#iron dumpling

[smilesthroughfandoms]

I think we as a fandom need to start utilizing the absolute comedy gold mine of Yellow Tusk in the Brotherhood shipping fiasco. Not necessarily shipping him with the others—unless that is your want, of course—but just realize how much potential he has to play straight man—Ha!—to whatever situation he decides is worth the headache that day.

I’m of the personal opinion that Yellow Tusk looking at the Wukong/Macaque/Azure/Peng love square and then looking over at DBK falling in love with Celestial Warrior Princess Iron Fan and deciding DBK is the least hopeless of his Brothers is a romantic comedy gold mine that no one has even really considered yet.

[kay-spider]

Why is their ship name irondumpling?

(Tap for better quality)

[an-aura-about-you]

does anyone have a good brand of store bought dumplings to recommend? I've been trying a few different kinds and having trouble finding ones I like. I'm not picky about style or whether they have meat/are vegetarian/vegan, it's just the time of year for dumplings.

ideally some that would go well with this Thai barbecue sauce that I found on my last big shopping trip, but if anyone's got other reliable dumplings, they will not be turned away.

[constant-book-hangover]

Reading A court of Thorns and Roses series: I wish SJM hadn’t pulled so many punches…. Tbh Rhys should have died.

Reading the Red Rising series: I like that Pierce Brown doesn’t pull his punches. It’s hard to read but makes the story better…. But maybe he could pull a few more

Reading the Poppy War Series: YEESH OK THIS IS WHAT IT MEANS FOR AN AUTHOR NOT TO PULL HER PUNCHES.

[ohsalome]

What Ukrainians ate to survive Holodomor

(translated excerpts from an Історична Правда article): + images source

The villagers would dig up the holes of the polecats to find at least a handful of grain hidden by these animals. They pounded it in a mortar, added a handful of oilcake (from hemp seed), beetroot, potato peelings, and baked something from this mixture.

Those who managed to hide at least a little grain would grind it in iron mills made from wheel axles and cook "zatyrukha" (a concoction made from a small amount of flour ground from ears of grain).

Acacia flowers were boiled and eaten raw, and green quinoa was mixed with crushed corn cobs. Those who could - and this was considered lucky - added a handful of bran. This food made their feet swell and their skin crack.

The peasants dried the husked ears of corn and millet husks, pounded them, ground them with weeds, and cooked soups and baked pancakes. Such dishes were impossible to chew, the body could not digest them, so people had stomach aches. Pancakes, the so-called "matorzhenyky", were made from oilcake and nettle or plantain.

It went so far that peasants would crumble straw into small chips and pound it in a mortar together with millet and buckwheat chaff, and tree bark. All this was mixed with potato peelings, which were very poisonous, and this mixture was used to bake "bread", the consumption of which caused severe stomach diseases.

There were cases when village activists took away and broke millstones, mortars, poured water on the heat in their ovens. After all, anything found or saved from the food had to be cooked on fire, and matches could only be purchased by bartering for their own belongings or by buying them in the city, which was impossible from villagers that were on "black lists".

Chestnuts, aspen and birch bark, buds, reed roots, hawthorn and rose hips, which were the most delicious, were used as food substitutes; various berries, even poisonous ones, were picked; grass seeds were ground into flour; "honey" from sugar beets was cooked, and water brewed with cherry branches was drunk. They also ate the kernels of sunflower seeds.

Newborns had the worst of it, because their mothers had no breast milk. According to testimonies, a mother would let her child suck the drink from the top of the poppy head, and the child would fall asleep for three days.

In early spring, the villagers began to dig up old potato fields. They would bake dumplings from frozen potatoes, grind rotten potatoes in a mash and make pancakes, greasing the frying pan with wheel grease. They also baked "blyuvaly" (transl. "vomities") from such potatoes and oatmeal mixed with water, which was so called because they were very smelly.

They ate mice, rats, frogs, hedgehogs, snakes, beetles, ants, worms, i.e. things that weren't a part of food bans and had never been eaten by people before. The horror of the famine is also evidenced by the consumption of spiders, which are forbidden to kill in Ukrainian society for ritual reasons.

In some areas, slugs were boiled into a soup, and the cartilaginous meat was chopped and mixed with leaves. This prevented swelling of the body and contributed to survival. People caught tadpoles, frogs, lizards, turtles, and mollusks. They boiled them, adding a little salt if there was salt. The starving people caught cranes, storks, and herons, which have been protected in Ukraine for centuries, and their nests were never destroyed. According to folk beliefs, eating stork meat was equated with cannibalism.

The consumption of horse meat began in 1931, before the mass famine. People used to take dead horsemeat from the cemeteries at night, make jelly out of it and salt it for future use.

Dead horses were poured with carbolic acid to prevent people from taking their meat, but it hardly stopped anybody. Dead collective farm pigs were also doused with kerosene to prevent people from dismantling them for food, but this did not help either.

After long periods of starvatiom, the process of digestion is very costing for the human body, and many people who would eat anything would drop dead immediately out of exhaustion.

If a family had a cow hidden somewhere in the forest, they had a chance to survive. People living near forests could hunt/seek out berries and mushrooms, but during winter this wouldn't save them. People living near rivers could fish in secret, but it was banned and punishable by imprisonment/death.

[cowyolks]

THE SOUR BITE OF BETRAYAL

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Prompt: He was back, digging up your cold heart and clenching it in his bloodied fist. But scars changed people, morphed them and adapted them. He wasn’t the boy you loved, nor were you the woman he adored.

Words: 3.2 K

Warnings: Graphic Injuries, PTSD & and signs of depression, heavy angst with a light dusting of fluff.

A/n: taking a minute from our regular scheduled program to write for my fav batboy!

Ghouls haunted this city. It was no surprise that Gotham was a city full of anguished souls—spirits that died in such horrible ways that they were betrayed and angry, still haunting the alleyways of the rainy hellscape.

Civilians that lived in Gotham were trapped in iron bars, forever enclosed unless they tore out their ribcages and discarded their bones. Blood tainted the sidewalks, maybe not visible, but the haunting scent of iron never left.

You deserved to be here. In the very darkest pits of Crime Alley, where dealers cackled in the shadows, murderers showed their faces with no shame, and drug and human trafficking were at a high. The area burnt down the remaining tissues of your heart, effectively turning it to ashes as you watched the horrendous crimes.

Once upon a time, you’d stop the horrific crimes. Stop the petty thieves and cold murders with a veil over your head.

You could nearly laugh now; how naive you were. Such a child that thought she could make a difference under the iron fist of a hypocrite. You’d been no younger than twelve when the Batman sent you out in the night, dodging lead bullets and twisted knives. You'd come back to school with purple bruises and aching muscles, something you had to have expertly concealed to avoid complications.

There was a time you thought Bruce Wayne had saved you, but it was never the case. You'd have better luck trying your hand in the dirty streets of Crime Alley where he found you.

The pitter patter of rain brought no comfort to you, the chilled air escaped through the hooded windbreaker you wore, making your skin raise in retaliation. You limped down the sidewalk, your knee aching particularly today, as it usually did when it rained.

Night had already settled in, only streetlights luminating the area, if the bulbs weren't already shot and littered with bullet holes. Most of the sane Gothamites were already at home, locks triple checked and barricaded. You however, hardly cared if you lived or died.

Besides, you were hungry.

On the rare occasion that you did eat, you never had the energy to cook anything, rather settling on walking a couple blocks to a shitty takeout place, the place you frequented many times before the accident. You avoided it for a long time, as the rundown place just haunted your thoughts of him.

Now it served as a reminder that you were human. A metaphorical bandage, that ripped your flesh raw. it was pain to hold the memories of him, but now, you were happy to just feel that pang in your chest as you pulled open the lodged and uneven door.

You sat in the same worn-down booth you always did, the wooden frame showing through the moth-bitten cushions, and questionable stains displaying what was left of the thin material.

With all the robberies recently, the restaurant only served what they were famous for- soup dumplings, so it was no surprise when a little boy, maybe 10, settled a steaming ceramic bowl in front of you before he left back into the kitchen.

Only one other person was inside, likely a homeless man in search of warmth before the owners kicked him out. Your eyes narrowed at him as he wolfed down the dumplings, he didn't seem like too much of a threat.

Your gaze travelled to the window, catching on any bodies moving down the sidewalk, nothing excited you, so you settled for watching the fat raindrops fall down the glass. You carelessly shoved a dumpling in your mouth, wincing at the scalding broth that burnt the back of your throat.

The telltale scraping and groaning of the door signaled another customer had entered the space, just as your eyes travelled to the noise. A tall, hooded figure sat in the booth next to you, way too close for comfort, specifically because the room was nearly empty. You sniffed, taking the time to study the nice sneakers he was wearing, and the hint of blue that patterned the inside lining of his hood.

The stranger made no motion to acknowledge the steaming broth in front of him, instead he tilted his head to you, staring for perhaps too long, until you could make out the crystalline blue of his iris.

Immediately your hackles raised, fingers clutching too tightly to your plastic spoon, nearly breaking it.

"Are you just going to gawk, or are you going to tell me why you're here, Grayson?" Your unamused and careless tone made the man's shoulders sink, but he stood anyway, slipping into the booth across from you, his knee nearly bumping into your bad one.

"How have you been?" He stalled, pushing his hood back so you could see his pretty-boy face. He'd always been handsome, pretty blue eyes and dark hair. The prodigal son- it was enough to make you want to gag.

The dark bags under your eyes and your fatigued appearance spoke for itself, you were miserable. "Peachy." Your sarcasm leaked through, just as you took a petty bite of another dumping, once again burning your throat.

You hadn't seen Dick in almost four years, not that he hasn't tried to contact you. You just wanted out from the whole superhero business, especially after such flawed business. Grayson left a bitter taste in your mouth, reminding you far too much of Batman.

“I stopped by from Blüdhaven, I wanted to see how you were holding up.” He adverted your glare and backtracked, as he always did to avoid tension.

You kicked him in the kneecap from under the table, watching him wince more than he usually did after such a weak hit. Your eyebrow arched in question.

“Did ole Bats get to you too? Kicking you while you’re down like some weak puppy?” Venom dripped off your words as you recalled that time in your life. Dick sighed, but didn’t stir the pot of your internal anguish, not knowing how far it’d be until you erupted.

“No. That’s what I came to talk about. Bruce has been fighting this guy for a week now, he is big on the drug trade, and good. Like stupid good.”

You shrugged, everything was a trade in Gotham. Anything worth more than a dollar was exploitable one way or another. “How is this my problem?”

Dick pursed his lips, obviously growing frustrated with your careless demeanor, he fished into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a paper-clipped folder with a sigh.

You had half the mind just to ignore it, but curiosity burnt at your fingers, urging you to reach for the paperclip and pry it open. You swallowed at the contents, eyes welling slightly in anger and fear— a dangerous combination.

