#razor skates

[maybe-a-dinosaur]

iwaizumi hajime can skateboard. matsukawa issei cannot.

this is a point of contention between them bc issei thinks it fits his aesthetic and hajime is a “fuckin loser”. iwaizumi raises one slit eyebrow wearing torn double knee pants tattered nike dunks one elbow and one hand bleeding drops his godzilla board (with one yellow wheel) skates away. issei groans he has tried and failed spectacularly and is too lazy to really put energy into it but he’s still mad. tooru rides by on his bike no hands double-flips off matsukawa where is he going he doesn’t look back . issei can ride a scooter and that’s it unfuckingbelieveable he’ll have to make it a bit or something his ankles hurt already just thinking about it. hanamaki can roller skate it makes him taller and is faster than walking w minimal energy he skates backwards talking to issei while he’s walking looks down condescendingly. matsukawa doesn’t even wanna be the next tony hawk just wants to be able to ride his board to school or the store or whatever but noooo he so much as looks at a skateboard and trips. he settles for sitting at the skatepark with his mismatched socks watching hajime hoping he hits a rock and eats shit and wishing death upon tooru bc they are a package deal.

[kikimi34454]

-Razor

[nostalgiahime]

Toys & Gadgets from American Girl Magazine (2000) [✩]

[age-of-moonknight]

“Case Number: 004 ‘Who Is Victor Shade?’” Avengers Inc. (Vol. 1/2023), #4.

Writer: Al Ewing; Penciler and Inker: Leonard Kirk; Colorist: Alex Sinclair; Letterer: Cory Petit

[seimei-chsq]

very curious to know if figure skating fans are also fans of other sports, because i have never seen a fandom so attached to the ‘love all athletes’ agenda as this fanbase appears to be.

[zapsoda]

something funny is that for the last few months as ive come closer and closer to graduation the subject of my dreams have largely shifted from school-related and/or nightmares to. things that are actually almost pleasant or even preferable to my actual life.

[russzoran]

[water7-ebooks]

#10 for the musical ask! :)

THANK U

10. you have to get a lyric tattoo — which lyric is it?

so i have two joke answers and two Legitimate answers

jokey ones:

"hey you little piss baby, you think you're so fucking cool, huh?" — money machine by 100 gecs

Transcribed Jonathan Davis vocalizations from either Twist or Rotting In Vain or Freak On a Leash

and i need both of them in a ridiculously fancy font

genuine ones:

"I don't care where, just far" — Be Quiet and Drive by Deftones (i like them :) )

"Not your dog / Won't play dead/ Fuck the hand aim for the neck" — This Is Your Face On Dogs - Machine Girl

music qs here 🎵

[hutch-art]

Glide like a razor. Screenprint edition in my shop:

https://hutchart.bigcartel.com/product/glide-like-a-razor-1

[drunk-poets-society]

I used to own a skateboard when I was young but never used it much and then our old house got sold and everything in it was given away, including the skateboard. However, recently I’ve purchased a brand new skateboard and I thought I had lost the skill and zest but then the moment I got on it I felt like I was born for this and I’ve been practicing some stunts on it in the past few days and only fell once, but boy did that make me feel alive like nothing else.

[pin-k-ink]

bliss // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ so much fluff, does this count as pillow talk?, implied sexual content, nipple play, praise kink, marking

wc ⇢ 1.6k

The sheets tangled around your bare, sweat-slicked bodies as Sakusa pulled you fully against his chest with a rumbling sigh of pure satisfaction. His fingers traced idle patterns along the dips of your spine, lingering at the curve of your lower back to tug you even closer into his scorching embrace.

You hummed contentedly at the possessive caress, nosing against the hollow of his throat to revel in the lingering musk of his skin. Sakusa shuddered at the delicate brush of your lips there, tilting his head to offer more of that toned column for your tender worship.

"Again?" he husked out with just the barest hint of teasing gravel, calloused fingers skating over the swell of your hip in torturously light circuits.

You bit back a breathless laugh, skating one hand up the firm ridges of his abdomen until your palm settled over his thundering heartbeat. "Not yet...just want to enjoy this for a little while longer first."

