#source: some old classmates of mine

[magicandmundane]

Viren: What do you think is the greatest threat to our society right now?

Soren: You. 

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part four

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is your reminder to reblog and comment on fics you like!! it helps us writers out a TON the girlies who get it get it. thanks!!

series masterlist // playlist

"I just have to ask you a few questions... is that okay?" Coriolanus asks, sitting across from you at the small table you find yourself chained to.

"Please." You nod, grinning at him. You were so tired, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough of that. Screw getting you food- Coryo is worried if you don't sleep you'll be all but useless in the games, even if all he needs you to do is run and hide.

"It's just so people can get to know you a bit better. Okay, so..." He looks down at the sheet in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table as he tries to focus on reading. "First, nice and easy, what is your full name?"

"Y/N M/N L/N."

"Great... Okay, and where are you from?"

"District Twelve, born and raised."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next week." You smile.

"Oh, really?" He asks, pausing mid-sentence as he starts writing it down.

"Yeah." You smile. "Hopefully I'll live to see the day."

"You will." He tries to be reassuring as he scribbles the finished answer on his sheet. God, you got unlucky. Not that his eighteenth was a big celebration like some of his classmates, but Tigris made him a cake with ingredients she'd been saving up for and she refit his school uniform for him. You wouldn't even have that- you would be spending the day fighting for your life, if you even made it that long.

"And who is in your family unit?" He reads directly from the slip as he forces himself to move on.

"Well, there's me, my brother, he's fifteen, and then my ma and pa." You nod. "Well, my pa isn't home much. Lots of work in the mines; usually has sixteen-hour days. I hardly ever see him." You admit, sadness laced into your tone. "Saw him, I mean."

"My father died in Twelve." Coryo says, catching you off guard. He doesn't even fully understand why he felt the need to tell you this. "About ten years ago, it was rebels."

"I remember that." You reply quietly, recalling the lockdown placed on the District after the murder of a peacekeeper general. "He was the general. Crassus Snow, I assume?"

"Yes."

Everyone was forced into their homes at gunpoint, and in search of the responsible parties everyone you knew had their home destroyed by peacekeepers. Yourself included. Your bed was torn apart, and your mattress shredded for any hidden weapons or plans. Since then, you have shared a bed with your brother. A new mattress was hard to make, and your ma never got the free time or materials again.

Up until this week, that was the scariest day of your life. Just before the peacekeepers kicked in your door, your mother had grabbed the two of you and shoved you into an opening under the floorboards- a crawlspace made from a faulty foundation. You were in there for what felt like hours, listening to shouting and your home being ruined as you held onto each other with a hand pressed over your brother's mouth to keep him from crying too loud. Your mother's cries that day never seemed to end.

"It's a small world." You say after a solid few moments of silence, and Coryo can see it in the way you're staring at his paper that you're not reading it. You're zoned out completely. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary."

"The war was hard on all of us." He responds. "What... what do you remember?" He had never heard anything about it besides the bare bones of what happened, he had never considered that the people of Twelve would remember it as well. And judging by the look on your face, it wasn't a good memory.

"I was about six, maybe seven, and I was playing with my brother, and I didn't hear anything but my ma must have because she grabbed us and hid us under the floorboards so fast I could have got whiplash. Peacekeepers came into our home, tore the whole thing to shreds, hurt my ma, then took off. Onto the next house. I didn't find out until a while later that rebels killed the peacekeeper general, they were looking for any evidence of conspiracy, I guess. The people who did it."

"Sounds like it was scarier for you than for me."

"But I want you to know," You speak so quickly you almost cut him off. "My parents had nothing to do with it. My pa is an honest, good man. All he ever wanted was to keep us safe. We're not rebels, I promise you that."

Coriolanus almost wishes you were, so he wouldn't be so hurt by what his people were putting you through. "I know. I wouldn't blame you for that."

"Thank you." You whisper, picking at your nails now as you look down at your shaky hands.

Coryo clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from you. "Uh..." He chuckles at the next question, making you look up at him again. "Are you married?"

"No." You reply, having almost completely forgotten about the worksheet in front of him. "I'm not."

"It's just... I just, I have to ask." He says, clearing his throat as he writes it down.

"Of course." You nod in understanding.

"Boyfriend?" He asks, and as you squint at the sheet you can see it's not there, and he quickly covers the next lines with his palm, cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes." You giggle as he snaps his head up to look at you.

"You do?" He asks, voice catching as his curls fall back onto his forehead from the sudden movement.

"Yes, what is so wrong in that?" You raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh.

"No, no, I mean, of course you do, you're beautiful, I just, you never mentioned-"

"Relax, Coriolanus. I'm kidding." You smile at the panic in his tone. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, right. Thanks, it's just for, yeah..." He mumbles, pretending to write something down behind his cupped hand so you couldn't see.

You shake your head at him while he's not paying attention, smiling to yourself.

"So, uh, do you have a job?"

"Not formally, but my ma is a seamstress. I help her lots with that. Fixing people's work clothes, stuff like that." You answer, getting back on topic.

"Did you make your dress?" He asks.

"Now I know that question's not on that form of yours." You laugh. "But yes, my ma made it for me when I was five. It's been my favourite ever since."

He looked the parts of it over that he could see above the table. It was well worn down, but well cared for. Similar to a lot of his own clothing.

"It used to be this big, flowing thing. Too big for a five year old- I would step on the bottom of it, just tore it right up." You recall. "So we trimmed the bottom, and as I grew, it grew right with me. I stitched up the bottom when I was old enough to enter the reaping, so now it's got shorts instead. But I still love it, lots of good memories held in the pockets of this old thing."

Shorts instead. So it's easier to run in. The thought haunts Coryo for a moment. The idea that you, at twelve years old, decided this is what you would want to run in, to die in, and took the liberty of sewing up the crotch in it yourself. Every stitch possibly sealing your fate.

"It's nice. I like it." He responds.

"Thank you." You smile, nodding proudly to yourself as you look down at the fabric. "It's real comfy, too."

"It looks it. Not very... restricting." He chooses his words wisely. No wonder you had kept it so many years. It still fit, so why not? Especially when it looked so good on you. The typically plain, neutral tone of the fabric complimented your skin tone so well. Even in bad lighting, it seemed as though you were glowing where the cloth met your skin. Glowing everywhere, now that he thought about it. Maybe you just lit up every room you walked into. Maybe it wasn't the clothing that was made just for you and hugged your form so flawlessly, maybe it was just you.

"Yes, it is not." You agree. "Now, our time is limited. Next question." You interrupt his thoughts, gesturing to the sheet of paper in between you.

"Yes, sorry." Coryo chuckles, shaking the distraction from his head. "Any hobbies?

"Reading."

"I did know that." He smiles to himself. "Anything else?"

"Well..." You think about it for a moment, chewing your lip. "I have a cat, and I like to play with him and take care of him, does that count?"

"I'll count it." He nods, quickly jotting it down. "What's your cat's name?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

"Tybalt." You giggle.

"Tybalt?" Coryo tilts his head at you and you nod, bottom lip drawn between your teeth.

He nods slightly, prompting you to explain. "He's named after a character from Romeo and Juliet."

"That's your favourite, I remember."

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives." You quote. "Mercutio calls Tybalt the king of the cats, so I named him after that."

"That's clever. Very funny."

"Thank you. I thought so." You smile proudly, watching him write down your cats name in his notes. "What is this for, if I can ask?"

"Uh, there's going to be an interview you'll have to do the night before the games. It'll be aired live on Capitol television, and people will be able to send in donations so I can send you things in the arena. Just like I told you." Coryo explains.

"An interview?" You ask. "What does that entail?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet." He answers honestly. "But we'll pass this sheet onto the host, Lucky, if you remember him, and he can ask you questions about your family, your life, any of this stuff. I think really whatever we want, though, so if there's anything in particular you want to say or talk about I can write that down for you."

"Oh, I'm really not sure." You reply. "Nothing in particular, but if you need me to talk I can talk about books for hours on end." You smile.