There were newspaper clippings, all zoomed in on a red helmeted figure, brown leather jacket, dark Kevlar armor. Your teeth clenched together, nearly cracking as you zeroed in on the symbolic scarlet of the helmet. How this criminal had taken the time to study who the Joker had been.

The Red Hood.

“Fuck you.” You spat at Dick, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the piece of garbage that reminded you of that clown. How the horrendous criminal had smiled as you beat him down, laughed at your grief of losing Jason. Arkham wasn’t good enough, he needed a bullet in his skull, death was the only answer.

You were about to leave, long ago losing your appetite for your dumplings. Dick grabbed your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. He knew Batman’s name, his real one. And he knew yours too.” Grayson gravely warned, you wavered, deciding to sit back in your seat as you glanced at the papers again. This vigilante knew your name? Your personal name, not expired alias?

You sighed, “What all do you know?”

Your keys jangled as you struggled to see the keyhole, feeling around blindly until the metal slid in and you unlocked your thin and flimsy door. You still held onto the folder with a tightened grip, mind running uneasily.

This new vigilante had your warning bells going off, that much you knew.

It was dark and freezing inside your one room apartment, as you couldn’t afford to have the heat on for long periods of time. You relied on a small propane heater that sat on the minuscule countertop space you had next to your mattress.

Electric bills were tight too, resulting in you only turning on lights when necessary and giving just enough time to watch the news. You never liked not knowing what was going on, a habit imprinted in your mind since childhood.

You dropped your bag with a huff, running on autopilot to the small stove countertop that help your electric kettle. You planned on getting no sleep, with the air turning colder, it reminded you more of the weather the day of Jason’s death. Nightmares came easy as did the frost that coated your windows.

You filled the kettle, hoping the cinnamon tea would help calm your nerves and ease the ache within your bones.

Your attention shifted to the remote, turning the television on while waiting for the water to boil. You flicked the power button, the channel already adjusted to Gotham Local News.

Your eyes narrowed in on the headline, skimming the words until a certain name made your blood run cold.

Joker Escaping Arkham: Live

Your fists clenched around your mug, anger boiling in waves as you watched the feed of the clown on top of a security truck, his chilling cackle making your insides swirl in panic and disgust.

You flicked off the channel, immediately going to the loose floorboard in the small apartment, stomping to feel for the hollow echo it released. You could get rid of your alias and stop fighting crime; But, you would always be ready to take down the clown when he escapes again. You made sure as you pulled out the sniper rifle, loaded and readied it to fire straight into his deranged brain.

You’d get justice for Jason, whenever Batman agreed or not.

You slung it over your back before exiting the apartment, not particularly worried about being caught, especially in Crime Alley.

It took you little time to make it to the bridge, feet expertly scaling the rusty rungs and wires until you were basically on top, wind whipping at your face as your eyes narrowed. You crouched low, resting against the metal while you popped the cover off the glossy scope, hoping to find the clown in your sights.

He was easy to find, blue and red sirens basically highlighting him in a showcase. He was alone, signature purple waistcoat blowing as he stood on top of an armored vehicle.

The unmistakeable cackle of his laugh had you seeing red, disgust coating every pore of your body. You barely heard the familiar roar of the Batplane flying straight towards the clown. You had to hurry, before it was too late.

You exhaled, lining up your shot with the steady red laser, making sure the clown saw it before he would die. Your finger hovered over the safety, clicking it off as it returned to the trigger. Just a quick press and it would be over, all those constant traumas and deaths.

A small smirk curled around your lips, until you heard the faint creak of metal from behind you, alerting you to another presence. You whipped around, hairs raised as you caught onto the Red helmet broadcasted all over the news. He was only a foot from you, large boots next to your chin. He was the man who knew your name.

The one who said it now, in a surprised grunt.

“Sorry sweetheart, but he’s mine to kill.”

You anticipated the attack, dropping the rifle as his foot raised slightly off the ground, going for a kick. You raised your hands, protecting your face from your crouched position. Instead, the vigilante extended, kicking your sniper rifle off the ledge, watching it fall into the stopped traffic.

“No!” You growled, eyes widening onwards in despair as the Batplane projected a grapple, picking up the clown you could no longer kill.

The vigilante stalked from the perch, seemingly to forget about you entirely. He crouched, collecting his energy before he jumped from the iron rungs, falling for a moment before latching on possessively to the clown.

You bit your lip as you glared, frustration and grief once again igniting, sadness left to flood as you watched the damn psychopath slip through your fingers again. You wanted to break something, watching as the vigilante flew out of sight.

All you could do was walk back to your apartment, grief once again swallowing you whole.

He hadn’t expected to fight so distracted, his mind keeping him from fully concentrating. He had so much bottled up, emotions and anger, longing to be avenged. He was hurt, hurt that Bruce hadn’t killed the clown that haunted him for five long years. Hurt that his girlfriend, (perhaps, ex-girlfriend now that he died) now lived in the slums of Crime Alley, disowned and alone.

He barely felt his hand through the grief, but looking down, he could see the pearly wetness of bone, blood leaking perhaps too quickly. Smoke and cement caked his revived lungs, making him cough and heave as he made up for the loss of oxygen. He’d fully hoped that Batman would kill for him, only for it to all crumble down when a Batarang lodged against the barrel of the gun, effectively blowing his hand to smithereens.

He left the scene before Batman could find him, wallowing in defeat. How could a father, ever treat their son this way?

There was much to think about, but too little time. He would bleed out, and quickly if he didn’t get medical assistance.

It was about time to pay his girl a visit. When he saw you on top of the bridge, wind whipping against your face, he nearly collapsed, all the anger and mush from the Lazarus pit melting away, instead replaced with a cold ache that made his spilt soul clench.

You’d gone to kill the Joker, something that made his heart swell in gratitude, knowing that at least one person would save him.

It wasn’t a far walk to rickety apartment complex, the area eerily close to where he grew up. The scent of smoke and blood was a constant, but perhaps he was just smelling himself.

When he weakly climbed your fire escape, he heard your voice, rough and growly, just as you had always spoke when angry. He could barely hear through the cracked window, but could make out the hysteria in your voice.

“What do you mean he’s alive?” You choked out, not noticing his hunched figure bleeding outside. You were pacing, fist clenched with the skin taught against your knuckles.

“Where is he?” You growled, pursing your lips and huffing. After a beat of silence, you hung up, no longer entertaining the conversation. You glanced slightly in his direction, doing a double take as you stood straighter, catching onto the tattered remains of the armor he wore.

Your eyes swelled, just as all of his breathing caught in his throat. You had just seen a ghost— But Jason knew he was alive, simply based on the fire that erupted inside him. Not even the freezing Gotham winds could chill the fever of his beating heart, waiting and waiting to press against your own.

He wondered if you still thought of him as much as he thought of you? He wondered if you still smelt like honeysuckle? He wondered how you received that scar that slashed through your face, lip to ear? He wondered why you favored your left leg as you hesitantly made your way to the sliding glass, hand pressed against the handle.

He was hit with a blast of warm air, a shield from the wind, and a promise of something he could not yet guess.

“Jason?” Your voice seemed so small, not like the girl he used to know. Maybe you had died with him.

“Hey baby.” He whispered, hoarse and full of an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. Was it grief? Regret? Adoration?

He stepped into the home, dripping blood onto the cracked tiles. You’d glanced down at him, immediately straightening and retreating. He watched as you pulled out a red kit from under the measly kitchen sink, settling it against the counter.

“Sit, please.” You addressed. Jason moved, sliding onto the barstool as he studied your features. Cold, broken eyes stared back for a moment, before fixating on his bloodied fingers. You didn’t look surprised to see him reanimated, which made him come to the conclusion that it was Bruce who had just spoken to you. Yet, the steady shake in your hands made him realized you weren’t quite prepared to have been this close so early.

You were a stranger, as was he.

He’d barely felt the disinfectant you placed on his wounds over his broken heart. It was just like when he was a boy, how you’d patch him up, always volunteering so he wouldn’t have to hear Alfred’s lectures.

It was the same, yet so different.

As he watched you work, he glanced closer at your features, studying the scar upon your lip closer, visualizing the sharp shape of a bat. A Batarang.

It wasn’t hard to guess how you got it, based on the rifle you had almost shot the Joker with. You’d been trying to avenge him, and Bruce would rather almost kill you than defy his code. Nausea rose up his throat.

You finished the bandages, glancing up to catch onto the frightening green of his irises.

“I don’t know what to say.” You muttered. His breathing stopped, just as he brought his good hand up, gliding it slowly to the soft skin of your neck, feeling the steady thrum of a pulse. He felt you swallow against his palm.

He knew there was no good thing to say. Nor bad. Perhaps at some point he’d be able to tell you what happened, to fix the scars that settled over you both.

For now he was okay with feeling the steady rhythm of your pulse, to know you were okay. Different, yet the same.

“What… what do we do?” You spoke again, scared and pinned like a trapped animal, backed into the corner but not afraid to strike.

“I don’t know.” He murmured truthfully. Taking a moments peace just to replay your voice in his head. Final able to remember the sound he had mourned.

“Will you hold me?” You asked brokenly, as if you had crossed a boundary.

Jason let a small smile grace his lips, extending his arms outwards to bring you closer. You fell into his chest, wet drops of tears falling from your eyes, just as his own watered. You molded together, warm and comforting. He traced your spine with his fingers, closing in his eyes and breathing in honeysuckle.

He sighed, knowing that at least one thing had stayed the same.

Perhaps the two of you could heal together, patching wounds and crumbling walls. But for now, he was content with holding you against him, a chaste kiss placed on top of your head.

[sonicexelle-junkary]

is HH sonic a good cook? how does he typically set up a meal, like in burgers or hot dogs?

Oh HH!Sonic totally knows how to cook! He likes to make food based on all the cultures he’s interacted with on his adventures. Chilli dogs, Empire Coffee, Sparkle Gelatin, Broiled Ibanga, Big G Steak, traditional dumplings— He knows his food and he knows how to make it.

The only problem though is that the guy already has some wild tastes. His friends think his stomach is made of iron or something from the junk he puts on his food or how he prepares it to his liking. Perhaps this is why he likes the taste of Mobians? Who knows?

(Fun fact: this is also a regular headcannon of mine for Sonic. The guy just eats what he thinks would taste good)

[yenonnoff]

h. iwaizumi — my time is important | part 3 (finale)

pairing: iwaizumi x gn!reader

content: mini smau series, university au, swearing, crack, fluff, friends to lovers

synopsis: you've always been a devoted volunteer; the university's bulletin board where all volunteer opportunities are posted, might as well become your second home. however, competition is high. iwaizumi hajime seems to appear out of nowhere and mercilessly fights over the last spot with you every time! why is a busy volleyball player like him spending so much time stealing your spot anyway?

a/n: dates are inaccurate but times are mostly consistent (word count: 6.8k pls forgive me)

...my time is important | part 1, part 2, part 3 (finale)

endless chatter. countless voices spilled onto the walls and tables of the cafeteria. 

osamu occupied the seat next to you, his twin brother sitting on the other side. atsumu yawned, his outstretched arms almost knocked over your food. 