Sakusa rumbled an affirmative against your hairline, lashes fluttering against your brow as his nose found the sweet spot behind your ear to lavish with unhurried attention. Each press of those full lips had molten tingles zinging down your nerve endings, body instinctively arching closer into his bulk with a helpless whine.

"That's it..." he purred in that sinful rasp that never failed to ignite your most primal longings. "Stay right here with me while I get my fill of this sweet skin, hmm?"

Punctuating his praise, Sakusa dragged open-mouthed kisses over the racing pulse at the base of your throat - laving and sucking until the tender skin there blossomed anew with fresh markings. You writhed weakly against him with a shuddering exhale of bliss at each branding caress.

When he finally lifted his mouth to prowl higher along your jawline, you chased his lush lips in a searing glide of satin-on-satin that punched twin moans from your lungs. Sakusa indulged your breathless ardor, cradling the back of your skull to angle the glide of his probing tongue deeper between your parted lips.

The luxurious slide of his calloused palms roaming the fever-hot expanses of your back drew forth an endless litany of appreciative shivers. Everywhere his skin brushed yours seemed to erupt in tingling ribbons of flame - an electric caress that seared down to your marrow and ignited renewed smoldering in the cradle of your hips.

"Kiyoomi..." you finally exhaled in a throaty rasp when he allowed you to surface for air again. "Want you...all over again..."

Sakusa growled low in his chest at your wanton plea, hands flexing against the dips of your waist and lower back in restless possession. Then he was pivoting the two of you in one fluid motion, hooking your thighs over his hips and rolling until you were draped fully over his powerful, trembling frame.

"Then take me," he husked out in challenge, gaze burning into yours with all the intensity of a supernova as his thick cock nudged against your molten center. "Take everything you need from me, kitten...nice and slow this time so I can savor you thoroughly..."

Your broken whimper dissolved into his rapturous mouth as he slipped himself back inside you in a frenzied union once more. Hands roamed, teeth grazed and tongues tangled in an electrified danse sensuelle that built the taut cords of tension between your twined forms to exquisite new precipices.

All in glorious, unhurried increments teetering on the razor's edge of blissful ruin - you and Sakusa savoring every nuance, every quaking gasp and slick caress as the flames built inexorably higher once more.

Only when you both hovered at the brink of that euphoric plunge did Sakusa halt the deliciously measured slide of his hips against yours with a snarl. Chest heaving in shallow gasps, he slanted that sinful mouth over your parted gasps to steal in deep, indulgent draughts of breath and velvet adulation alike between frantic praises.

"So perfect...fuck, you're so fucking perfect taking me like this..." His calloused grip anchored you in place with bruising possession as he crested the summit once more. "I swear I'll never get enough of you in this life...never want to leave you, this heaven you give me over and over--"

He pitched over the edge into incandescent rapture with a hoarse shout and searing glide of his tongue against yours. You wailed out your own climax in helpless surrender, entire universe narrowing to the perfect, transcendent union of your bodies conjoined once more at long, blissful last.

Sakusa's chest heaved in the aftermath as you lay draped over his sweat-slicked torso, both of you utterly spent yet thrumming with lingering aftershocks. His fingers traced idle patterns over the dips of your spine as you began to exchange shallow, dazed breaths against the fevered column of his throat once more.

"Easy there, kitten," he rasped out in that smoky rasp stained with undertones of pure masculine satisfaction. "We've got all night for more of that..."

You hummed hazily in response, nuzzling your cheek against the thundering cadence of his heartbeat while allowing your trembling limbs to fully liquify against Sakusa's anchoring bulk. This was your favorite part after the maddening crescendos - when the world blurred away into warm, intimate haze and you were wrapped in nothing but him.

Slowly, Sakusa shifted until you lay nestled between his parted thighs, cradled in the vee of powerful muscle and sinew that cocooned you so deliciously. You sighed out a sound of pure, untrammeled bliss as he peppered the crown of your head with indulgent, bruising kisses between murmured praises.

"Feel so damn good pressed all over me like this," he rumbled in tones gone husky with fresh yearning. "Having you spread out over every inch, taking me so goddamn perfectly again and again..."

You preened unabashedly at the graveled words, nuzzling a blazing path down over his sternum until your velvet nipples grazed that ridged expanse of muscle. Sakusa hissed out a breath at the teasing contact, large palms skating up your sides to palm at the generous swells possessively.