"Could you do a monologue?" He suggests. He had discussed this with Tigris before, and he was hoping you would, but knowing you, you would be dropping quotes in your interview anyway so you might as well commit to it and display how smart you are with something well-planned.

"Maybe, if you could find me a copy of Romeo and Juliet." You smile. "I think I know it, but it would be nice to have a refresher. Just to make sure I get it right. Would be awfully embarrassing if I made a mistake."

Coryo nods, quickly writing that down in the margins of the page. Considering he had never even heard of this book, it may be hard, but he would certainly try for you. "That would be great. Your goodbye was very moving, although quite confusing for most, but it had people talking about you and that's what we want."

"Okay. I'll practice."

"Thank you." Coryo smiles. "And I just have one more question on here to fill out... Do you have any special skills that you think will be helpful in the games?"

Your smile fades slightly and you just shake your head.

"That's okay. We'll figure it out."

That night, Coryo came to see you again. You were curled up with his blanket, draped half over yourself and half over Jessup as he lay next to you. It was a small blanket, obviously meant for a child, but it helped anyway. Maybe it was just a placebo, but for you, that was more than enough.

As you got up, hearing him call your name in a familiar tone, you draped the blanket more fully over Jessup before making your way over to the bars of the enclosure. "Good evening, Coryo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I brought you some things." He whispers, digging in his bag.

"How kind." You smile, watching as he pulls things out, handing you a napkin with some bread wrapped inside and tucking whatever else he brought under his arm to give to you after you've eaten. "Can you sit for a few minutes?"

"Of course." He nods, sitting down with you as you cross your legs and unfold the fabric carefully as not to drop what's inside. "I was hoping to talk to you anyway."

"Let's talk; it is not day." You smile, leaning toward him more.

"Should I be asking what that's from?" He jokes, but is surprised when you shrug.

"You could, but I wouldn't want to bore you." You giggle, shaking your head. "Take a guess, though. I believe you'd know it."

He smiles, watching as you take a bite out of the bread. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes." You nod in confirmation, covering your mouth while you speak. "You're a real fan, now, aren't you?"

"I guess so." He chuckles. "The fact that I've never read it is unimportant."

"Completely irrelevant." You agree with a quiet laugh. His smile fades as his eyes land on something behind you, and you turn to follow his gaze over your shoulder. "What are you looking at?" You whisper, looking back at him again.

"Are you sharing everything I bring you with Jessup?" He asks, voice stern as his brow furrows at the question.

"I try to." You nod, taking another bite. "He's not well. I think something bit him the first night we were here."

"You can't." Coryo insists. Of course, he wants you to win, and you handing over every bit of sustenance or help you receive is only lessening your odds. Making Jessup stronger and you only weaker. "I know you're a good person, but once you get in that arena you won't have any friends. Not even him." Coryo explains, strategically skipping over the part where it makes him ill to see you sleeping with your head on the boy's shoulder and sharing the blanket that he gifted to you.

"Oh..." You say, so quietly he can hardly hear. "But-"

"Y/N." He cuts you off, a serious look on his face. "If you keep feeding him, keep helping him, and it comes down to you and him in the end, who do you think will win in that fight? If you had all the same nutrients and sleep, who do you think will win?"

"I- well..." You stutter, looking back at your friend. "It won't come to that. I think we both know that."

"We have to assume it will." He pleads, eyes now locked on yours. "Don't make it easier for him."

"Coryo, he's got a family, siblings, his ma to get home to. They need him." You protest, leaning closer so no one else could properly hear.

"So do you." He reminds you. The look of guilt that crosses your face indicates to him that even though you had your own family, something about Jessup makes you willing to give that up for him to get home. "What about Tybalt? He'll never know what happened to his own mother. Or your brother losing his sister. Y/N, please..."

Your eyes widen at the mention of your cat and your brother in particular. Clearly, Coryo is so desperate for you to listen that he's pulling strings he shouldn't. To make you hurt. To make you pay attention.

Tears fill your eyes as you speak. "I know." Your voice cracks, and the pit in Coryo's stomach tells him he's gone too far. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't want to be afraid anymore. It's selfish of me, I know, but I won't last long and I know that so I just want to get it over with." You cry quietly, reaching up to wipe your eyes on your wrist. You hadn't been so candid with him before, he almost doesn't recognize you without a smile on your face.

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's not selfish." He whispers, without hesitation reaching through the bars and resting his hand on your knee. Your skin is cold to the touch, even for him after he had just walked all the way here in the same air. "But it'll be over soon, and I'll get you home. I'll do everything I can."

You sniff and nod, hesitating before placing your hand over his. "I promise I'll do my best in the interview. I want you to win your prize."

Coryo's mouth gets dry at the insinuation. You didn't think you could win, you won't even consider it even with all the encouragement he tries to feed you every day, but you want him to win. "That's not important." He says, shocking himself with the sentiment. The Plinth Prize is his only hope at a viable future, at saving his family. But right now, he doesn't even care.

You don't respond right away, just sliding your hand under his to hold it. His skin on yours feels warm, comforting, the same way it did when he held it when you were first dumped in the zoo. You don't know if it's more comforting to you or him.

"I'm sorry to cry at you, I just sometimes realize what's going to happen to me and spiral over the possibilities and no matter how hard I try to accept it..." You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "I'm still fearful." Your voice drops below a whisper.

"Then don't accept it." Coryo grasps your hand tighter, leaning closer to you and looking at you through the bars. "Fight. Try to win."

taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis, @innercreationflower, @nallasstuff, @spring-goddess1, @baybieruth, @lovelyxtom, @throughgoeshxmilton, @enwonie, @scorpiolystoned, @iovemoonyy, @kodzuvk, @soupasoup, @eedwardss, @thatmarvelchick19, @wearemadeofstardust0, @regulusblackcore, @kbakery , @qardasngan, @omgsuperstarg, @kuroosbby001, @puredreamagination,

if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[rallamajoop]

Chris Boulder-Punching Redfield and the Genius of the Karambit Knife

If you've played Chris' section of Resident Evil Village, you probably know that Chris' arsenal includes a karambit knife ‒ a way more effective weapon than the blunt POS knife poor Ethan's stuck with. You may even have picked up that the karambit is a real knife used in Indonesian and Filipino martial arts.

But I'm guessing most of you don't realise what a stroke of raw genius it was to give Chris, specifically, a karambit to wield.

Now, I'm no expert on knife-fighting, but up until it was canceled for covid-reasons, I used to take this eclectic martial arts class run by a jedi ninja stuntman mate of mine, and the karambit was his favourite knife. We only got to use it a couple of times (knifework wasn't generally our focus), but I'm at least qualified to tell you that in some respects, a karambit may actually be easier than a regular knife for someone with a bit of bare-hand combat experience to pick up.

Why? Well, get this: a lot of karambit moves are basically just punches, with a knife in your hand.

And if there's one thing Chris is known for (canonically, and possibly worldwide), it's punching things.

Sadly, I could not find any online resource to demonstrate this aspect of the karambit nearly as effectively as watching one of my classmates get really excited by how all these moves we were learning felt just like throwing a familiar old punch (something our instructor enthusiastically agreed with, FWIW). But here's a couple of videos which kinda touch on the subject at least.

(Have some sources for those other two pics while I'm at it too, though neither say anything much on the subject of knife-punching.)

Obviously, there's more to using a karambit like a pro than just 'hold knife do punch', but it's not like Chris uses it in any way that demonstrates that, so I think the point stands.

Now, is this why they gave Chris a karambit in RE8? I cannot say for sure. The whole "a great knife to punch people with!" aspect of the karambit isn't nearly so storied online as it deserves to be, and I can't speak to its overall reputation among pros.

But given that this is the same game that went out of its way to call Chris a boulder-punching asshole, and that reworked his whole move-set in Mercenaries mode to be no-blocks-all-punches, I'd certainly like to think there's a stuntman somewhere on Capcom's RE team whose eyes just lit up when asked what the perfect knife for Chris Redfield would be.