“hey,” you frowned. 

atsumu had annoyed you yesterday with one of his antics and you haven’t fully forgiven him for it. you couldn’t believe what you were reading when you saw his post about you and hajime. it’s safe to say you haven’t forgotten the incident and he hasn’t forgotten his lecture. 

atsumu retracted his arms hastily, a playful “oops” escaping his lips. after another lazy yawn he asked, “do you think he saw the post?” 

“no, hajime isn’t active on twitter,” you replied. “he only goes to check his messages sometimes.” 

your response garnered a whistle from atsumu. “a true hajime expert,” he smiled. 

sometimes you wished you could just throw him into an arena of lions and watch as he struggled. many times you thought this, however this time you were just being unfair. you were upset about how ironic the situation was. you know hajime so well and yet you haven’t properly talked to him in weeks. 

sure there were fleeting moments: waves in the hallways, brief exchanges of smiles, but never full on conversations. none in person, none in text (at least none that didn’t involve the topic of upcoming volunteer events). rarely you’d stop him and engage in idle chit chat, but like always he was whisked away shortly after.

the universe was playing tricks on you. the desire to talk to him—ask about his day randomly, how his volleyball practice was, or simply talk to him without needing a reason—grew and grew. it would be unusual if you discussed these things with him. after all, you were just friends. 

but you wanted to know. you wanted to ask him how he got into volleyball, ask about his high school experiences. you wanted to ask about him. was that so wrong? if you can’t do that as friends then you don’t want it. 

you watched blankly as your food slid towards the right, osamu’s lunchbox coming into view. 

“you’ve been distracted a lot lately, y’know that?” he said. 

you smiled sheepishly. “yeah, i know.” 

“here.” osamu opened his lunchbox and revealed pieces of homemade dumplings. you weren’t surprised at the display. he always made his meals from scratch and was working towards developing his own recipes. he even folded the dumplings in various fun styles. his skills truly know no bounds. 

you were one of his many taste testers, and as always, there was nothing to complain about his cooking. while there’s always room for improvement, you were cont—

“this needs more salt,” atsumu said mid way through chewing. 

you and osamu both looked at him. leave it to atsumu to ruin the mood. 

“talk or chew, don’t do both,” you scolded. 

“who said you could eat one anyway?” osamu asked, sliding his lunchbox back towards him. 

atsumu swallowed the food. he pouted when his brother swatted his grabby hands away from the dumplings. he continued to frown, “oh c’mon. you know i have superior taste buds.” 

“what does that even mean?” his twin sent him a look. 

as they bantered, you finished packing up the remainder of your food, stuffing the container into your backpack. the two stared at you when you stood up, confusion evident in their eyes.

“you’re leaving already?” 

you shrugged. “might as well get to bio early.” 

you waved them goodbye and walked away from the table. the twins were going to leave soon anyway. usually you’d join them on their walk around campus or hang out with them and suna in the music room, but not today. 

osamu’s words came rushing back to you: “you’ve been distracted a lot lately…” 

you couldn’t deny it. this was starting to get out of hand. 

in the corner of your eye you saw him. hajime iwaizumi, who you’d met coincidentally in front of your university’s bulletin board. he sat at a table a little further down from yours, his body facing your direction. he was grinning cheerfully—a rare occurrence but a striking one. you swear his gaiety could light up the whole room. 

you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle. he was paying close attention to whatever seth was saying or doing—honestly you weren’t too sure. everyone else was blurred out, your focus was set only on hajime. 

he laughed again. 

your heart thumped chaotically and you found yourself wondering what was so funny. for a moment you’d wished you had made him laugh like that. even tooru who sat next to seth was pouting, upset that seth had said a good joke and not him. 

then hajime shifted and glanced your way. first came his softened gaze, then a wave in your direction. 

vermillion kissed your cheeks. you waved back hurriedly and beelined for the exit. hajime had caught you staring. 

for the entirety of biology you couldn’t concentrate. your heart was still hammering against your chest and hajime stubbornly occupied all your thoughts. 

the next day was solely dedicated to preparing for the festival. it’s an annual event that requires the full participation of every department; it’s an annual event that many students dread. 

there are mixed feelings when it comes to the festival: the first half—setting up booths and decorations; navigating through the tight storage room; and working hectically in the heat—is a pain in the ass. this part requires the most heavy lifting and students despise the amount of work needed to be done. however, the later half—the festival fully decorated and finished with large crowds of people roaming the campus—is a wonderful sight. since admission is free to all students, they tend to have a field day after all their work. 

as for you, you enjoyed every single part of the festival (both the beginning and the finished product). being able to provide assistance to other people brings you joy. the festival is just like volunteering except with the bonus of being surrounded by friends and classmates. what more could you ask for? 

others were less optimistic however. all departments at Tokyo University were responsible for setting up food stands or activities. the profit made by each department goes to their respective budget; you’ve witnessed just how intense the competition gets between the different stands. the thought sends a chill down your spine. 

certain departments like art, fashion design, and theatre are able to host exhibits and shows. essentially they’re exempt from having to run around in the boiling heat. but the most exciting part of the festival has to be the music concerts. last year, there were symphony orchestra and jazz band performances; this year, it’s opened up to students. your dear friend suna and his band are going to perform, and you can barely contain your excitement. 

today is only preparation. the real panicking starts tomorrow, the opening day that lasts from 1 to 6pm. 

you could already hear the groans of agony from students as you left your dorm. you couldn’t blame them, honestly you were sure you’ll be complaining later on as well. after all… your department along with a couple others were selected for the afternoon shift. unbelievable. extremely unfortunate. 

shifts only last three hours at most and departments take turns setting up the festival. you couldn’t imagine spending the entire day trying to dig up dusty banners in the crammed storage room. still, three hours is a long time. your department just had to be picked for the shift when the sun’s at its highest. even osamu and seth weren’t this unlucky: their time slot was from 9am to 12pm. they bragged about it when they finished, sending you a selfie of them eating somewhere. 

you arrived to see clusters of students spread all around campus. you rushed to sign in and meet with a Board of Activities member. the morning shift had already set up booths and stands, assembling games and activities. they had done all the basic ground work. the afternoon shift was responsible for organizing the storage room and preparing boxes of decorations and lights for the evening shift. then all they would have to do is unpack everything, set up banners and posters, and test the lights hung around the festival. 

The BoA member gave you your first task: join the others in sweeping and cleaning the storage room. it didn’t take very long. everyone basically half-assed it, the room was going to become disordered and neglected again after the festival anyway. the next task was checking what decorations were available in the storage room. you were given a list of items and were instructed to find the boxes containing them. even with a group of people it took an extensive time to search the massive room. however your shift was quickly coming to a close; there was only one more task but you and the others were already drenched in sweat. hot air was constantly rushing into the storage room and it didn’t help that people were coming in more than they were leaving. 

you gave yourself a pat on the back when you finally finished. the urge to take a nap and an hour-long break was strong, but there was only one more task before everyone could go home. at least the board was generous with their snacks and drinks. 

when the last task came you weren’t sure if you should feel happy or exhausted. all the boxes that were checked on the list needed to be lugged to the front of the campus where it would be unpacked and assembled. it was the last task and the most laborious one at that. at least you could finally get some fresh air. you would be escaping from the suffocating and humid storage room, but your arms and legs would make you pay later. 

students shuffled out of the room with boxes in their hands; many needed a partner, the trip was going to be a long and tiring one. you felt your arms grow weak just by watching your fellow schoolmates. it wasn’t like you could sit by and do nothing; BoA members were present in the room and they take preparations seriously. 

you wouldn’t have minded doing the evening shift. putting up some posters and hanging silly banners didn’t sound so bad! 

you could only sigh and lament on your terrible luck. you went to inspect the lightest box. someone else can get the heavier ones, it wasn’t like you had a partner to help you carry it anyway. 

then voices and laughter distracted you. 

it came from outside the storage room but was approaching closer and closer. suddenly you saw atsumu and other familiar faces step into the room. with his signature smug expression, atsumu waved at the BoA members. even from the back you could hear his obnoxious voice. 

“yo! we’re finished with everything so we came to help.” 

you shook your head in disbelief. usually he would run away from any unnecessary and taxing tasks, but look at him acting all righteous. you wondered who actually brought up the idea of helping the other group in the storage room. you would have to thank them since—

oh. 

oh. he was here. 

you weren’t sure why you hid, your body automatically reacted when you saw hajime enter the room. was that why atsumu was here? you were sure he had some ulterior motive. 

more people were entering the space. they barely looked out of breath or covered in sweat. you turned to check the area that you were in: all the way in the back where the boxes were. there were only two or three people with you there. you needed to leave, exit the room before hajime could see you. 

your thumping heart was betraying you. you knew how you felt. you were happy to see that hajime had the same shift as you; truth be told, you were hoping that he did the entire time. but not now. you couldn’t talk to him here, this wasn’t the right time or place. you needed to leave. 

grabbing the lightweight box from earlier, you made sure to avoid hajime who was walking on the other side of the industrial shelves. you nearly escaped when you forgot about your annoying blond haired friend. he was still talking to the BoA member by the door, clearly trying to avoid helping out. when he turned and saw you, you regretted not staying put. everything was becoming a mess. 

“y/n!” he’d sounded shocked but you weren’t convinced. he beamed, “if it isn’t my favorite person in the whole world.” 

“liar. you said seth was your favorite last week.” 

he winked. “this is a secret, don’t tell him.” 

you rolled your eyes. compared to yours, his hair barely looked tousled. he wasn’t sweating profusely either (which actually might be a good thing). you attempted to sidestep him but he cut you off when you were about to say “goodbye.” 

you stared at him. “what are you doing?” 

“nothing!” 

perhaps you should’ve pushed him out of the way. you should’ve distracted him and left, tell him that a pretty girl was coming and get him to turn away. but you didn’t. you fell right into atsumu’s traps. 

footsteps approached you from behind and a familiar voice made you freeze in place. “y/n?” he called you. hajime was right behind you. 

you couldn’t pay attention to what atsumu was saying. your eyes widened and your legs felt weak. 

then, out of nowhere, atsumu snatched your box and flashed you a cheeky smile. you wanted to chase after him as he left the storage room, but hajime was watching from behind. that sneaky fox used him as a buffer! you weren’t going to forget this.

you peered over your shoulders and there he was. you felt a sense of deja vu standing so close to him in such a familiar place. the two of you were together during last year’s festival preparations as well. this’ll mark the second year. 

“hi, hajime.” you hoped he didn’t notice the falter in your voice. 

“hi, how have you been?” he asked and your shoulders lost their tension. why were you so nervous in the first place? there was nothing to worry about when you were with hajime. 