"Just can't resist getting my mouth back on these," he husked lecherously, guiding one lush mound up to lave at the hypersensitive nipple with artful swipes of his tongue.

An involuntary whine pitched up from your chest at the delicious suction of those plump lips around the tender peak. Sakusa smirked against your skin before setting an indolent rhythm of wet heat and silken nips that had you writhing helplessly atop him in no time.

"Kiyoomi..." you breathed out in a slurred, half-wrecked rasp. "Please don't stop, I need..."

His laughter rumbled deep in his chest and a fresh torrent of arousal simmered in your belly at the vibrations. "Don't worry, baby...I'm not going anywhere."

True to his word, Sakusa lavished your breasts with leisurely intensity - alternating between deep pulls designed to have your spine bowing off the mattress in bliss and featherlight patterns his velvet tongue traced over each tingling contour. You clung to him in rapture during those sublime moments, utterly hypnotized by the artful play of shadows over the chiseled hollows of his collarbones and throat with each dip and glide.

Only when you began quaking in overstimulated desperation did Sakusa lift his mouth, red and swollen and utterly wrecked. The blazing glint in those blown whiskey eyes promised infinitely more carnal indulgence still to come as he gazed up at you in reverence.

"Hi," he rasped simply, sounding utterly spellbound as one big hand cradled your jaw.

You blinked dazedly, lips parting on an airy exhale at the scorching heat simmering beneath his fingertips and smoldering stare. "Hey yourself."

That scorching mouth curved into a pleased smirk before Sakusa hauled you down into a languid, toe-curling kiss. You melted against him helplessly, surrendering to the luxurious slide of his talented tongue and the rough drag of calluses scoring over every inch of exposed, sweat-slick skin.

His taste and scent and solid presence wrapped around you so deliriously that you very nearly lost yourself to mindless worship all over again. It was only when the urgent need for oxygen finally reasserted itself that Sakusa allowed you to break away, both panting harshly into the scant distance separating your bodies.

"Talk to me a little," he murmured in that wrecked rasp, glassy gaze skating over every tremor you couldn't repress. "Want to hear that breathy little voice telling me all about how this incredible body feels pressed against me..."

The blatant, unguarded yearning in his words punched a needy keen from deep in your chest. You nodded mutely, suddenly desperate to indulge the intimacy of what he craved - to offer your entire being as the tether keeping him anchored in this sublime rapture for as long as possible.

So you did, painting him in vivid whispers and broken gasps while he lavished your forms in tender possession. Hazy, half-formed praises and confessions spilled forth heedlessly with each sinuous glide of his calloused palms, each burning caress of his mouth against your sweat-slick skin. Sakusa drank you down with hooded, rapt focus, lips curving in quiet bliss as your voices braided together through the still twilight.

He nosed along your throat and hairline languidly - placing searing, open-mouthed kisses every few inches as you threaded your fingers through his tousled strands. Eventually his ministrations slowed to little more than sated breaths feathering against your pulse in between bouts of drowsy nuzzling.

And as his eyelids finally drooped in hard-won release, Sakusa mumbled those three small words you never tired of hearing against your fevered skin - the simplest yet most fervent vow ever offered.

"My home...my heaven..."

[revasserium]

hiii, can I still request a drabble? if yes, I want to ask for prompt 1, vocabulary list: stay with rafayel. bcs I think this boy is definitely a tsundere, will do and say literally anything but the truth that he wants you to stay with him. clingy rafayel is just so cute! thank you, I love your writings by the way ✨

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

24. vocabulary list: stay

rafayel; 2,073 words; fluff, fem!reader, pining, slight!spoilers, no "y/n", teeth rotting fluff

summary: 5 times rafayel asks you to stay + 1 time you do instead

a/n: it's just cuteness u__u

001.

“Stay.”

You are both children, and the summer sea is lapping at your feet. Sand squeezes between your toes and shells glitter like diamonds scattered across your stretch of secret beach. Rafayel’s pinky is hooked through yours. You laugh a laugh that sounds like heartbreak, even though Rafayel is too young to know what heartbreak means —

He wonders, later, if creatures of the sea are both with heartbreak in their bones — because what is heartbreak if not the sea? With the way it sings to an endless sky, the way it cups the world in its palm, the way it loves so helplessly — the beach, the seafarers, the rain — only for its loves to sink into its depths and never rise again.