[maybetomoko]

Yuji Itadori (Jjk Official Fanbook)

“I have already decided how my life will end.”

Age: 15 years old

Birthday: 20 march 

Birth place: Miyagi 

Method of enrollment: scouting 

Technique: none 

Ability: divergent punch, he can use black lightning 

Hobby/Particular capacity: karaoke, watching the TV, imitations 

Favourite food: any kind of rice bowl with something on it, noodles 

Food he doesn't like: none 

Source of stress: scientific subjects (he failed molecular sciences)

His type: Jennifer Lawrence (tall girls with big butts)

Q: What is the originin of the his name? 

A: The surname comes from a medicinal herb, Reynoutria Japonica, while I took the name from a classmate of mine. I tried to make the names as realistic as possible. 

Q: His hair are dyed?

A: No, his hair are naturals. 

Q: Does he usually talk to Sukuna? 

A: I wouldn't say. The two of them don't get along at all.

Q: Seems that Sukuna talks frequently when he is alone. Can he sleep at night? 

A: Yes, he has no problem. Itadori can sleep comfortably also on the asphalt of the Tomei Expressway (which connects Tokyo to Nagoya).

Q: What would happen if Itadori, who has a strong resistance to curses, ate an cursed uterus Kusozu?

A: In the case that he ingested a Kusozu instead of Sukuna, the consciousness of the cursed womb would disappear and become evil energy inside of Itadori. If on the other hand, he ingested it now that he had already assimilated Sukuna, the Kusozu would be erased from the curse.

Q: Itadori practices martial arts? 

A: No, none in particular. He learned some karate from his grandfather. Even the "manji-geri" we see in volume 14 was merely the best move he could think of using at that time. 

Q: Which are the movies that Itadori saw during his training with Gojo?

A: I don’t remember well… I think was Léon, The Descent, The Host, Yuki yukite shingun. The film that Gojo anticipates is Deep Blue. 

Q: Is there something that Itadori can’t absolutely tolerate? 

A: A disgusting wickedness.

Q: Does Itadori have friends other than those at the Occult Arts Institute? Does he still in contact with his friends from middle school or his hometown? 

A: He had friends like everyone else but since he only started having a cell phone after he got to the institute, you can imagine how it continued. 

Q: Which type of job would make Itadori do if he had not become a sorcerer? 

A: He probably would have become a firefighter. 

Q: Does he have a favourite tv show or a preferred genre? 

A: I imagine him like a omnivore, one who leaves the TV on and he watches it continually. 

Q: Is he the type who always does homework for school is vacation homework? 

A: He is the type that does his homework the day before. Anyway, even if he does his homework at the last minute, he always turns it in. 

Q: What event in his hometown caused him to be called "the tiger of the Nishi School?"

A: I never thought about it. Maybe some students had tried to pick a fight with him thinking they would win and he beat them up, or he routed thugs to save someone and then people started talking. 

Q: If Itadori and Todo were not sorcerers but went to the same middle school, would they have become good friends? 

A: Yes, I think they would have both felt sympathy one way or another. 

Q: How did Itadori feel when Yuko Ozawa asked him to take a picture together at the graduation ceremony? 

A: “Ah, a photo, eh? Okay!”

Q: Itadori seems to have many hoodies. Is this a part of his character design that he particularly cares about? 

A: I wouldn't say, it is just that I am used to drawing him with a hood. 

Q: You once said that you don't like Itadori very much. Why choose as the main character a character with whom you have difficulty? 

A: It's not that I don't like him, it's just that I'm not good at handling him and I'm trying to improve in that respect. Incidentally, given the trend, I'm well on my way to giving him a bad end. 

(this translation is from italian to english, so there might be some grammatical mistakes (or maybe not). anyway i decided to start translating some pages of jjk's official fanbook because i love jjk and i would like to improve my english. you can reblog my translations no problem; it actually makes me happy to know that someone finds what i translate interesting. anyway if you decide to reblog, i would like you to use the hashtag i use, so: tomokotranslates or tomoko's translations or even both, as you prefer)

[averysexyleon]

Uhhh CAN YOU JUST ANSWER THEM ALL anyways I won't use much to give other of your followers to ask as well so. I tried to limit myself ROFL

😈✨🤗❌💖

you should have seen me squinting to figure out which emoji is which. i'm too old for this LOL

Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

In my fallout new vegas fic everybody wanted my courier and boone to bang, and it was kind of known they would end up together, but I just delayed it because I was TERRIFIED to write smut. everybody thought that I was being a troll, which maybe was a little true, because they had so many close spicy encounters before the smut. actually, the smut of that 200 chapter story was chapter 150 and i just named it "chapter 150" instead of giving it a nice name because of all of the hollering for smut LOL.

Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it.

uhhh. my compliment to me is, good job wet vacuuming the entire living room today including the stairs. it may have literally killed you and wasted a day but it's done. and my compliment to my writing is, holy shit, almost 9 months into the year and closing in on 150 chapters, well done!

What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

WRITE, FUCKING WRITE. don't matter if nobody sees it. this is a hobby for you. and find some friendly fic writers in your verse to talk to. it's less lonely that way. but it also might be lonely, writing in general is pretty lonely. but that doesn't mean don't do it. DO IT. STOP NOT WRITING. FUCKING WRITE.

What's a trope you will never write?

I don't know about tropes, but I can't ever write any kind of "toxic romance". If someone is abusive, they're abusive and I don't like it. I have moments in my romances where the characters' trauma comes through or they fight, but I have endured enough abuse and watched enough to not want to ever write it in any glorified way. people who write and enjoy VERY toxic/abusive relationships, you do you I guess, but I'll never enjoy it. I only mention this one because even though it used to be pretty rare, it seems like I see it more and more lately. I also see people take characters with ambiguous or questionable morals in the source material (like Karl) and just turn them into toxic disgusting villainous almost comically awful people and I....don't get it. I don't like Mia and never have, but I humanize her when I write her instead of making her a cartoon villain. maybe it's a maturity thing idk but I don't like it. thank you for coming to my TED talk on toxic relationships in fan writing.

What made you start writing?

reading a lot. when I was in school I was reading 3-5 NOVELS, NOVELS, a day. Turns out I have autism, but anyway, I started writing these little observation things about the classroom and my classmates thought they were hilarious and would ask for them at lunch. I realized that I had an affinity for writing, and that I liked the attention from having others read what I wrote (even if it was oddly vulnerable.) I also realized I had something to offer, because even though other classmates sometimes tried this it never really caught on the way mine did because idk, I'm a good storyteller and have the "it" factor when I write. I can say this confidently and also say confidently I have no other It factor and am a very disappointing person in every other way, so I have to write HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

[feline17ff]

I posted 3,859 times in 2022

My comments are in pink

That's 1,670 more posts than 2021!

161 posts created (4%)

3,698 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@creativemercinary

@the-lavender-creator

@managerie76

@broadwaytheanimatedseries

@hydepotions

*tips my hat* m'bloggers 🎩

I tagged 3,784 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#ever after high - 567 posts

#lol - 382 posts

#funny - 342 posts

#made me giggle - 240 posts

#my friends - 220 posts

#eah - 216 posts

#my asks - 169 posts

#writing prompts - 156 posts

#monster high - 149 posts

#incorrect quotes - 148 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and what does the first passage say about maddie? how can she *not* know she's a character in a book? (she can hear the narrator after all)

I wonder if the tags and links are working for me to find this post

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sparrow: Babygirl, I know video game lore you wouldn't even care about

Ramona: Babyboy, I know true crime facts you should be scared about

Source

88 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#4

Hey, just a heads up, archive.org needs your help!

I mostly use openlibrary.org which is already AWESOME. They're part of archive.org and an actual legal digital library - AND INTERNATIONAL

Right now (till 31st Dec 2022), archive.org has matching campaign that will TRIPLE the impact of each donation

Do donate! And then borrow a book from this library, or watch an old Film Noir movie!