“i’m fine.” you have no idea what’s happened since the last time we talked. “are you here to help us?” 

he nodded. “i came to ask where the boxes were and saw you. i didn’t know you’d be here.” 

he didn’t, but someone else did. someone who wasn’t going to get away with trapping you like this. 

you weren’t ready to talk to hajime. you didn’t even know what to talk about. however you had to admit, this was the moment you’ve been hoping for. maybe it wasn’t too late to start remembering everything you’d wanted to tell him the past two weeks. 

you tilt your head towards the back. “it’s this way, i’ll show you.” 

“where were you guys before this?” that was the first question you wanted to ask him. 

hajime chuckled, “a lot of places.” 

the two of you were crouched in front of the boxes, both procrastinating on doing the task. the world seemed to slow down, the shuffling of feet in and out felt like a distant noise in the background. you both gazed at one another: hajime—who barely seemed fazed by the hot and humid room—and you—who felt time stopping, your stomach doing backflips at the way he looked at you. 

“we were inside most of the time,” he elaborated. “we helped move some of suna’s band stuff into the assembly room, hung out for a bit, and then got caught by a BoA member.”

you stifled a laugh and said, “of course that happened.”

“then we were ushered to the black box and instructed to organize the backstage.” 

your hand shot up at this. hajime raised a brow and watched you intently. “so while you were going from room to room with proper air conditioning, we were burning alive in this storage room?” 

you stared at him with narrowed eyes and an envious frown. it wasn’t hajime’s fault but still; you wanted to visit the band room and black box too, perhaps even relax under the aircon before getting caught.

the corners of hajime’s lips curled upwards. it was subtle but you were close enough to see it. the motion sent an chilling shock through your body. your cheeks burned—either from the stuffy atmosphere or from your dark haired friend. 

“it’s not as amazing when you realize how picky the theatre director was. she was basically supervising our every move.” 

“oh,” you felt a wave of sympathy. “that sounds terrible.” 

“can’t blame her. those props looked expensive.” 

this triggered an old memory of yours, when you and the twins snuck backstage and atsumu carelessly grabbed an intricate looking sword. he swung it around like a small child who had just won a trophy. little did the three of you know, the sword was actually excalibur and was needed for a musical. nothing was damaged or broken, but you all learned a valuable lesson that day. 

thinking back to that time, you realized how impulsive you were as a first-year. you laughed quietly to yourself, not realizing that hajime was still in front of you. he watched the smile creep onto your face and his features softened. 

“that reminds me,” he said suddenly, “our group got to see glimpses of the rehearsal. the skits are cool, you should check them out tomorrow.”  

“now you’re just showing off.” 

“we also checked out the art departm—“

you nudged hajime with your shoulder. a mistake. you were both still in a crouching position and collapsed onto the floor. a thud reverberated through the room and the two of you erupted into laughter. somewhere along in the conversation you had forgotten about the blazing heat and beads of sweat that tickled down your back. 

hajime helped you up to your feet, a slight grin still present on his face. you couldn’t believe you thought he was scary when you first met. standing at that bulletin board in the middle of the hallway, you thought he was intimidating—unapproachable with that surly scowl on his face. but there was more to him than you could ever imagine. you wanted to know him more; that grin of his carved a soft spot in your heart. 

when you looked around, the storage room was deserted. there was only the two of you and two remaining boxes that laid on the floor. they’ve been waiting to be picked up. how long was your conversation anyway? 

you chuckled hesitantly. “uh oh. looks like we should bring these out quickly.”

the walk to the front of the campus was unbelievably short. hajime listened as you rambled about trivial things: the show you watched before falling asleep last night; how ridiculous your professors were; and the meal that osamu made you last week. 

the two of you arrived, passing a couple students on the way that were fanning themselves with their hands. 

when hajime responded, you knew the conversation had ended. “i’d like to try that,” was all he said. 

you laid the boxes on the ground, careful not to brush your fingers against the hot concrete. you heard a sigh from your left and turned. you shielded your eyes from the sun with your hand. hajime was staring at his phone, thin lines forming in between his furrowed brows. 

“what’s wrong?” 

he glanced your way, his hard expression easing. “it’s just oikawa.” a pause. “if you see him around, please cover for me or just ignore him.” 

you tilted your head in confusion. you were about to comply when a blaring whistle caught the both of you off guard. silence, and then another one. 

hajime smiled, “or not.” 

once again you heard the groans of students as they scattered across campus. they weren’t groans of agony this time, they were sounds of relief. the whistle signaled the end of the afternoon shift; all tasks were checked and completed. 

wait—you thought—not yet. not now. 

things were starting to become normal again. there was so much more you wanted to talk to hajime about; you feared you wouldn’t have another chance after this. 

you wanted to stay with him just a little longer but your body was betraying you. your legs ache and a throbbing pain was coursing through your brain. you needed a shower and a nap desperately. even if you could stay, you weren’t selfish enough to keep hajime here. while he didn’t show it, you knew he was exhausted. 

crowds of students dispersed: some went back to their dorms, some went to eat, and some stayed. those with the evening shift were coming—there was no reason to stay anymore. 

“y/n.” hajime called to get your attention. “are you going back to your dorm?” 

you nodded. 

“do you want me to walk you there?” 

you swallowed hard. you never noticed how much affection he poured into his words when he was talking to you. it’s hard to notice but it’s there. your eyes traveled to his shirt where he neatly rolled up his sleeves, revealing his biceps. he was bothered by the heat after all. 

you smiled at him. “i’ll be fine. thanks for the offer.” 

then with a nod he left. “see you later, y/n.”

a part of you was elated thinking about the next time you’d be able to talk to him. the other part wondered if it’ll actually happen. he’d said the same thing last time and what happened? you were stuck running around in a loop, all your efforts and attempts completely shut down. 

you watched hajime leave, the distance between the two of you growing more gradually. the sight left a bitter taste in your mouth. you didn’t want this. you had already come to your conclusion about your feelings towards hajime; you were just too cowardly to act on them.

he makes you feel a certain way: a desire to be close to him, hear him talk, and see him smile and laugh. you’ve never felt this way towards anyone before and that’s why you didn’t tell him. you endured weeks of pretending that everything was normal—that you were both okay with being just friends. 

you were a coward, afraid that the feelings blooming in your chest would tarnish the friendship you had with him. if things didn’t work out and you had to go separate ways, you didn’t think you could handle that. not talking for weeks was bad enough; not knowing him at all felt hellish. 

so you sealed away your feelings, or at least attempted to. hajime made it difficult for you to do so. everything suddenly reminded you of him and without knowing it, your feelings grew heavy in your heart until you felt it would burst. 

you should’ve put an end to this a long time ago but you still had a chance. tomorrow was the festival and the perfect opportunity to confess. you’d swallow your cowardice and tell hajime your feelings. you’d face him and he’d give you his undivided attention as always. 

if it’s with hajime, then you want to try. 

on the day of the festival you arrived two hours before it opened. 

you saw students scrambling from one place to another; it wasn’t as crowded as yesterday since coming today wasn’t mandatory. students in departments that were operating food stands or activities needed to come to organize their stations. it was ultimately their responsibility and no one else’s. 

though not everyone needed to come. it only applies to those unfortunate enough to get selected or those with enough compassion to volunteer. 

you came early for no particular reason. scratch that—you came hoping you’d see hajime again. you heard from tooru that he’d be here, but what did you expect when the universe’s hobby was to watch you get your hopes up? you haven’t seen him all day and it’s been weighing on your mind. 

you worked under a canopy tent with the sides and back covered. kneeling over a plastic bag, you didn’t notice two sets of footsteps approaching. 

“y/n!” 

your head whipped to the side, your excitement giving you away. 

“woah,” atsumu teased. “were you expecting someone else? what’s with the mopey expression?” 

in a single moment your eagerness was wiped away and replaced with boredom. you saw atsumu pout; the pure disinterest written all over your face was enough to kill. 

you went back to putting pancake mixtures on the foldable tables. “what are you guys doing here anyway?” you wouldn’t be surprised if they were picked to come help—it’s not unlikely that they were both cursed luckless at birth. 

“nothing really. we came because everyone else was here,” osamu said. 

“so you’re just hanging out?” 

atsumu hummed. “what about you?” he was looking at the pancake mixtures on the table, his lips curled up into a smirk. 

“helping out,” you said plainly.

“wha—unlucky.” 

his sing-song voice received a glare from you. “i’m doing a favor for the art department.” 

“and you’re gonna do their job at the festival too?” 

you shook your head. when you arrived, some art students came up to you pleading for help. they were short-handed and too busy with the exhibit to set up their food stands. you couldn’t blame their desperation, this was going towards their department budget after all. “they’re coming back and taking over later.” 

osamu stepped into the tent, his hands in his shorts’ pockets. curiosity coated his words. “they’re doing something different this year.” 

“yeah, they’re making pancakes but you can ask them to draw stuff.” 

atsumu came in after his brother, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “woah! like those videos online.” 

“you think they’d be down to draw ‘tsumu’s ugly mug?” osamu pondered. 

“the hell?! what did i do to you?” 

you slide a cardboard box over as the two bantered. you didn’t doubt that they would: money was money and some of them were crushing madly on atsumu. they’d make him look ten times more attractive than he is and it’d unfortunately boost his ego. you shivered at the thought. 

atsumu refocused back towards you, having enough of his argument with his brother. “sooo, where’s your lover?” 

you stop momentarily. casting your gaze on the ground, silence overtook the tent. 

“i don’t know.” 

the twins shared a secretive glance at one another. they weren’t sure which was more surprising: you not correcting atsumu or the way you looked so distraught. 

then atsumu’s eyes widened and he yelled, “y/n, do you li—” 

osamu was quick to nudge atsumu roughly, getting him to shriek and shut up. silence sliced the air again. 

“we forgot to mention that we’re looking for him,” osamu said suddenly. he turned to his brother as if trying to communicate a message. atsumu didn’t follow, only raising a puzzled brow and continuing to massage the sore part where he was elbowed. 

“who’s we?” 

osamu grumbled under his breath. the exchange almost made you crack into a smile. 

“seth’s looking for iwaizumi and asked us to help.” 

you and atsumu were now staring at osamu. confusion danced in the air. 

“oh, okay.” you replied, still unsure where this was going. “oh, that thing!” atsumu bursted into laughter. nervous laughter. you eyed him weirdly as if he were a random stranger that’d just approached you. “i remember now. we seriously couldn’t find him anywhere. am i right?” 

“yeah.” 

you smiled. osamu didn’t hide his disgust towards his brother. 

“y/n, please help find him for us.” atsumu clasped his hands together and peered at you with hopeful eyes. good thing he’s aiming to play volleyball professionally; the acting industry does not need him. 

“if you guys can’t find him, what makes you think i can?” 

osamu shrugged. “he could be inside. we haven’t checked there yet.” 

“but the stand…” 

atsumu slapped a hand against his chest. “we can take over,” he cheered eagerly. 

with those four words alone you darted to your feet and wiped down your clothes. even if it’s awfully clear that they were lying through their teeth, you weren’t going to say no. this was an excuse to find hajime. 