“I can’t — you know I can’t!” you’re still laughing, digging your toes into the sand, as if this were all just a game.

Rafayel huffs, “I don’t! I don’t know!” and he knows he’s being petulant, being childish. But he figures he still is a child, by the measure of the sea, so he should be allowed at least this.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” you say, you promise, so carelessly, as humans are wont to do.

Rafayel bites his lips, and a part of him knows that you won’t be. Still, he forces a smile, a sigh, and nods.

“Okay then… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

002.

“Stay…” he’s drunk. He can taste it in the weight of the humid air on his tongue. It’s late — the summer moon hanging huge and turgid on the horizon. Even the tide is lazy as it sloshes against the long stretch of shore just outside his window, weighed down by the summertime dreams of long lost loves, the shrapnel bits of broken promises.

You sigh as you look down at him, your eyes bright in the dim lighting of his giant studio.

“I really should be getting back…” you glance at the large clock on the wall, but your eyes flicker back towards him and Rafayel seizes on the chance, pushing himself up and tugging at your sleeve.

“You told me you’d come back and now… you’re leaving again…” he knows he sounds like a petulant child but he feels like a petulant child, the half-bottle of champagne dulling his senses and muffling his usually razor sharp wit.

“I —” a frown creases your forehead as you crouch down beside him, looking over his face, “I said I’d… come back?”

Rafayel sighs again, letting his eyes fall shut, “You don’t even remember…”

He feels the cool of your palm against his cheek and fights down the urge to moan and lean in closer, to press you to him.

“You must really be drunk, huh…” your voice is soft and helpless, but he can hear the hint of your resigned laughter. A moment later, he feels the couch dip as you sit back down, tugging his head into your lap as you run an absent hand through his disheveled hair.

He shakes his head, “Not drunk…”

“Shh… just sleep, okay?” you murmur, pressing your hand to his forehead and smoothing out the tiny frown threatening to crease his brows.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

Your laughter is soft, and maybe even a little sad as you caress his cheek.

“Maybe.”

003.

“Stay… still.” Rafayel has both your wrists pinned above your head, his eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. You tug at this grip, cheeks flushed as you glare up at him.

“Stop! It’s fine —!”

“It is not fine,” he bites out as he reaches down to tug up your shirt. You squirm beneath him, your skin burning hot as his eyes skate down the length of your torso to catch on your lower abdomen, where you can feel the wound you’d gotten during your latest mission splitting open, oozing a steady stream of warm blood onto your freshly laundered sheets.

“This — you —” his eyes are wide as he looks up at you before his gaze is drawn back down. A look of horror seeps into his face as he lets go of your wrists.

“I’m — it’s okay — I’m okay…” you say, wincing as you push yourself into a half-sitting position, him still half-hovering over you with an expression caught between anger, terror, and confusion. You sigh, looking down at the large, rather ungainly gash on your lower abdomen.

It’d hurt like hell, sure, but now, it’s mostly faded to a dull throbbing and the occasional zing of pain that shoots up your spine. Vaguely, you wonder how many stitches it’ll have to be this time.

“Y-you’re…” Rafayel sounds distraught, and even though he glares at you again, you can hear the tremor in his voice.

“I just need some sleep… and tomorrow, I’ll go get it checked out.”

Rafayel slumps sideways onto the bed next to you, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“If you want,” you lay back against your pillow, shifting gingerly so as not to agitate the wound even more.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom — but —”

You can only sigh as Rafayel makes his way to the bathroom and comes back a moment later with the first aid kit and a determined frown.

“Now really — stay still.

004.

“Stay close…” Rafayel’s voice is sweet and warm by your ear.

You bite down a rack of shivers a second before he pulls away, laughing at something someone is saying. The bright lights of the exhibition are a bit overwhelming but you’d promised to show up, and so you had.

The dress you’re wearing is a bit tight, but you hitch a smile to your face as a wealthy art collector smarms at Rafayel, waxing poetic about canvases and colors and the sea. You watch with a muted amusement as Rafayel charms the man into a purchase, and then, as soon as he’s got the signed check, sends the babbling socialite on his way before turning back towards you with a soft shudder.