Donate and, if you'd like, let other users know how archive.org has helped you! Or how you've helped it!

Mine's below! 💖

I found out about it during my Hero Academia phase so cleaned up and create pages for the mangas

And then, some time later, there were borrowable books for them! 🤩

I've watched 12 Angry Men — my first, and as of yet only, black and white movie.

I've read Freakonomics in its entirety thanks to it. I was so obsessed with the book I even read it on my phone in a very user unfriendly way because I still don't know what app works with archive.org.

For an assignment, I borrowed What You Must Think of Me: A Firsthand Account of One Teenager's Experience with Social Anxiety Disorder. It's actually not that long or boring. Unlike what books my classmates chose.

150 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

#3

How do you think the "main" crew (Apple, Raven, Cerise, Briar, Ashlynn, etc) would react to being able to hear the Narrators?- Narrator Headcanon Anon

How indeed, lol

Apple: *Very concerned about what this means but trying to remain polite as ever*

Raven:"...WHAT? Huh. Cool."

Cerise: "Wait, they know all our secrets?" *pulls hood closer. But I would love if when she's alone she just talks with someone other than family with her ears out

Briar: "OMG, that's ridonculous!"

Ashlynn: *sweet about it and tells them about the next shoe sale*

Blondie: "You're reporters just like me! Know of any juicy news happening around Ever After?"

Dexter: *existential crisis aka the thinking maths meme* "I'm so confused. I-I-I don't feel so good."

Daring: "The more the merrier, more awesome viewers for awesome Daring Charming" *winks and finger guns at the camera where the narrators are*

Hunter: "Uhhh, cool, cool" *concerned they'll spill the beans about the gift he's working on for Ashlynn*

Lizzie: "Well, of course they exist! Just because you can't hear someone doesn't mean they're not there."

Alistair, Bunny, Chase, even Courtly: *Agree with Lizzie*

Also, everyone who isn't a Wonderlandian, and I mean EVERYONE, would be wondering what other "mad" or Wonderlandian things they were wrong about

167 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

I think this is the post that started my friendship with Narrator Headcanon Anon iirc 🥰🥰🥰

#2

The kind of friendship these 3 would have:

Sparrow: *crying after spilling something on his new Nikes*

Humphrey: get me baking soda, vinegar, and a toothbrush, stat!

Alistair: *with tears in his eyes and consoling a sobbing Sparrow* I'm here bro, we'll get through this together

Based on a post I can't find "whoever thinks only girls are obsessed with shoes has never met a teenage boy"

221 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

I really love this 😂🥰

My #1 post of 2022

Writers be like:

Angst, my beloved

263 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Lol. You writers and your beloved.

[187days]

Day One Hundred Thirty-One

The student who’s been skipping my Block 2 class did not skip it today, but he also did not show up with any of his supplies. I sent him to the library to get a spare chromebook, but he came back and said there were no spares. So I said, “Fine, you can borrow mine.” I logged out of everything, had him log in, and pulled up a chair beside him so I could monitor his computer use and help him get started. We went one step at a time through the essay outline. He’d find some information (he chose to write about Taoism), explain it verbally, then type it out and use the Google Docs tool to cite the source. He ran out of steam after finishing an introduction and about half of the body, but that’s the goal for today anyhow, so it’s all good. I told him so, and added, “Thanks for working with me” because it’s been so difficult to convince him to do that.

A student who’d just returned from a lengthy suspension was sitting nearby, and he also asked me for help, so I ended up staying where I was and checking his draft (about Buddhist teachings on nonviolence) and giving him some suggestions on phrasing and word choice. Then another student- one who’s professed to hate writing but has been willing to make an effort because I’ve been willing to help- pulled a chair around and asked if I’d proofread his work, too. He’d researched Christian teachings about heaven and hell, and had copied and pasted a few pieces of information, so I had him rephrase it aloud while I typed. Then I suggested some things he could look up to add more detail, and he went off to do it.

So I’m feeling awesome about all of that.

I know I’m asking them to do something challenging, but they’re trusting that I can and will help them do it, and that’s huge. 

As for my Block 3 students, they’re rocking and rolling, and they busy throughout the block with their proofreading requests. It’s cool to see all the different things they’re writing about. I read the beginning of an essay on Jewish temple architecture, one on Hindu holidays, one comparing Buddhist teachings to Stoic philosophy, one comparing Christian and Zoroastrian prayers and places of worship... It’s all excellent, and it really is fascinating to see the variety in their work.

An amusing moment: a handful of students were working in the hall, and I was helping one of them refine his search to get better sources, while another student in my classroom started singing with headphones in. She didn’t realize how loud she was being, and she assumed that since I was in the hall I wouldn’t hear the inappropriateness of her lyrics. Obviously, I did hear, walked back in, and crept up behind her with A Look on my face. Her classmates tried to warn her that I was there, but she couldn’t hear them so she just kept singing. When she finally turned around and saw me, she shrieked, ran out of the room, then came back and apologized profusely.

Meantime, I was trying not to die laughing. 

I told her not to do it again, and she wisely switched over to Taylor Swift songs, which some of her classmates joined her in singing. 

That was entertaining.

APGOV was considerably less silly, but it was awesome. I showed Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech, and we read an article aloud together- I went old school with the seniors today- about the drafting of the bill that became the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and the work it took to get it passed. We went on a great tangent about the filibuster in the Senate, which gave me a segue to discuss the rising black nationalist movement and Malcolm X’s “The Ballot of the Bullet” speech, which was given while that filibuster was underway. They spent the remainder of the block reading, stay tuned for next time!

Sports pictures were today, so practice started a bit later than usual. The Head Coach left right after pictures because there’s a coaches meeting today, so I was all by my lonesome with both the sprinters and jumpers. We did our usual warm-up drills in the hall, then went outside for a plyometric workout. It got sunny as the afternoon went on, so we stayed out for the cool down and stretching. It all went super well! 

[taylor-on-your-dash]

I know this is a little old now but I was looking through your Mine inspo timeline/speculation and while reading the Daily Mail quote I thought, "would the anymous school boy not have been Drew?" This isn't super relevant, but I feel like people forget that she fully had a boyfriend for (by her own account) a year in high school. That is NOT insignificant, and presumably a lot more "real" than say John or Harry or whoever.

mh, that's an interesting theory but i don't think that drew was anonymous/unknown in 2010.

Taylor has never refused to talk about him and calling him by his name (the last time she mentioned him was famously during the Ellen burning questions interview during the lover era). i think that they started dating, maybe around january 2005? taylor wrote teardrops for the other Drew on november 30th 2004, so it must've been after that, and then they broke up around september, although some former classmates have told me that she left him in june.

although there's the possibility that the journalist was referring to drew and just didn't know his name, i don't know if they would've called him "an anonymous schoolboy", it just seems unprofessional to me, as if it was a half-baked written article. i think that there's a difference between "i don't know the name of this guy so he must be an anonymous schoolboy" and "nobody knows the name of this guy, so he's an anonymous schoolboy".

there's another problem: me personally, i have no idea of which relationships to count as real. i think that Joe (Jonas) was one, no idea about John, but I don't think so (and in 2012 she would say that during this period she was still reeling from John, which caused a writer's block), I don't think she knew Jake yet, but i don't know when the interview was conducted (i might ask someone who might know, if i don't get cold feet because the thought of writing to people fills me with anxiety). if we count Joe and Drew, a relationship is still missing

i have to say though, the daily mail has had its fair share of sources since they were was the first to leak that Taylor and Joe Alwyn were dating.

[cedefaci]

Five Times Vongola Settimo retrieved corpses at his CEDEF counterpart’s behest, and one time he made one

1, A Double Dealer, 3, 4, 5, 1

“Bank records.” Gladius announced grimly, from where he had discovered a hidden compartment behind a false lamp.

Timoteo hummed and peered over the CEDEF agent’s shoulder. “Looks like Fiscella got a taste of his own medicine, double-crossing little shiro. Cheer up, boss, he might have sold us out, but he got left hanging afterwards—whoever bought him off didn’t pay him, so he was running himself into debt and trying to hide it.”