“perfect. just organize the food dye and squeeze bottles. then make sure to check that the pancake makers work properly.” then you were out of there, barely stopping to hear the twins groan with regret. 

when you left, atsumu froze in shock at his newfound responsibilities. he didn’t sign up for this. 

hajime wasn’t in the art or fashion exhibits. among the paintings and sculptures, mood boards and fashion sketches, you didn’t see anyone that resembled a spiky haired volleyball player. you continued to the theatre department where you didn’t see him either. he wasn’t in the music room; he wasn’t in the cafeteria. at some point you wondered if he had a secret hiding spot on campus somewhere, or if he had the ability to turn invisible. 

regardless, you gave up and went back outside. to your surprise, you found seth standing alone by a tent. 

“hi, seth. sorry, looks like i can’t find hajime after all.” 

he turned around to face you. despite his clear confusion, he still smiled—typical. “what do you mean?” 

“nothing,” you laughed tiredly. “this afternoon’s just been very anticlimactic.” 

seth crossed his arms in front of his chest. “if you’re looking for hajime, he and tooru went to buy supplies.” 

ah. your mouth hung open in realization. that’s why you couldn’t find him anywhere, he wasn’t even on campus. you wished you knew that before walking all over the place. 

“is that why tooru wasn’t answering his messages?” you asked.

“oh, that was because some girl asked for his number earlier and the dummy gave it. he’s probably ignoring his phone on purpose.” 

you sighed. your friends were hopeless. “that’s good then. at least i know hajime isn’t hiding in a secret spot somewhere.” 

“secret spot? oh, no—you’ve got the wrong person. that’d be tooru. he knows a bunch of amazing spots on campus.�� 

“and he didn’t tell me?” you huffed in disbelief. the two of you shared a laugh before silence washed over the conversation. 

“i’ve come to my conclusion, seth. i want to try it, confess how i feel and pray things work out.” 

seth didn’t respond at first, only staring up at the sky. today wasn’t as tortuously hot as yesterday; it’s supposed to get cooler later towards the evening. “don’t worry. i know it’ll work out, it’s you and hajime after all.”

“and if things change?” 

he smiled. “things are meant to change. even if they’re bad things, just know you tried, y/n.” then you saw mischief swirl in his brown eyes. “so, when did you figure out you like him?” 

you blinked at his gleefulness. seth has always been interested in these kinds of topics. you tap a finger against your chin, thinking about an answer to give. truth be told, you're not sure. was there a clear point where you realized it? you thought about hajime’s subtle but warm actions, his honest but comforting words. they’ve always made you feel some sort of way; perhaps your feelings towards him were developing slowly but surely this whole time. 

but to answer seth’s question, you could only say, “i’m not sure. my heart’s become weak lately. whenever i see him, it doesn’t know how to act.” 

seth’s smile widened when he saw your genuine expression. “yeah, that happens sometimes.” 

a sudden notification on his phone disrupted the conversation. one moment he’s all cheery, and the next he’s rushing to type a message. he caught your confused stare and said, “it’s 1pm. rin’s texting me to come to the music room. sorry y/n.” 

“music room? suna? for what?” 

“oh,” he slipped his phone back into his back pocket. “that’s right, i haven’t told you yet. i’m performing with rin’s band as a guest singer.”

your eyes widened and an excited grin spread across your face. “an aspiring fashion designer who’s popular with everyone, is now performing with suna’s band—what can’t you do?” 

“i can’t wait to see you and hajime at the show,” he winked.

you opened your mouth to reply but it never came. you only nodded and waved as he rushed away. 

there were still things you wanted to talk about with seth—“what if” questions that still plagued your mind. 

but you needed to hurry, the festival was already starting. you could only focus on the thought of getting to see and talk to hajime again. 

you hoped at the very least that he’d still smile softly at you. 

returning back to the festival was a chaotic nightmare. the campus was drowned in twinkling lights and hoards of people. some were students you recognized, others were random family members and high school students. this is the liveliest you’ve ever seen the festival get. people busied themselves in front of food stands and information booths; they blocked walkways and occupied the limited number of benches around campus. 

lively but troublesome. your chances of finding hajime just plummeted to the ground.

you took out your phone and read the time: 3:30pm. before this, you stopped by your dorm to shower and get changed. your notification center was filled with old messages from an hour ago. a majority were from your group chat with the twins. 

they had bombarded you with messages and pictures: one was of them with food stuffed in their mouths. you type back an apology and ask them if they’ve seen hajime. atsumu instantly replied: havent seen him

you start making your way down the endless aisle of food stalls. you steered away from large crowds, texting everyone you knew if they’ve seen hajime. 

you were desperate. you wanted anything at this point, even a single clue about where he might be. 

you stopped to scan your surroundings, a notification catching your eye. it was from osamu and sent to the group chat: i see him hes with oikawa

without skipping a beat you headed towards osamu’s location. you didn’t have a plan, you were going into this head first. you’d have to worry about what to say later, you just wanted to see him right now. 

when you stopped again, you saw him standing alone. he was off to the side and away from the crowd. 

“hajime,” you said, stepping closer. “you’re a hard person to find.” 

he watched as you caught your breath. “were you looking for me?” 

yes, you wanted to say. you were looking for him all day. 

but you only nodded in response. there was no running away anymore, no more waiting around for something to happen. 

“hajime, there’s something i need to tell you.” he nodded and crossed his arms, his unique way of telling you he’s listening. you shook your head. “not here. can we go somewhere else?” 

you have no idea where “somewhere else” might be. you saw people every turn that you took. hajime must’ve seen your despaired expression because he pointed you in a different direction: the back of the festival. 

it was a grassy field that stretched for miles on end. you’d forgotten about this area, too exhausted and confused to think properly. you saw small groups of people set down picnic blankets and relax in the sun. they were sitting farther down the field and away from the festival. this was the perfect spot to talk to hajime one on one. 

when he sat down on the grass, he patted the empty space next to him. you followed him, your heart suddenly heavy in your throat. what are you going to do now? 

“is it okay here?” 

you hummed in response. no more running away, you reminded yourself. no more waiting either. 

“hajime, i’m sorry.” you saw him tilt his head towards you, his gaze intense. “i’m sorry for making you wait so long, sorry for not noticing everything sooner.” 

something shifted in his expression then. the small smile that he’d always reserved for you and you only, faltered. 

you rushed to clarify but he beat you to it. “so you know.” 

yes, you knew. you always wondered what would happen if atsumu hadn’t accidentally told you that day. if he didn't have such a big mouth and if you continued to remain clueless about hajime’s feelings. would he confess? would your relationship never change? 

but you were glad to know. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that day. 

you confirmed, “i know. i should’ve noticed it sooner; were you going to keep it a secret forever?” 

“for as long as i could, yes. but it seems you already found out.” 

you shook your head. “i didn’t find out, i was told on accident. i’m sorry. you’ve done so much for me and yet i didn’t even notice how you felt.” 

“i did those things because you deserve it, y/n. you deserve that and more. i was fine with just being your friend.” 

but what about now? how do you feel about me?

you swallowed the questions in your throat. “thank you for volunteering with me, for everything you’ve done. but—“

the words stopped. you could only look at him. 

“but how do you feel now?” 

the question barely left as a whisper, you wondered if he could even hear you from where he sat. even now there was distance between the two of you. you were sitting far away from one another. 

it was a suffocating question—the answer would be much worse. 

it took him a moment to reply. you both sat still but the world around you continued to move. the trees and grass danced in the wind, but your focus was on hajime only. 

then he spoke gently. “y/n, do you feel uncomfortable by this? i was scared this would happen so i gave you space.” 

space. that explained the distance between you two. everything was for you; he was always thinking about how you felt. god, you felt horrible. 

the grass tickled your palm but you could only think about how to end this mess. you wanted to tell him everything: the butterflies he’s given you; the energetic beating of your heart whenever he’s around; and the way you can’t imagine being strangers with him. 

distance. you hated it. you wanted to close the gap, reveal everything and hope that he’d accept you still. 

you shake your head, hopefully for the last time. “no. i’ve never been uncomfortable by this. i was confused but not anymore.” 

you inhaled deeply. “i like you more than you think, hajime. you’re so incredibly kind and patient. i want to try and make this work. if it's with you then there’s nothing to worry about.” 

you weren’t sure if that’s what you’re supposed to say, but you hoped he got your message. you poured your feelings out to him. all that’s left to do is wait. 

hajime had broken eye contact a long time ago, his focus was elsewhere. your stomach churned at all the poor ways this could end. then, hajime covered his face with his arm. you saw it: the bright smile he tried to conceal and the redness of his cheeks. 

“you stole my line, y/n. i was supposed to say that.”

you thought your heart would burst. the sight of him smiling so pleasantly had you frozen in place. your heart really has grown weak. 

you grinned at him, a similar reddish hue appearing on your cheeks. the feeling was mutual. everything was okay. 

hajime stood from his spot and walked towards you. he lowered his hand and helped you up, just like that time in the storage room. then he interlocked your fingers together, his hand warm and inviting. 

when you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, his unoccupied arm went up to cover his face again. you both knew this would take time to get used to.  

you heard him mutter a small “thank you,” his face still hidden by his arm. 

this was worth it. he was worth all the running around and confusion. 

“you can tell me ‘thank you’ when we get to suna and seth’s concert. everyone’s waiting.” 

hajime’s gaze fell on your smiling face and he nodded. you wondered how you didn’t notice his feelings before. they were so obvious, a single look into his eyes and you would know. 

you also wondered how the others will react when they see this: you hand-in-hand with a flustered hajime. the sight would be priceless and the concert was the perfect way to end everything.

a/n: i am so sorry for the written portion. i was too ambitious. i am also very tired so i hope u liked this! @kqbukimono this one is for u <3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for saying I don't give a shit about calorie counts?

Before I even start this, I'm going to say - if you actively have an eating disorder, please don't vote on this one. I used to have one and I know how badly ED screws with your reasoning regarding weight and food, even with other people. Onto the dilemma.

I (22M) and my friend (31F) are both on "diets" - in quotes because its a lifestyle change, but idk about her. I've drastically changed my diet, exercise, and general lifestyle for health reasons.

My friend also wanted to start dieting at the same time, and as far as I know, she just wants to lose weight. She has a healthy weight goal in mind and her methods of losing weight are healthy, basically the same as me - better foods and more exercise. Recently we talked about our goals because we both lost several pounds, and she asked me what my goal weight was. I told her I didn't have one, I might later but right now my only focus is making sure my body is in good health. She seemed to agree and the conversation moved on.

Another thing is, I recently learned that I LOVE to cook. I've been adding more veggies and spices into my diet as well - swapping french fries with marinated air-fried carrots, veggie dumplings, shredding cabbage for noodles, making my own stir fry sauce and blends, etc.