“I think that’s enough networking for one night.”

You blink, blustering as he tugs you off to one side, grabbing two more glasses of champagne as he goes.

“Wh — but — what about the other buyers?”

Rafayel rolls his eyes, “I really only need to make one or two big sales a year, and then the rest —” he flaps his wrist with a painful, marked nonchalance, “that’s all just for clout, anyway.”

You heave a deep sigh, swallowing down a laugh as Rafayel sips at his drink.

“Shouldn’t you at least try to appease some of the other attendees?” you ask, looking around at the various glitterati of Linkon society.

“Nope!” Rafayel sounds too pleased as he grins at you, reaching out to clink his glass against yours, “I don’t really care what most of them think, anyway.”

“Most? So… you do care what some of them think?” you probe, curious now as to who’s opinion Rafayel might put above his own.

Instead, he leans in, pressing in so close that you feel his hot breath against the lobe of your ear, feel the weight of his words ricocheting down your spine —

“No… just the one.” He pulls back and your heart stutters in your chest.

“And… who might that be?” you ask, your voice breathy and thready and just a tiny bit jealous.

Rafayel’s smirk pulls wide, “Oh… a certain Hunter with a mean streak and a weird obsession with claw-machine plushies.

005.

“Stay with me… please…” his voice is hoarse with want, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallow the midnight magic of his eyes.

“Rafayel, you’re burning up!” you press your palm to his forehead and frown, your other hand wrapped around his wrist, his pulse fluttering beneath your grip.

“D-don’t worry — it’s just — it happens ever year —”

“Still! We should go see a doctor —!”

“No! No — no doctors…” his voice is harsh and he pulls you back towards him with such force that the wind is knocked clean from your lungs as you sprawl against his chest, held there by the weight of his arms and the aftershocks of surprise still coursing through you. Vaguely, you note that he’s much stronger than he’s ever let on — less vaguely, you note that his thumbs as pressing into the bare skin of your side as he bites his lips and looks anywhere but at your face.

“Rafayel? Are… are you okay?”

“It’s — I’m fine —” he lets out another ragged breath and you know implicitly that he’s lying.

“You’re not fine — I’m going to grab some ice — o-oh!” you topple backwards as he pulls you back, strong arms encircling your middle as you try too get up and make for the kitchen.

“R-Rafayel?”

He lets out a long breath as he hooks his chin over your shoulder; in your periphery, you can see the dark blush blooming across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, can feel the heat seeping through his thin shirt and yours to your skin. You can smell slightly salty sweetness of his skin as he holds you to him, his eyes closed, lashes almost damnably long in the moonlight as he tugs you back and slumps against the couch.

“I don’t need anything else but you… so… can you just… stay?”

His voice is soft, almost pleading.

You swallow; you nod; you sink into his embrace, wondering briefly if you’d felt something similar to this before. Or perhaps you’d made a promise like this, once upon a time. But the moon is soft and low and heavy on the horizon, and the sea outside is sweet as it shushes against the long stretch of beach, the water casting a myriad of dancing starlight scattering across Rafayel’s studio ceiling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, leaning back into his embrace.

“Good…” he says, nosing into the soft spot between your neck and shoulders; you shudder as his lips brush against the sensitive skin there, “good,” he says once again before leaning down to press a longing kiss to your shoulder.

006.

“Stay…” you peer blearily up at him through the haze of sleep, all your limbs feeling both heavy and weightless all at once. The events of the night prior flashes behind your eyes and you flush hot at the memory.

Rafayel lets out a soft chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“Hm?” you make an uncomprehending noise, frowning slightly as he leans in to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand, still sitting up, the soft white sheets pooling around his middle, the morning sun casting him in a halo of silver and gold.

“Nothing. I’m just gonna go grab some breakfast — I’ll be right back.”

Still, you pout, digging your fingers into his wrist as you shake your head and whine.

“Don’t… don’t leave.”

Rafayel lets out a soft sigh, laughing as he leans back down to kiss your bare shoulder.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen… I won’t go any further than that — I promise, okay?”

You loosen your grip ever so slightly, “Can your promises be trusted?”

He tuts, gently tugging his arm free, “Of course they can — I found you again, didn’t I?”