“Still bad news for us.” Gladius looked to Timoteo for confirmation. She nodded absentmindedly, flicking through the records. He continued, “If he’s dead and there’s no money, then the trail’s run cold. We can’t backtrack all the way to the source.”

That was just typical. Fabio sighed, “No use bemoaning the fact. Keep looking, but in the meantime, we’ll spread rumours both ways—one, breaking omerta doesn’t pay, the Northerners won’t keep their word to Sicilians; second, if you betray the Vongola, we’ll take your money and your life, no matter how well you hide them both.”

“An old classmate of mine has a fiancé who’s a banker. I’ll take Ligurio to London and we can have the money moving around in a week.” Timoteo looked disturbingly anticipatory of the opportunity to commit financial devilry.

“Good, you do that, and make it obvious.” Fabio reviewed his schedule, “Gladius, I’m meeting with Aiello in a week. Should I be questioning his loyalties?”

“Not him, but we’re watching his lawyer.” Gladius shrugged, “And he’s sleeping with one of his maids, and she’s got extended family throughout the region, so.”

“Their security has more holes in it than a net.” Fabio summarized.

“Got it in one, Settimo—”

“—Yes!” Timoteo hissed in triumph, driving Gladius a step back.

“For an Englishwoman, you really are lacking in ladylike comportment.” Fabio commented drily.

His Sun waved him off, “Not the current sort, no, and you should be thankful. Look, I knew that Fiscella’s too much of a coward to sell us out without some sort of assurance, so I checked his spendings for the last couple of quarters and he came into some cash around four months ago. Didn’t put it into the accounts, but he might have paid some of his regular expenses with them, seeing as there aren’t any withdrawals corresponding to payments for his bodyguards in the following months, but they did keep guarding his body.”

Gladius snickered. Fabio decided that it was best not to think about why.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Fabio ordered. His two companions hastily pasted serious expressions befitting of their stations onto their faces.

“Don Vongola.” It was the junior agent who had been guarding his father’s body. She had recently become Cinquedea, if he wasn’t mistaken. “The Boss is finished with his interrogation.”

Fabio sighed. “You two, finish up with the search. I’ll head downstairs and see what Spada’s found out (and what he’s doing with the corpse).”

He walked in on his CEDEF Commander braiding a rope out of his victim’s intestines under the light of a single naked lightbulb, which was so distressingly gruesome that it had become a parody of itself. Fabio breathed deeply through his nose. Orange flower water, mingling sickeningly with blood and viscera. He suspected that Spada was trying to provoke him, for some reason or another, and he would appreciate it if his conversations with his padre were less interesting.

“Good thing that we aren’t repossessing the house.” He offered drily instead. “The stains would be impossible to get out. I’m thinking that we let it fall into the Carbone famiglia’s hands as a warning.”

“Remind them that the Vongola’s reach is wider than they can imagine.” Spada said approvingly. “Truly, when it comes to such cruel and complex manoeuvrings, you are beyond compare, Settimo.”

Fabio raised an eyebrow, “Enough with the flattery, Spada. What did you get from Fiscella?”

“Dates.” Spada said sourly, jerking hard on his hangman’s knot, “Times, names. Though only a few. The inklings of a conspiracy—he had smarter allies, but he himself was too much a fool to be entrusted with the details.”

“What about what you saw through his eyes?”

“I can only see what he remembers.” Spada said darkly, “And he’s a man of fanciful inclinations.”

A man of fanciful inclinations! And this was coming from a man hanging a traitor with his own guts!

Fabio laughed, “To think that I would hear such an accusation from you, of all people, my dear pot! Surely you are not condemning another kettle for disdaining the philistine life!”

“I,” Spada replied with all the affronted dignity of a wet cat, “Am a dramatist, with justification—what is an illusionist if not a playwright? But this fool fancies himself a romantic.”

He hummed encouragingly and hoisted the slighter man up so that he could reach the ceiling with his gruesome noose. This close, he could smell Spada’s orange flower water perfume, overpowering the stench of blood and gore.

“The taste of his memories is painfully saccharine and utterly pitiful. Did you know that he thinks of his children’s love to soothe his guilty conscience? What foolishness is that! One who has taken justice into his own hands should learn to see his will through and sleep the sleep of the righteous. It is pitiful that he scrabbles at profit and tries to wash away his shame. I assured him of his damnation as he breathed his last breath.”

Spada tapped his shoulders. Fabio let him down.

“Well, speaking of children, I’m about to welcome my firstborn.”

“My congratulations.”

Fabio nudged him. “Think, my dear consigliere, why am I telling you this, beyond fishing for compliments?”

“My mind fails me at this juncture.” Spada doffed his cap, indifferent to the bloodstains.

Not being a Mist revelling in his terrifying reputation, let alone able to cheat when it came to laundry, Fabio wiped his hands on a handkerchief before putting them on his waist. “As you see, a certain position needs to be filled with regards to their future, and you have more than distinguished yourself as trustworthy.”

He waited.

Understanding finally dawned on the ridiculous man’s face.

“Me?” Spada raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You want me as your firstborn’s godfather? I see that Timoteo at least is alive and healthy. What, were all your Guardians struck simultaneously by a fatal allergy to responsibility? If so, find new ones.”

“They are plenty responsible, thank you very much.” Fabio shot back, “The problem is that they’re too responsible.”

“Ah.” Spada murmured in understanding, “Their lives for yours. You would outlive them.”

“While you are a slippery bastard whose job is to outlive me and keep the Vongola alive.” Fabio agreed. “I’d like to be sure that my kids will be taken care of if something happens to me.”

“Plural?”

“What?” Fabio gestured to Ovidio Fiscella’s corpse. “How many people can I trust? Donna Giglio Nero has already turned me down, and I don’t trust my brother-in-law not to covet my son’s birthright.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.” Spada said drily, “What would make Donna Giglio Nero refuse to reaffirm her ties with the Vongola?”

“The same reason why my other sister will not take any daughters I might have into the Vestals.” Fabio sighed. “Their fates lie elsewhere.”

“All of them?” Spada looked into the darkness that pressed in about them, “Then a storm is coming.”

“And the Vongola must be strong to weather it.” But a time of strife was also a time of opportunity, and they were as like to rise as to fall.

A brush of lips over his hand; touch without temperature. Spada had bowed to kiss his ring.

“Settimo.” His consigliere murmured. “Yes, I shall take care of your children in your stead.”

Meet Timoteo the First: She's an englishwoman, a forensic accountant before they ever existed , and will be enough of a formative impact on young Daniela for Daniela to name her son after her father's Sun Guardian. She often dresses illegally in trousers, and has heteroerotic tension with Gladius, one of her CEDEF counterparts. No one knows how wide her social network has grown since the time she was in finishing school, but she's clearly enabled a few of her classmates to become black widows.

Also, pay attention to Cinquedea. You don't get a proper codename if you're only a low-level grunt.

In addition, a bit of worldbuilding. In this world, the Vestal Virgins have ties to the Trinisette in general and Sepira in particular, and their worship of the Vesta and the sacred Flame is very much bound together with the Dying Will Flames. The Giglio Nero split off from them a few centuries ago, but the Vestal Virgins proper serve as a convenient place to stick unmarried, Flame Active daughters, and also as a politically neutral arbiter, as they once did in ancient Rome. The combined influence of a preserved pagan cult that had gone underground since the public extinguishing of the Sacred Flame and the general catholicness of Italy in general and Sicily in particular results is at least partially to blame for the weirdness of Mafia Culture.