I cook for us sometimes, because I often make more than I need and I want to share my cooking with others. But she keeps asking my how many calories are in stuff. I tell her what's in the recipe and how it's made, but I honestly have no clue how many calories are in anything I make. I can tell her pretty much anything else, like it's rich in whatever vitamin, it's low cholesterol, it's a great source of iron, I used healthier alternative instead of whatever... but that's not the info she's looking for. And since a lot of my cooking is experimental, I can't look it up online. I've never noticed this to be an issue before, but I'm a bit clueless so it's possible she showed signs of being bothered by this and I just didn't notice.

It all came to a head the other day when we had dinner after our usual workout. I was charting the exercises I did that day. She asked me if I was tracking calories for the meal and started talking about her calorie tracker app. I listened to her spiel about empty calories and tracking food. When she asked if I was going to downloaded it, I laughed and said "I don't give two shits about counting calories. As long as the food is good for me I don't care." I said it light-hearted and joking bc I don't want her to think it's bad to count calories - it's just not what I'm going to do. But she got quiet and later texted me that it hurts. I explained that she can count calories if she wants, and I don't care if she does or doesn't, but it's not for me. She doesn't know about my eating disorder history and I'd rather not tell her, since that's another reason I don't count calories - I don't want to fall back on starving myself since I KNOW that's not healthy, so it's easier for me to just exclude calories from the picture entirely. Should I tell her why I don't count calories? Could I have told her that I don't care about calories in a nicer way? AITA?

Also, before anyone suggests it - she does NOT have an eating disorder. Idk why she counts calories, but she shares a lot about her life with me, and she eats plenty and eats well, and doesn't exercise excessively, just enough to stay healthy for what she wants to do.

What are these acronyms?

[peachesofteal]

Mother

The angst speaks to my soul

The last chapter was perfect the ending might have broken me in the perfect way

May we get some non Canon or even Canon fluff just to hold us over and or heal those it highly effected

I’m so happy you liked chapter 8, and I appreciate your support so dearly 🖤

Dead Disco canon fluff below 👇

“Oh my god.” You giggle, wooden spoon scraping against the cast iron, working against the de-glazing process exactly like he told you not to do.

“Darling, please. Let me-“

“Uh, no.” You look aghast when he tries to pull the utensil towards him, digging in with your grip and fake outrage. “This is my dish.”

“And yer butcherin’ it.”

“Johnny!” You sound pissed, but you’re smiling, wide and happily, and it just fucking melts him to his core.

He loves you so much.

“C’mere.” He cares less about dinner now, and more about getting you in his arms.

“The sauce-“

“Fuck the sauce. Ye wanted dumplings anyway, didn’t ye?” You press your face into his chest and he wants to squeeze you, pull you inside his body so he can carry you around all the time. You nod shyly, and then look up, eyes wide, beautiful and sweet. Perfect. Half of his whole world. “I love ye, darling.” You turn your head, ear resting over his heart. “But ye’re a terrible cook.”

“Am not!” You gasp and push off as Simon appears from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, towel slung low around his hips.

“Not what?”

“A terrible cook.” You’re pouting now, arms crossed over your chest. You’re cute this way too, stubborn and full of bite, of sass. A challenge. It’s Simon’s favorite.

“Aww, you’re not that bad darling. Why would he say that?” He peers at the pan, half burnt black bits in the bottom of the cream sauce, and winces.

“Dinnae worry. We’re gettin’ dumplings.” You purse your lips, and Simon flicks the stove all the way off, before wrapping you up around where you’ve still got your arms crossed.

“You love dumplings.” You shrug, and he smiles into your hair. “Deciding to be stubborn tonight?”

“No.” You pause. “Maybe.” Johnny watches the two of you, the way you fit in Simon’s arms, the way you stare up at him, half of a brattish smirk on your face.

A shiver races up his spine when he watches Simon’s hand trace down your arm to your lower belly, where he pushes you backwards until you’re completely flush with him.

“Darling.” Simon croons. “How about we eat a late dinner instead?”

[kay-spider]

I added a red son to his dad's other shoulder and (other than where I messed up shh you can't see it) I love how cute he looks

[hyugaruma]

H&L: Petname HCs (Part II)

♡

re: what they call you…

some petnames geared towards “feminine”

♡

Fujio: You kidding? This dude lives to give you any sort of nickname he can. “Cutie” is his cheeky go-to that he likes to call you. Sometimes he’ll use “Chief” if he wants to be a goof. Also, any version of your actual name that he can come up with.

Tsukasa: Your name… Don’t expect much else. He thinks petnames are a bit weird.

Jamuo: “My Heart and My Soul” or “My Steamed Dumpling”… There’s no rhyme or reason; you can never tell which it’ll be.

Yasushi: “Little Duck.” It started out as something he said to be annoying, but somehow it ended up sticking. Now even his goons call you “The Duckling.” Great.

Kiyoshi: “Honey,” “Cupcake,” “Plum”… Notice a trend here? You’re subject to being anything that is ‘sweet.’

Nakagoshi: “Babe,” he’s basic. Might be “Baby” if he’s feeling a bit soft or sentimental.

Nakaoka: Also “Babe,” also basic. Sometimes he thinks he’s real funny and will call you “Stink.”

Shibaman: The whole petname thing makes him feel a bit shy and awkward… He’s started absentmindedly calling you “My One” on the occasion, though. If you want him to keep doing it, don’t point it out.

Tsuji: “Darling.” Though, this tends to be something he says more within the privacy of just the two of you. He doesn’t really say it around other people. Maybe sometimes around Shiba and Todoroki, maybe.

Motoaki: “Cutiepie.” He just can’t help it, because he thinks you’re just so stinkin’ cute. Will call you this around anyone, anytime, he doesn’t care. (I think you give him mild cuteness aggression.)

Sachio: “My Love,” always said very softly and with the gentlest of smiles. It took him awhile to get to the point of calling you this, but now he uses it just as often as your own name.

Yuken: “Princess,” which he started out by calling you this ironically, but turns out he actually has trouble saying ‘no’ to you, so the name is fitting.

Eimei: “Apple,” aka “Apple of My Eye.” You’ve kind of all-consumed him, honestly.

Arata: Nope. Too embarrassing; he’s too shy. Just the thought is enough to make him keel over.

Amagai: Almost always your unaltered name. Randomly, though, it’ll be “Bug”… and it’s impossible to tell if he’s saying it affectionately or not.

Ryo: Though he’s a bit shy about it, he does call you “Angel” in private. He accidentally called you that in front of Amagai once and got laughed at, so now it stays between the two of you.

Mario: “Treasure.” And he doesn’t mind calling you this in front of anyone either (because he knows they’re too scared to make fun of him for it). Also, he’s just really proud to show off the fact that you’re his.

Sameoka: 99% of the time he’ll only refer to you by your name. But, during the occasion that he’s in a really, really affectionate mood, he might call you “Love.”

Fujin: “Doll” will basically become a replacement for your name. Does he even remember that you have a name? Who knows, you’re “Doll” at this point.

Binzo: “Kitty”… not “Kitten,” but “Kitty.” He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit. Also, if you call him any petnames, he’ll call you the same ones in return, whatever it may be.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Somewhere Between Hello and Goodbye | Ch. 2: It Was All a Dream, I Promise

a/n: Writing that has been italicized + highlighted blue represents past memories or dreams, while writing that is italicized + bolded is a letter.

Months have passed since I last saw Jungkook. From the day he was discharged till now, no one has heard from him or his family. No texts, no calls. Nothing. Even his academic advisor raised concern regarding his absence, and still, there was radio silence on the other side of the line. It’s as if he never existed in the first place. He left with the cold winter and never came back to see the blooming of the spring cherry blossoms. 

Naturally, the last three months have been nothing short of torture. Day after day, night after night, I prayed to God, prayed that he would bring Koo back to me. Every morning, I would call his number just to hear his voicemail greeting, the one we crafted together during our late-night run to 7/11. 

“Hello, you've reached Jungkook’s voicemail. Please don't leave a message unless you're Mira,” Jungkook says confidently, scrunching his nose at the way my eyes widened from disbelief. 

“Koo!? You have to take this seriously. What if an employer calls you?” I exclaim, gaze softened at the sight of his bunny teeth on full display. 

“I'm sure they'll be able to tell if they're you or not,” he grins, taking a sip of his strawberry milk before pulling my chair closer to him, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. 

My eyes swell with tears reminiscing our memories. It pains me to think of the possibility that he might not even remember me. I'm not sure how long, if at all, I'd be able to last in a universe where Jungkook sees me as a stranger again. After all we've been through, man, that would hurt immensely. Nonetheless, I hold on to the hope that he is not alone. Surrounded by his loved ones, I hope Koo is resting in peace, at ease. This wish, however, has yet to overcome the aching feeling in my chest, my desire to hold him in my embrace. To be close to him once again. To tell him how much I love him. 

“Mira? Miraya, honey, can you hear me?” my mom shouts through the phone. After all this time, she has yet to learn how to properly use Facetime. 

“Mommy, I'm looking at your ear. You have to turn the camera towards you, remember?” I giggle, eyes tearing up from the mere sound of her voice. I've missed her. I've missed my family. I wasn't able to go back home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, so it's been ages since I last saw them. Nonetheless, after trial and error, mostly error, I could finally see my mother’s beautiful face which was trying its hardest to hold back the built-up sadness. 

“My love,” she whispers, worried gaze searching my scattering eyes. 

“Miraya, what's wrong?” 

“Nothing, I just missed you guys so much,” I say softly, pulling my knees to my chest as my body sits crouched on the cold kitchen floor. 

“Just one more week, honey. Your dad is so excited, you don't even know. He has packed the fridge with your favorite food, and is holding it hostage till your arrival,” she chuckles, shaking her head at my dad's behaviour. 

“One more week,” I repeat, looking up at the picture of Koo and me on the fridge. The photo booth snapshots we took at the dumpling restaurant near the Oceana beach. I wonder if he kept his word. 

“Jungkook, what the heck?” I yelp, hitting his forearm. “I can’t show these to anyone now,” I point to the last photo, in which his face remained inches away from mine as my body froze behind his Iron Man hat. Compared to the previous three takes, this one clearly did not fit the friendly theme. 

“Why not? Nothing happened,” he grins, leaning his head back. 

“Nothing happened my ass, it's obviously suggestive,” I roll my eyes. 

“Let their imagination run wild then. I'm putting mine in my wallet, you can put yours on your bulletin board, I heard manifesting is a popular practice these days,” he chuckles teasingly, giving me a sly wink.  

“Oh, by the way, I sent you some clothes for when you arrive. It’s been raining here nonstop and I wasn’t sure if you packed good rain boots,” my mom’s voice brings me out of my daydream, as I nod my head accordingly. 

“Thank you, mommy. I’ll let you know when I receive them,” 

“No, they should have already been delivered. I got the notification today,” 

“Oh, okay, then I’ll check the mailbox right after our call,” I say with a soft smile. 