You hum, burying your face back into the soft linen cover of the pillow as Rafayel gets up to prep breakfast.

He returns less than ten minutes later with a silver tray and a helpless smile as he looks down at your slumbering form, before he leans down to press his lips to yours, curling his fingers into the baby hairs at the nape of your neck and shimmying back under the blankets with you.

He loops his arms around you and smiles to himself as you burrow deeper into his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“Stupid girl… as if I could ever, ever leave you again.”

[biancml]

Overrides List | Part Two

In this list I will share some default replacements (overrides) that I found recently! You can find the Part 01 here.

Domestic & Selfcare

razor

towels

robot vacuum

pile of laundry

folded laundry

cleaning sponge

makeup and stuff 1 & 2

colorful umbrellas or cute umbrellas

Activity

phone

roller rink

ice skates 1 or ice skates 2

boxer gloves

child drawings

game controller

university homework

Food

pizza oven

sippy cup

soda can

coffee mug

water glass

campus starbucks

high school cafeteria

placemats 1, 2 or 3

giraffe pacifier, 2, 3, 4 or 5

food retexture 1, 2 & 3

cutlery cottage, pink, blue or realistic

Horse

bottle

stirrups

smaller eyes

brush and tool

horse hay 1 or 2

horse eye 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5

World

moon

clouds 1 & 2

san myshuno billboard

others

Infant

rug white, aesthetic, comfy, fluffy, b&p, stars, bunny, animals, cute, boho or no rug

prop pastel, floral, colorful or basic

bath heart, cute, moon, realistic or historical

[xixovart]

lost trio headcanons because theyre my mini fixation for the day

for starters i’d like to remind you that the first time jason felt like a person and not a soldier was when he was with leo and piper

ok now actual headcsnons

jason’s hair grew out after a bit and ended up covering the scar (“undercut”) he has on the side of his head from that one bullet. leo likes to surprise people by putting jason’s hair up bc its funny to see their reactions

l: “and look—secret undercut!!”

j: “it’s not an undercut leo, it’s a scar”

p: “the bullet didn’t even touch your skin drama queen”

j: “might’ve. my head could’ve exploded and—“

[groaning and arguing and leo laughing]

—canon convo guys rick told me

leo knows a lot of car games which is very beneficial for long days on the argo ii

piper always has a lollipop in her mouth and no one knows where they come from

leo comes up with the oddest nicknames and piper and jason are just. so used to it? jason could be talking to like reyna or smth and leo will come up to him and say

l: “oh hey jason gracer razor blazer”

j: “hi leo”

r: “what the fuck”

leo is really bad at picking up social clues so jason does it for him

the wildnerness school had a really early curfew that piper and leo blatantly ignored

they would stay out and wander the halls and hide in classrooms whenever a teacher was nearby

leo was poor and homeless, jason was raised with no regards to currency, spending, or finances, and piper is a nepo baby. the ultimate trio dynamic. arguing for hours about whether $50 is a lot or not (it is.)

leo shares food as a love language

jason loves video games, surprisingly enough (mario kart. MARIO KART.)

piper is constantly taking leo’s and jason’s stuff. hair ties, jewelry, mostly clothes, also mostly food, leo’s homework,

the trio has a movie marathon every friday night. there’s blanket forts, gummy worms, matching pjs, and fairy lights involved. they borrow rachel’s cave, since cabin 1 is too depressing and the aphrodite and hephaestus cabins are way too packed (sometimes rachel hangs around for a bit :D)

picture me this. it’s winter, the lake is frozen over. they somehow find ice skates. utter chaos. leo fancies himself a figure skater, jason is on all fours because he keeps falling, and piper actually did figure skating as a kid

GUYS GUYS THE TRIO GOING ON A QUEST AND HAVING TO HIJACK AN UPPER-CLASS PARTY/GATHERING IM LOSING MY SHIT IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES

im gonna have to draw this but like

piper giving them very strict instructions on what to do and what not to do (they end up forgetting half of it)

yk that one quote from new girl?