[koishua]

hi vienna ,, tbh u dont need to read this bc idk if itd be triggering (body image issues) and id rather u not trouble urself bc of me but id like to vent somewhere and i dont have any1 to talk 2 so pls feel free to ignore .

ive always been overweight for my age but i never faced any bullying abt it other than some very occasion name calling of "fat" in elementary school and my family's disaproval for the way i look. as i grew up, i started to feel more comfortable around others despite not being satisfied with the way i look and i assumed that as kids mature they become more accepting, bc i had never been truly bullied b4 i just assumed it might be rare in communities such as where i lived compared to some of the horror stories i had heard. anyways all my life i had assumed people had been seeing me for more than what i looked like, i always tried to be kind and make a good impression on other but ig that's not true. as much as i love my circle of friends, im not sure i can see them same after what happened on friday. it isnt even their fault, i just feel very insecure now. but basically in 1 of my classes, we had a change in seating so i no longer sat near my friends but 2 acquantainces (they're rlly sweet girls but idk them too well) and this one guy that i also dont know very well other than that in 8th grade he had dated an old friend of mine for a little bit. but anywyas tbh i feel like im just being dramatic but i srsly can't get his conversation out of my mind . the boy was sat next to me and talking to his friend, their convo alr starting off on a wierd note abt kanye west. and the guy next to me (ill call him ray to make it easy) starts off by saying that kanye's note all that bad and has said some pretty true things. ray then goes on to say that fat people dont deserve to exist and body positivity is a completely stupid subject bc it only encourages obesity and unhealthy habits. all the while he's saying this, seated right next to me and im pretty sure he was glancing at me while saying it too . those 90 minutes were the most uncomfortable in my entire life. i was literally panicking while he was talking abt it and it's all that i can think of now. their conversation was truly disturbing to me and my confidence feels as if its completely tanked . his comments of "fat people are gross" and "being fat shouldnt be celebrated" keep ringing in my head everytime i go out or see myself in a mirror. i genuinely feel so broken and it hurts that theyve probably dont realize the effect of their words but also it hurts that that's all they can see me as. not another human being or a classmate but just "fat". idk where im going with this but i dont feel ok and i feel so exhausted now ,, just the thought of having to see ray's face again or hear his voice is scaring me . maybe im just overthinking but i cant help but wonder if my friends picture me the same way. am i even deserving of love if im so "ugly" . my friends sometimes comment that i look way older than my age or that i could pass for college aged and even comments like those are hard to brush off for me. sometimes i wonder if i should restrain my jokes and personality to stay kind bc that's all i am to them. just a source of comfort, and if i dont do that then i could be easily execused. im always scared of saying the wrong thing but now i keep wondering if it would never even matter bc all anyone will ever see me as is "fat" . it's not like i haven't tried to lose weight so i rlly hate everything that ray said and its srsly put me thru sm turmoil . anyways i shld keep this brief (sorry for the rant) and im sorry again for using ur inbox to rant , i rlly hope this doesn't cause you any pain or you find it triggering :( i apologize if it has caused you any concern or pain. i hope ur good and stay happy vie

tw: body image and weight talk

hello, dear :( let me start this off by saying that don't worry, i am perfectly alright and am glad that you feel it's safe enough to vent and write your feelings out in my inbox. you don't have to apologize for anything! i am the one who says that they're open if anyone needs to rant or vent. i would never judge. i had to read this a few times in order to collect my thoughts, so pardon me for delaying this a bit. i wasn't sure if you wanted my direct response, so i will just keep it short.

i won't say that i completely understand what you've been through and i can't speak on experiences i haven't personally lived through. however, as another human being, i will say this: you absolutely deserve to exist. i hope you never ever doubt that. i know how difficult it is to deal with comments about your appearance and it angers me so much that you're treated this way. i get how the side comments every now and then feels. bullying is horrible, but this is just as bad for someone's self esteem and health. im truly so sorry and wish i could do something for you, but i can't because of obvious reasons (that being me being just an online presence and not there with you).

i just want to reassure you that no matter what anyone says, you deserve love and life and goodness. a lot of people don't understand how difficult it is when you don't weigh below a certain number or how isolated that could make someone feel regardless if they're mentioned or not. everyone is so much more than just their appearance. idk how else i could help you other than to strongly remind you that you are you and that should be enough for your friends and that people should learn to keep their mouths shut on their opinions about other people's appearance. it doesn't matter if you lose the weight or if you tell them you struggle a lot with it. those people should reassess the way they're treating another human being with real feelings and thoughts. never lose who you are and trying to be what other people need and want you to be. it may end up making things worse, i know, and im not sure if you've ever told them directly that their words are extremely rude and hurtful and that they should stop, but someone (even if it's not you yourself) really, really should.

i pray that none of what i said has further upset you in any way. if so, i sincerely apologize :( i genuinely hope that this never happens to you again and that you'll have a greater year than ever and that you'll find wholehearted acceptance and love from those you are surrounded by and that you'll slowly but surely feel comfortable in your own skin. take care and you're loved! people like the ray you mentioned are not worth feeling bad over.

[magicandmundane]

Nasuada: There’s a rumor going around that Galbatorix might replace Murtagh. 

Orrin: Is that true?

Orik: It’s just speculation, you donut.

[incorrectviolettaquotes]

”Not to be gay, but you are oh-la-la”

- Napo

[with-my-murder-flute]

Sometimes you just have a really intense week and can’t stop thinking about how much trauma Lan Sizhui experienced by the time he was 5 and how being the Very Best Boy isn’t always healthy and then you need to write Lan Wangji the child psychologist and his incredibly anxious foster-son, y’know?

---

Bunny is on time-out again.

"You have to behave,” A-Yuan says in the voice of the potato-head, packing accessories into its body and shoving it into the bed of a soft plastic truck. “You get in the car now.” The Barbie van is already full, with a dinosaur and a fingerpuppet and one of the new larger Lego figures, and all their carefully packed luggage. A-Yuan does that. Over and over again, for each of his toys, he methodically packs and unpacks luggage. It’s his most common form of play, but not the most enjoyable.

A-Yuan’s breathing is rapid and shallow, so much so that he takes little gasps when he talks to himself. Routinely, predictably, he’s calmer when he turns away from the dollhouse. He’s most collected when selecting items to put into luggage, deciding on pieces of felt and Barbie shoes, but even with the vehicles he can lose himself enjoying the movement and progress of the cars. But underneath it all, there’s a jerkiness to his movements and a certain disconnected quality in his speech and body language that tells Lan Wangji that he’s pretty distressed.

It’s a step forward that Bunny is out at all, Lan Wangji knows. A behaviour therapist at A-Yuan’s last preschool made it a point to extinguish comfort-seeking behaviour towards the toy, which was becoming both careworn and grubby. A-Yuan’s had it at least since he was fourteen months old; it was with him when he came into care. Maybe his birth mother gave it to him. A-Yuan has obediently derogated the toy; if it’s left lying out, he can usually be trusted to throw it into a corner to prove what a big, grown-up boy he is.

Lan Wangji has very carefully gauged his son’s limits of tolerance for some things. When the car ride begins, he waves slightly and says, “Have a nice trip,” which makes A-Yuan glance back at him nervously, but it’s just mild enough, just unemotional enough, just tolerable enough, that it doesn’t provoke too much emotion. A-Yuan can keep pushing his vehicles around, and feel safe enough to drive one into Lan Wangji’s foot. He doesn’t persevere at that point, though; the trip has culminated and he gets up and walks to where he can see down the hallway to the front door, then wanders over to the slide.

A hundred million years ago, Lan Wangji thought he’d be a genetics researcher, like his uncle. Then he thought he’d be a neuroscientist, like his undergraduate thesis advisor. Then he thought he’d be a psychologist like his brother, who focuses entirely on assessment and the development of psychometric tools. For a little bit in grad school, he thought he’d counsel adults, like Wei Wuxian, until a classmate told Wei Wuxian that Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was “objectively badass” and he developed a fixation Lan Wangji could not follow. In retrospect his career path is absolutely obvious, resonating clearly through every bone of him, but it took him a very long time to realize he ought to work with children. It’s a little shocking that he, who was so bad at being a child, feels so prepared to be a father.

