

Win friendships with kindness.

See friends as neighbors.

Be just.

Be generous.

Be ethical.

Be grateful.

Do not treat others with contempt.

Do not look down on the poor.

Do not bully the weak.

Be kind, moderate, cautious, virtuous.

Be gentle and content in adversity.

etc.

[autisticandroids]

Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.