“where are you piper?? this place is fancy and i don’t know which fork to kms with”

that’s leo

jason just hanging around quietly and not engaging in conversation and keeping everyone under close radar like the little fucking wolf he is

everyone ends up thinking he’s a bodyguard

the trio just goes along with it

YH THATS IT I HAVE MORE I THINK BUT THIS IS GETTING WAY TOO LONG SOOO BYE LOSERS GOODNIGHT AND DONR FORGET RO SLEEP EAT AND DRINK WATER (you hear that, @kindred-spirit-93? water. not pink milk. water./j)

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Dream gets absolutely fucked by a piece of metal

Notes: ~800 words

Warnings/Tags: None, have fun with this dumb fic, he doesn't get tetanus, queued post

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

“You humans are so attached to objects,” Dream commented when he comes into the mess that is your garage. 

You barely jump, having long since gotten used to his impromptu visits. You’re in your messy gym clothes from high school, the t-shirt full of holes, and the sandals that have walked through Hell and Earth with. In the garage, you’re surrounded by the things of your childhood and two large boxes simply labeled “Donate” and “Keep”

“It is trash, but it’s sentimental trash!” You defended as you held a broken Skip-It in your dirty hands. You throw the plastic toy into an unknown corner you have now labeled “Trash”

Dream is content with himself as he watches you dig around and sort your things. He watches as colorful toys of your childhood get stacked in the “donate” box. 

“Holy crap, I forgot about these,” You smile, holding the ziplock bag of endless amounts of Silly Bandz. 

You walk over to Dream, opening the bag, and ignoring the few strands that managed to escape. You pick out a few that you thought suited Dream: a red flower, a silver crown, a blue castle, and a black bird. 

“Gimme,” You ask while looking at his arm. 

Dream holds out his hand to which you stretch the rubber around his wrist before letting go and letting the bracelets snap to the shape of his wrist. 

“It’s useless,” He commented. 

You simply rolled your eyes as you tossed the rest of the bracelets into the “donate” box. “You had to be there to get it.” You blurbed out and began to dig around once again. 

“I was trapped during the time.” Dream stated. Still, he looks at the bracelets on his wrists, snapping at one of them against his skin. 

“Right… I forgot about that,” You turn around to him apologizing to which he merely brushed off. 

The day continues as you go down a nostalgic journey of toys from your childhood. Your parent’s house required a good cleaning, but who knew you would have your heartstrings tugged at as you held onto the American Girl Dolls that your mom still kept for you. 

They went into the “keep” box.

“They hold more significance than the others,” Dream comments as he notices you carefully brushing back the hairs on one of the dolls. 

“Yeah, I used to tell them about my day while I brushed their hair when I was little. I think they know more of my secrets than anyone else in the universe,” You confessed. 

“I see.”

You continued in your sorting, stopping once to place with a noise tub for a few minutes, and then stopped again as you brought forth a metal Razor scooter. 

“Oh… my God,” You squealed, holding onto the scooter as you walked out of the garage into the summer sun. 

You readjusted the length of the handle before you started pushing yourself around on the scooter, feeling the wind blow against your hair and clothes.

Noticing Dream watching you, you decided to show off. “Watch this,” You smiled as you jumped while skating around and with a flick of your wrist, the deck swung under and around the bar before you landed on it once again. 

You skated back over to Dream, who, if you squinted hard enough, had a small look of impression on his face. 

“You try it,” You giggled, handing him the scooter. “Bet you can’t.” 

Never one to back down from a challenge, he took to the scooter. The metal where your sweaty hands had gripped is still warm as he takes over. He mimicked what you did, skating to the middle of the driveway. He jumped, he flicked his wrist, and then…

You winced, covering your eyes with your hands. You watched between your fingers as the deck of the scooter hit him straight in the ankles. You feel his pain, having felt it many times back in the day. 

Morpheus writhes as the pain shoots through him. You’ve never seen him cuss before, but you think he’s on the brink of it as the pain starts to make him spasm. 

He goes from human to a flopping fish, to a cat, to a cabbage head, to a roaring sea-faring monster, and back to human again. Each time, the Silly Bandz still wrapped around some portion of him 

You’ve since run to his side. “Are you okay?” You asked, the laugh in the back of your throat was sorely hidden as you watched the Endless lay motionless in the middle of your driveway. 

“No.” 

“Yeah, fair enough. Let’s get you some ice,” You laughed. 

While you’re gone, Dream throws the scooter into the “Donate” box with a glare.

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