He smiles when A-Yuan looks at him anxiously from the slide, the moment of uncertainty as he lets go and begins sliding down triggering the need for reassurance. Lan Wangji is always waiting for that glance, waiting to return it. At A-Yuan’s last placement he’d been assessed as having an avoidant/dismissing attachment style, and despite its uncharitable and parent-shaming nature Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with what his husband had muttered over that one: “Were the parents even trying?”

The most vital task, and the hardest, is being present in the moment with a child. Not worrying about the future, not concerned with the past, not preoccupied with an external standard. He’s surprisingly bad at performing objective assessments with children, because he can see how unfair they all are. His greatest facility is something he built for himself, brick by painstaking brick: the willingness to sit with discomfort, and have faith that the chaos will not remain chaos. All his years of meditation have cultivated a still eye to see the world from, and the faith that patience and compassion will see him through.

Still smiling, still watching A-Yuan, Lan Wangji moves closer to the dollhouse. He carefully stars arranging its contents, righting knocked-over furniture and returning blankets to little wooden beds. He takes out a shark figurine, a couple of doll clothes, then puts Bunny on the floor near his shin. When A-Yuan comes close, magnetically drawn away from the slide, Lan Wangji reaches behind himself for the tea set they were using earlier, arranging cups and plates in front of him as though they’re going to have another tea party. He leaves the placement of the cups ambiguous; it’s not like Bunny is specifically invited, but there is a suggestive proximity, the way the other cup is in proximity to the shark. A-Yuan takes the teapot, and Lan Wangji solemnly holds his cup out while A-Yuan pours. For the sake of the ritual he accepts milk and refuses sugar and mimes stirring his invisible ingredients before taking a sip.

When A-Yuan is done drinking, Lan Wangji turns to Bunny, lifting a cup, and asks, “Would you like some tea?” A-Yuan noticed the moment that Lan Wangji’s hand moves, but as he addresses the rabbit A-Yuan seems to lose interest, which is to say, he slightly dissociates; blink and you missed it, but his eyes go a little glassy, he looks away, and then he acts on the adrenaline and gets up and wanders away.

The current theory about Bunny is like the theory of gravity, which is to say, it’s definitely pretty certain but it never hurts to be humble when it comes to knowledge. It’s honestly a little more speculative and psychodynamic than Lan Wangji is truly comfortable with, and A-Yuan’s case manager, possibly a little defensive over the last preschool placement, absolutely refuses to consider the possibility. But it still feels as essential and true as which way is up that Bunny performs the vital task of holding all the parts of A-Yuan that he blames for making the adults he cares about disappear. Bunny holds both the neediness and the hope for comfort that were so painful, his son shut them down in order to survive. Bunny was how A-Yuan mediated that desire, the source of his comfort, until he was three and a half, and the behaviour therapist.

A-Yuan knew his foster parents didn’t like him being disorganized and distressed and clingy, that they’d rather he behaved more like a six-year-old than four. Which he could, sometimes, because he had a ferocious intelligence which put him cognitively ahead of his emotional development. But he, well... adapted a little too quickly, one might say. Learned his lesson a little too well. Now they’re trying to reignite the behaviours that were extinguished.

Lan Wangji takes a risk, while A-Yuan is pulling picture books off the lower shelf, and lifts Bunny to his shoulder like a colicky infant. He doesn’t do anything else, aside from stroking the rabbit’s fur. He leaves it in place, with a little guiding help from his hand, when A-Yuan brings a Franklin book over and climbs into his lap, demanding to be read to. With interest he notes, halfway through the story, that Lan Wangji holding and petting Bunny doesn’t distress A-Yuan; as the story arc gets as exciting as Franklin books ever do (which is not, to be clear, a criticism) A-Yuan turns in his arms long enough to distractedly reach up and pet Bunny too, before turning back and trying to grab the book for himself.

Wondering how far he can push this, he keeps Bunny in place on his shoulder when they leave the room to check the clock, and A-Yuan goes to the living-room window to watch the street for Wei Wuxian. He looks curiously when Lan Wangji leans down to dig the remote out between the couch cushions, but easily redirects when Lan Wangji turns on the TV and goes to prepare dinner. Having the show on limits his anxious glances out the window to three or four a minute only, instead of sustained attention followed by a meltdown if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Lan Wangji thinks it would be easier to keep Bunny in place, on his shoulder like a dishtowel, if he had weighted plastic beads in his extremities, or if he was velcroed. He’s wary of changing anything about such a strong comfort object, though, so he just learns to move and stand differently to keep the rabbit from constantly falling off.

A-Yuan greets Wei Wuxian with the kind of terrified delight that looks like general indifference if you don’t know better; he runs over, stands uncertainly within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian’s legs, and then dodges away before Wei Wuxian can reach down to him. Lan Wangji helpfully muted the show when he heard the door open--it gives A-Yuan the space to sit with his back to the room and self-regulate while the adults say hello.

“New friend?” his husband asks finally, an eyebrow raised.

“Modelling it as appropriate,” Lan Wangji says. “I thought perhaps he could tolerate us demonstrating that it is not discouraged.”

“Nice rabbit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says seamlessly, in a voice meant to be heard from the couch. “I like it. Makes me wish I had a rabbit.”

“They are very good friends,” Lan Wangji agrees. “This one is not mine, but he is keeping me company.”

“Nice,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe whoever you borrowed him from will let him hang out with me sometime.”

Their audience does not comment on this, but they didn’t need him to. Wei Wuxian sets the table while Lan Wangji cooks. A-Yuan’s palate is still pretty limited, so he’s used to making three separate elements of one meal, and can live with cutting up cooked hot dog into little coins so long as he doesn’t have to eat them himself. They just supplement their kid’s diet with a multivitamin.

A-Yuan looks askance enough, when dinner is ready, that Lan Wangji takes Bunny off his shoulder and asks, “Where should he sit while we eat?”

There is a fourth chair, albeit completely out of proportion, but he doesn’t dare try it. Instead A-Yuan thinks for a minute, and points to the kitchen counter behind the table. Lan Wangji props Bunny up against the wall, observing dinner if not participating, and after a second to think, A-Yuan accepts this as normal and climbs into his chair. He is meticulously well-behaved.

Lan Wangji aches for his son, and hopes one day he’ll feel confident enough in their love to break the rules around them.

They eat.

[sankyeom]

picture perfect | k.m

pairings: kevin moon x reader genre: art student au, strangers to lovers, art!student kevin, actor!reader, another secret admirer situation (yes i know we already did that in my sangyeon fit but it’s cute so idc) summary: in which you find a sketchbook filled with drawings of you, and go on a mission to find the owner word count: 8.5k (these just get longer and longer wow) series: sankyeom’s 2k followers celebration

masterlist

Your psychology professor always spoke a mile a minute, and it made taking notes unnecessarily difficult. Usually when she lectured, your wrist cramped from writing so fast, and your classmates couldn’t wait to get out of the room. On one particular autumn afternoon, you stared into nothingness as your professor gave a lecture on Milgram’s experiments, running lines in your head instead of taking notes like you usually did.

When you were cast as one of the lead roles (who didn’t even have that many lines to begin with) in your University’s winter play of An Ideal Husband, you were ecstatic to be given a new challenge. You had never been involved in acting or theatre before University, and you always felt like you were behind your peers. Your excitement soon morphed into something less productive: fear.

You were so afraid to mess up and disappoint your peers that you frequently did poorly in rehearsals and were the source of your cast’s frustrations. Perhaps it was your lack of experience, or perhaps it was because you didn’t really have any faith in yourself. Either way, it was all you could think about.

As your classmates started packing up to leave, you realised that the lecture was over and that you had just been in your own head for over an hour without learning anything from your class. Scrambling to pack up, you put away your notebooks and pencils as your phone chimed. Checking the text, you saw a message from your friend Sunwoo asking if you wanted to get lunch with him.

Getting to your feet, you texted Sunwoo that you were down for lunch as you exited the now empty lecture hall. As you left, you felt your shoe come in contact with a solid object in the doorway; a notebook that somebody must have dropped on the way out. Knowing that you would want your notes back if someone found them – especially in this class, where your professor spoke way too fast – you opened the notebook to see who it belonged to.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook. With a drawing of you on the first page.