“Well, I’m not gonna take up any more of your time, I’m sure you’re busy with finals. Please, just confirm that you got the package,” my mom says, sending me a flying kiss as I wave her goodbye. 

“I love you, mommy,” 

“Love you more, Mira,” 

Putting my hair in a messy bun, I grab my keys and ID before heading out the door. I did in fact pack some rainboots upon my arrival to Korea, but didn’t have the heart to tell my mom that on the phone. Her smile was too contagious for that news. Anyways, who would pass on free clothes? So, I make my way down to the mail room before scanning the area for my number, 1289. 

“Okay, oop, jeez, how big were these boots?” I huff and puff from all the heavy lifting, before stumbling back on my tippy toes. Managing to finally open the box, my eyes widen from the amount of snacks my mom packed. You know, sometimes, I think my parents think that my university doesn’t provide food. As if I beg my neighbors for a cup of sugar each night. I can’t complain though, I really do appreciate the way they show their love and care. So, yes, I will be indulging in all of these before I leave. Locking my mailbox I get a better grip of the box before heading out, that is, until one of the front desk employees stops me. 

“Miss! You dropped something,” he points to the white envelope on the ground. 

“Oh, thank you,” I say with a soft smile before opening what seems like a letter. 

To Miss Jean,

Hello Mira, this is Mrs. Jeon. I apologize for not reaching out to you sooner, I’m sure you’ve been worried sick. But, I hope you can understand that we as a family needed to take some time to help Jungkook heal. He is doing well. Although, his memory, at least of last year has been completely wiped. It’s been a tough journey, but the fact that he regained his consciousness is truly a miracle on its own. We really thought we lost him. You have no idea how much I cried that day. For a mother, losing her child is worse than death itself. So, I thank God every day for his protection. 

With that being said, the reason I’m writing to you is regarding your relationship with Jungkook. Please don’t take this too personally, but I need you to cut all ties with him. When I received the phone call from the paramedics on site, they reported that he was found unconscious on the side of the road, holding onto a bloodstained picture of you guys. Now, I tried to remain as reasonable as possible, but he is my son and I would do anything to protect him. Even if that means coming in between you two. I’m not sure if you guys were dating or tied by any romantic relationship, but from the way he talked about you, the dots were relatively easy to connect. 

He doesn’t remember anything, Mira. He doesn’t remember you. In hindsight, maybe it's for the best. I truly hope that you will be able to understand and respect my decision. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t interact. Jungkook will be returning back to Seoul for the Fall semester, and I trust that you will follow the plan. If he initiates contact first, try your best to avoid it at all costs. Just please, don’t make me worry about him again.  

Feeling my throat tighten, my chest heaves up from the sudden flow of emotions. What is going on? What did I just read? Cut all ties? He doesn’t remember me? Did I just receive an ultimatum from Jungkook’s mom before ever meeting her? My eyes swelled with tears as I looked around, scanning the room for any sign of life that would confirm if this was real or just a bad, bad dream. 

“Miss, are you okay?” the man at the front desk asks gently, his smile slowly fading as my body drops to the floor. 

“I don’t know,” I whisper, before looking up at his worried expression. Feeling my eyes dissociate into the distance, there’s a trail of teardrops marking the wooden floor as the denial settles in. Don’t call … Don’t write … Don’t interact. 

- - 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Toronto. It is currently 8 pm exactly and pouring cats and dogs outside. So, I hope you dressed appropriately. On behalf of the cabin crew, I would like to thank you for flying with Air Canada. Enjoy the rest of your day!” the pilot's voice mumbles through the speakers as the sound of safety belts being unbuckled fills the tight space. 

Mom was right, Mother Nature seems to not be too happy about something, because why is it thunderstorming? To be fair though, I love it when it rains. Something about its aftermath, specifically, the smell of wet cement the next morning just tickles my brain. 

Mira: Just landed! Will be out shortly ❤️

Mommy: Thank goodness, we can't wait to see you, my love!

Daddy: Miraya, honey, I'll be standing right by the doors to help with the luggage. 

Mino: I hope you packed lightly -_- 

Milo: Mira, did you get us anything? ;)

Having younger brothers is definitely an experience, but I can’t lie, I managed to miss them as well. And, as I rolled my suitcase down the exit, I could feel my heartbeat increase, palms getting sweaty from the nerves. Overwhelmed by the emotions, it takes only a glimpse of my father’s face for me to break down. With tears rolling down my flushed face, we pulled each other into a long embrace, as my mother’s hands caressed my dishevelled curls. Pressing a soft kiss on my forehead, she cups my face in her warm palms before searching my teary eyes. 

“My sweet, sweet girl,” she says softly, wiping my tears with her pink handkerchief, as my dad navigates us out of the airport to our car.  

The drive back home was rather sentimental. With every turn I caught myself reminiscing my childhood memories. The time I broke my wrist falling off the monkey bars in my elementary park, or the time my friends and I tried to sneak into a frat party dressed like those edgy college girls … you can imagine the outcome, I don’t even have to explain. 

“Peaches!” 

A faint voice brings me out of my dissociation as I snap my head towards my younger brother whose smile visibly fades from the intensity of my stare. 

“What?” Milo asks slowly, eyebrows furrowed from confusion. 

“What did you just say?” I scoff, a bit more harshly than initially intended. 

“Mommy asked what fruit she should use for her pie …” his words trail off into the car's ambience, as my eyes swell with tears. God, I miss Jungkook so much that I’m now hearing things. Surely, this isn’t healthy. 

“Sorry, I must have misheard you,” I try to subside the suspense with a soft smile before looking out the rainy window again. Feeling my throat slowly tighten, I try to shake away the thought that somewhere across the ocean, rests a soul whose heart no longer beats for me. 

“He doesn’t remember you, Mira,” Mrs. Jeon’s voice keeps replaying in my head as I bury my face deeper into the duvet, attempting to block the thoughts with my pillow. Unfortunately though, It’s not working as the haunting realization of our future, or rather, the lack of it, has already consumed my conscious mind. It’s not fair. I’ve lost him once and can’t bear to lose him again. Which, I guess … is exactly what Mrs. Jeon is feeling right now. 

“Ugh, Mira, shhhh. Please, just let me sleep,” I snap at my racing thoughts, turning aimlessly inside the soft sheets before feeling my body slowly give in to the fatigue as my vision goes pitch black. 

“Koo!” I call out his name as we run towards each other with open arms across a field of orange tiger lilies. 

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he says softly, lifting me in the air before we melt into each other’s embrace. Tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear, he caresses my cheek with the back of his palm before searching my teary eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks hushly, leaning closer as our lips rest inches apart. 

“Koo, please tell me that you remember me, that you remember us,” I cry out, placing my hands on his warm chest. 

“Of course, I do Peaches. What are you saying?” Jungkook’s voice is soft but full of worry as he moves my hand to his heart. 

“You lost your memory. Your mom said you don’t remember anything. Nothing,” 

“Mira, baby, please don’t cry. It was all a dream, I promise,” he says with a gentle smile, before wiping the tears off my face, resting his forehead on mine.

“It’s you and me, till my heart stops beating,” 

His words fade into the distance before I’m awakened by the feeling of sheer distress. Chest heaving up, there’s sweat dripping down my face as I reach for my journal on the nightstand. With shaky hands, I jot down the sudden overflow of my emotions in the form of a letter. 

Dear Koo, 

I saw you today and … it felt so real. Your embrace was warm, familiar and full of love. We were finally happy again. Except … it wasn't real, none of it was real. You promised it was all just a dream, but you lied. This … this is a nightmare.

Previous l Index l Next

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It takes a mob pt. 7

Previous

First

Ao3

Bill thought the kid’s first introduction went pretty well all things considered.

“Well aren’t you a littl’ dumpling? Yes, yes you are. Oh you’re going to be so distracting! I need to call in Gabe. Bill! Who’s his mother? Why is he here!?”

With a grunt he placed another bag on the rack,

“Why do you assume it’s mine?!”

“Well, he ain’t Marv’s, that’s dam for sure! And he better not be Kenny’s! I taught him better than that and I am too dam young to be a Great-granny!”

Bill smacked a snickering Marv as he exited the pantry.

Me-mah was gently swaying to an invisible beat as she worked around the baby on her hip. Danny giggled as he watched the old woman make a roux. Earning himself a peck on the head.

Contrary to what she claimed, Me-mah wasn’t hindered in the slightest, she may have been twirling around but she still held the kitchen with the same iron grip.

Even if said grip was one arm less than usual.

Bill sighed as wiped his brow,

“It ain’t like that Me-mah..”

“Oh did a saucy littl’ minx run out on you? Do in need my boomstick?”

“No No! Ain’t like that! No need for the stick!”

The lady huffed as she went to check on the stock.

“So, then what’s it like? Information is important sonny!”

Marv joined Bill on a stool before butting in,

“There ain’t a lot of information to go around mad’m.”

“Oh?”

Me-mah shifted Danny onto her other hip as she turned,

“How’s that?”

The two men shared an awkward glance as Marv continued on,

“Me-Mah I-, there’s really no easy way to put this. You see-“

“We found him in a garage can.”

Bill decided to take over,

“Had nothing on him but crusty cape.”

Me-mah stopped swaying, much to the displeasure of Danny, and with a gentle ease switched the heat to low.

“Me-mah?”

“Bill, do you mind taking back your son now?”

Bill hesitated for a second,

“He’s not really- “

“Now. William.”

Bill took back the kid.

With a deep breath Me-mah reached under her table,

“Woah Me-mah! There wasn’t shit in the alley way!”

Marv stated as he raised his hands in placating manner,

“They were long gone by the time we walked by and that was hours ago-“

“I’m well aware Marven.”

The lady loaded the auto shotgun in a precise manner,

“Like how I’m well ware I am not a bat. That being said-.”

She cocked the gun,

“If I do not work my frustrations out somewhere then I can’t exactly put my all into the cooking. The soup can simmer.The gun range will do.”

~~~~~~~~~

Ken made his way over to the other guys as they once again wrapped Danny back up in the corner. Marv stood in front of Bill, blocking sight.

“So how was every thing in the kitchen?”

“THAT GODDAM MOTHER FUCKIN’ FLOOZY!!”

Several goons flinched as buckshot could be heard making target.

A quiet muttering of Jesus Christ.. being came from the closest goon to the trio.

“WE’VE BEEN WORKING THESE STREETS FOR TO GODDAM LONG FOR DAT!!”

Bang

“WE AND THE WAYNES”

Bang

“HAVE NOT POURED OUR SWEAT AND TEARS INTO POLISHING UP THIS HELL HOLE!”

The sound of a heavy knife meeting its mark joined the fray,

“TO HAVE SUCH SHIT HAPPEN AGAIN!”

Another shot,

“Jesus fuckin’ crisis, what the fuck did you two do?!”

Ken hissed,

“What did you expect us to do? Hide something from her?”

“When it makes her this angry? Yes!”

“How could we know that she would react this way to the kid’s backstory? Marv isn’t psychic last time I checked.”

Bill finally zipped up the coat and stepped into the open.

“WE GOT BOXES FOR THIS SHIT! INSULATED!”

Bang

“BOXES!”

Bang

“WITH ALARMS!”

One last shot rang out as the old woman finally lost steam. The only thing that could be be heard was her exhausted breaths as she hobbled out of the range.

“As... interesting as that was to hear.”

A voice piped up,

“I didn’t expect such a welcome back.”

Eyes turned up to the warehouse window as the boss made his entrance.

“Everything alright Me-mah?”

The cook let out an embarrassed huff before calling back

“Nothing I can’t handle sonny. Sorry about that.”

“No problem granny, but whoever was the two idiots helping tonight, I expect you in to be in my office with a good reason.”

Fist wave of hoodlums:

@reinluna,@confused-moose-child,@mimilikey,@emeraudesfateandfandoms, @dolfay, @boredomfarie, @aconitewolfsbane, @withoutcontxt, @onyxlightdragon, @satanicrutialspecialist, @phoenixdemonqueen, @vixen-uchiha, @skulld3mort-1fan, @bytheoldwillowtree, @illusionwolfwriter24r8, @thewondersoflebanon, @vipower001, @autumnwulf, @alice-hazelwood, @fisticuffsatapplebees, @f4nd0m-fun, @markus209, @latheevening226, @dolfay, @basilf1res, @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair, @skirter01, @bun-fish, @ascetic-orange, @thegatorsgoose, @sunflowershine03, @ladythugs, @firegirl108, @glitchedchaos, @rangerhorsetug, @mimilikey, @booberrylizard, @lehana37, @dragongoblet, @flamey-comet, @mandyne-1001, @starscreamlover, @moonfirearc, @bae-graphomaniac, @mewzaque, @wolfeyedwitch, @idfk-man10, @demon-cat-goes-woof, @undead-essence, @jaguarthecat,

[yarameijer]

What do you think is Tenma's and others' favourite food and drink?

Ooh, favorite foods! Okay so please bear with me, I’m not familiar with Japanese cuisine but I’ll give it a shot!

First, the first-years! Tsurugi has a sweet tooth, but he wouldn’t admit it even on pain of death and only Yuuichi knows because Tsurugi believes it’d take away from his reputation otherwise. He loves rice cakes, especially with fillings. He’s also a fan of dried beans covered with sugar.

Hikaru is also a major fan of sweets and is willing to try whatever's offered to him, but his absolute favorite is coffee jelly. He can sometimes be bribed with sweets if necessary. To finish up the sweet tooth trio, Aoi loves any type of cake, although she prefers milder tastes instead of super sweet. She and Hikaru go out to cafes to try out their menu and manage to drag Tsurugi along eventually, although he’ll pretend to come along just to humor them. These three are also the biggest fans of going to Tenma’s place, because Aki usually has some homemade baking ready.

Shinsuke really likes onigiri, it’s simple yet tasty, and easy to share with friends. No need for any fancy dishes for him! He’s also a fan of sweets, although not as bad as the three mentioned above, and he likes fruit-flavored soy milk.

Kariya likes takoyaki the most! It’s pretty easy to get, so he likes treating himself to it if he’s done well on a test or something, or if he’s just in the mood. Since he lives in an orphanage, food options are dependent on whatever gets prepared there, so while the food is good he doesn’t really have any input in dinner. Makes it extra nice to get takoyaki as a snack for himself!

If asked, Tenma’s favorite food is whatever Aki prepares because her cooking is amazing, but his favorite dish would be gōyā chanpurū, Okinawan stir fry. He’s loved it since he was young, and now that he lives in Tokyo, it reminds him of home. He also enjoys sweet snacks, particularly mitarashi dango and sata andagi (which is also from Okinawa, and he loves it for similar reasons).

Onto the second-years! Hamano loves sashimi (raw fish), but he doesn’t really have a preference for a specific type. He also likes taiyaki, fish-shaped cakes, not only because of the taste but also because they’re, well, in the shape of a fish. He and Hayami often get some if they're hanging out after school, most often with red bean paste or custard filling. Although Hayami likes taiyaki too, he prefers gyõza (Japanese dumplings). He’s also a pretty big tea fan, especially green tea, which he has in common with Shindou.

Speaking of - everyone knows Shindou is a rich kid. Influential, loaded family that goes to operas and pays for private tutoring outside of school and eats at a five star restaurant every other month. And yet, ironically, his absolute favorite food turns out to be homemade ramen from Rairaiken (after his friends have introduced him to it, of course). He likes to experiment with toppings and is delighted whenever he finds a new combination he enjoys.

Kirino’s favorite food is sushi, also because there’s such a wide variety of it, and he can pick whatever he feels like at that moment. Luckily for him, he’s best friends with rich kid Shindou, and whenever they hang out at his manor, the staff knows to prepare sushi. Kirino takes full advantage of this and claims it’s payment for dealing with Shindou’s soccer strategy ramblings. Just like Shindou and Hayami, he likes green tea, but he prefers royal milk tea.

Nishiki picked up a love for Italian cuisine during his time abroad. He loves ravioli (stuffed pasta) and he’s got a preference for ciabatta bread. He’s lucky enough not to be lactose intolerant like many other Japanese people, and he absolutely LOVED spending time in a country with countless cheese options, in which Japan is, unsurprisingly, lacking. He’s cooked for his friends a few times and it was a pretty big success.

Midori and Kurama, surprisingly enough, share their favorite food: kushiyaki, skewered and grilled foods. Midori loves grilled pork skewers, whereas Kurama’s favorite are grilled vegetable skewers. Midori likes other types as well, but Kurama’s a picky eater so he'll stick to his vegetables, thank you very much.

Akane can usually be found with various types of bread in her bento, the specific kind switching every day. It’s her favorite snack and she usually brings some to eat during afternoon practice. Her favorites are melonpan and anpan (filled with red bean paste). She brings enough for the entire team as a treat if they’ve won a particularly hard match. She also really loves bubble tea (her favorite is honeydew milk tea), and often drags Aoi and Midori along. Aoi’s favorite is matcha milk tea, and Midori’s is black milk tea.

Aoyama, as mentioned in the AR one-shot collection, is obsessed with noodles. His favorite is kitsune udon, but he likes switching it up so he also orders other dishes quite regularly. Ichino also appreciates udon and other noodle foods (he doesn’t really have a choice, being best friends with Aoyama), and he’s also a big fan of shaved ice.

Finally the third-years! They’ve actually got a pretty big thing in common there: they all prefer the company over the food, really. Sangoku, for example, doesn’t really have a favorite food. He loves cooking, and cooking for others, and he’s a fan of trying out new recipes, although he favors traditional Japanese meals. He originally taught himself how to cook because his mother is usually busy with work, but discovered a love for it and he likes seeing his friends enjoy his food. He does really enjoy a good cup of green tea, though, like Shindou and Hayami.

Next, Kurumada! If asked, he claims he likes going to yakiniku (grilled meat) restaurants with his friends most. He thinks it’s tasty, and he likes having multiple options for food and being able to just get whatever he’s in the mood for at the time. It’s only made better by the company, although inviting his team along has been known to end in chaos.

Amagi’s favorite food is katsudon, which he has in common with Mahoro. When they were kids, he, Mahoro and their childhood friend Kousaka Yukie would eat it as often as their parents would allow - that’s where his love for shared meals began, because it’s much more fun to eat together than alone.

…I may have gone a bit overboard with this. Whoops?

Hope you enjoyed!

[slavonicrhapsody]

I'm still trying to take in these complicated words like Praetor and Inquisition

I don't know all the words in English or other languages so sometimes there are old words I don't know

But Praetor is like a high ranked official in an Inquisition that's like a controlling government/organisation that would eliminate anything that threaten its ideals or its authority correct? The ideals,the power they enforce is a set of rules they created right?

I think I heard a few things about Rykard killing heretics before he became Snakey Ryck and from what I know,an Inquisition hates heretics so that might've been his job too,including various other tasks

Honestly you would be fucked too if killing people is a job you do

In real life, “praetor” was a magisterial title granted by the government of Ancient Rome. The main functions of a praetor were administration of civil law, military command, judges in courts of law, and the governing of provinces. From Gideon, we learn that “Praetor Rykard is the Lord of the Volcano Manor on Mt. Gelmir. He is a ruthless justiciar who commands a company of inquisitors,” so in the Elden Ring universe, we can assume that the duties of a praetor involve enforcing law. Additionally, we are told Rykard led an Inquisition: in real life, historically, “the Inquisition” referred to institutions of the Catholic Church which were created to combat heresy and conduct trials of suspected heretics. So not only was Rykard responsible for enforcing law, but it was specifically religious law. And given the fact that Rykard is specifically referred to as a “traitor” by those affiliated with the Erdtree, we can safely assume that he served the Golden Order before betraying it. We can also find several golden tree banners in some of Volcano Manor’s abandoned cells, suggesting that the castle was at one point Erdtree-affiliated:

Exploring Volcano Manor, there can be little doubt as to what Rykard’s duties as Praetor involved. On the upper floor, we can be invaded by Inquisitor Ghiza, who wears the blue Official’s Attire: “Grubby blue robe worn by magisterial officials to carry out their grim tasks. Surveillance, executions, gruesome rituals... The darkest duties drive the wheels of mankind.” The inquisitors who worked under Rykard were responsible for many such “grim tasks:” Ghiza’s Wheel, as well as the Inquisitor’s Girandole, are explicitly identified as weapons of torture:

“Great iron wheel lined with flesh-flaying blades. Device of torture used by Inquisitor Ghiza.”

“Instrument of torture used on nobles behind the curtain at the Volcano Manor of Mt. Gelmir. Its numerous spikes pierce the flesh, then singe the wounds with flame. The smell of burnt blood induces despair in the victim. A candlestick conceived by a thorough mind.”

The more you poke around Volcano Manor, the more instruments of torture you’ll find in the background too, like this lovely spiked chair:

There’s also the whole existence of “Prison Town” in the first place — filled with cells and cages, it’s clear where the Inquisition housed its unfortunate prisoners. And speaking of unfortunate prisoners, the dungeons are packed full of Albinaurics stuck in various torture devices, including the “Black Dumpling:”

“Mask forced on a victim's head to lend torture an extra degree of cruelty. It magnifies one's fears and makes them acutely aware of all forms of pain. […] When the Black Dumpling goes on, the torturer no longer seeks answers; only to inflict suffering without hope of relief."

Anyway, Rykard’s previous occupation is what makes his character arc ironic; he was the guy who enforced law, but ended up betraying it. The main takeaway is that everything I’ve talked about here is Golden Order-sanctioned violence… Rykard was always committing horrific acts of violence, but the Golden Order actively encouraged this violence until Rykard dared to turn it against them instead.