At first, you scolded yourself for assuming that the person in the drawing was you. It was presumptuous of you, wasn’t it? But the texture, colour, and length of the person’s hair perfectly matched yours. The person in the picture had your eyes, skin, clothes, and smile.

Perhaps it wasn’t so arrogant of you to presume that you were being depicted in the drawing.

“That’s a lovely drawing,” Professor Shin, who was on her way out, complimented. “You’re an excellent artist.”

You glanced up from the page, feeling a little dizzy. “It’s not mine,” you admitted, head spinning at the idea of somebody drawing you. Plain, simple, me? You couldn’t believe it. “I just found it here on the floor.”

“Looks like somebody admires you,” your Professor mused, smiling before bidding you farewell, leaving you standing in an empty lecture hall, clutching the sketchbook in your hands.

You tried to find a name on the other side of the cover, but there was no number or form of identification anywhere. The only thing that alluded to an identity was the small signature at the bottom right corner of the drawing.

Moon scribbles.

The first time Kevin saw you, he was seated three rows behind you in one of his Cultural Anthropology classes last semester. You were jotting notes as quickly as possible, brows furrowed together in concentration as you gripped your pen hard enough for your knuckles to turn white.

Kevin didn’t take any notes that day.

All the could do was watch you, appreciating the way your expressions changed as you understood the content, and the hesitance on your face when you volunteered an answer during class.

He didn’t mean to start drawing you. You had simply inspired him to pick up his pencil and start sketching, the soft strokes of the lead slowly but surely forming shapes that resembled your eyes, nose, lips…  

Kevin didn’t think that you’d be all he could draw from that moment onwards. Even during his art classes; if the assignment was to study the scenery surrounding the University and draw a landscape, Kevin couldn’t get the image out of your face out of his head. Whether he used paint, charcoal, ink, or lead, it was your profile that emerged from his efforts.

Today was no different; Kevin was supposed to be studying the Psychology slides from class that day – which he hadn’t taken notes on because he was too busy sketching you – and yet he only had the urge to add the finishing touches to his drawing instead of facilitating his studying. Dragging his messenger bag over to his desk, Kevin rifled through it in search of his sketchbook. He had filled many, many pages with your face at that point, and it had become a habit for him to bring it everywhere with him in case he had the urge to draw.

Kevin furrowed his brows when he couldn’t find it. His heart pounded suddenly, the idea of him having lost his sketchbook in a place you might find it seeming terrifying and disastrous. After a final sweep of his bag – which included emptying it inside-out to make sure he didn’t miss anything – Kevin could only hope and pray that he’d find it before you did.

“You found what?” Sunwoo asked through a mouthful of noodles, his eyes comically large and rounded in surprise.

“A sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you replied in a monotone voice, knowing fully well that Sunwoo had heard and understood you the first time. This was the fourth time you had explained the situation, and it was starting to get a little old.

Eric narrowed his eyes, judging Sunwoo’s eating habits, before turning to face you. “Are the drawings cute?” he wondered.

“I wouldn’t say they’re cute,” you said absentmindedly, thinking back to the drawings you saw. After succumbing to your own curiosity, you had looked through the notebook to see what other drawings there were. You knew this was an invasion of privacy but you couldn’t help yourself. Surely enough, they were all of you.

“They were beautiful. Drawn in such detail that I couldn’t even believe it when I first saw them… And I look genuinely gorgeous in them,” you paused when Sunwoo scoffed at your words. “I’m not saying that to be vain,” you defended. “Trust me, I look much better in the sketches than in real life. Whoever drew them just… sees me differently than I see myself. I look beautiful in the pictures.”

“Your Professor’s right, it does sound like you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Eric teased you, pleased that somebody other than your close friends was starting to see how great you were. He wasn’t your best friend like Juyeon or Sunwoo, but he knew you well enough. “Did you get a name or anything?” he asked excitedly.

“Nothing,” you sulked. “I can take an educated guess that this person is probably in my Psych class since it’s the only class I have in that room, but who knows? It could be anyone that’s seen me before.”

“Maybe it’s one of your fans from the drama department,” Sunwoo poked fun at your cast members, not liking how they were treating you in rehearsals.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes, finally picking at your rice and starting to eat. “I just want to know who’s drawing me in such an amazing way. It’s so detailed that I assume it might be someone will a lot of skill, maybe an art major? But a lot of people draw as a hobby who aren’t art majors as well. Maybe-”

Eric interrupted you. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, trying to clam you down. “Just… slow down a little. Maybe they’ll come looking for it next time you have Psych? There’s no name or information so you can’t do anything to find them, anyways,” he rationalised, something that was usually your role in your friendships.

Your eyes lit up. “Moon scribbles,” you exclaimed.

Sunwoo gave you an unimpressed look. “Bless you.”

You ignored his cheek, taking out your phone and going onto Instagram. “The artist signed all of their drawings with a signature that says Moon scribbles,” you explained.

“You know it’s rude to go onto your phone during mealtimes,” Sunwoo replied.

You laughed. “I’ll be sure to remember that for the next time you do the same, Kim Sunwoo.”

After typing moonscribbles into the search bar, you saw an art page by the same name pop up. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to, as the bio vaguely gave information about the artist going to your University, studying art and being a pisces. Since the account was private, you decided to risk it and request to follow them, no matter how strange that might be if they weren’t the person you were looking for.

“I should have invited Juyeon out for lunch instead,” Sunwoo decided, picking at your rice dish in between bites of his noodles.

“Juyeon would rather hang out with Eric than you anyway,” you teased your friend back, knowing that Juyeon and Eric had a deeper friendship despite Sunwoo and Eric being the same age. Eric grinned, amused that the was the topic of discussion and not chiming in to deny anything. “And excuse me, I paid for lunch, you rascal! Now stop complaining, I’m done anyway.”

“Alright, fine. Did anything come up?” Sunwoo wondered, slapping your wrist when you tried to take some of his noodles. You rolled your eyes. Typical Sunwoo: always taking your food but never willing to share his with you.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

A few days passed without any response from moonscribbles on Instagram. You checked a few times a day to see if they ever accepted your request to follow them, but nothing ever came back. They didn’t deny your request, nor did they let you follow them either. It was frustrating, but it fell to the back of your mind after a week due to your schedule.

You had started doing full rehearsals with your cast members on stage for the play. At first, you thought that the setting might help you remember your lines and act without feeling awkward, but you were wrong. Most of your cast mates thought you got one of the lead roles for an alternate reason; perhaps you were related to someone on the University’s board and the director put you in because they wanted to keep their job. None of that was true, of course, but it didn’t help you make any friends.

The only friend you made was Younghoon, who played the lead opposite you, and with whom you frequently got together to go over lines and practice. He was one of those actors who was a completely different person from his role; he could keep be totally in character while doing his lines and the second the scene was over, he was back to his smiley self.

It didn’t help your confidence that he was an absolute pro. It only made you seem less competent in comparison, and you scolded yourself for even thinking that. Of course you knew it wasn’t Younghoon’s fault that he was simply much better at acting than you, but it definitely hurt your pride even more.

After another disastrous rehearsal, your cast mates had left to go backstage so you could have a word with the director. Younghoon sent you an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder before he followed your cast mates backstage, going over his lines in a faint whisper.

“Y/n,” your director began gently. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but what’s up with you?” You said nothing, prompting her to keep talking. “Your audition was really great. I knew I wanted you to play a lead role the second you were done auditioning. But you’ve been doing pretty poorly in rehearsals.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your director sighed. “Look Y/n, I still want you to play your role. I like your chemistry with Younghoon and I think you guys could be really great leads. But if things don’t improve, I’m going to have to replace you with your understudy for the sake of this production.”

Even though you knew it was the obvious thing to do, it still hurt to hear. “I understand,” you whispered, nodding as you glanced at the floor.

“I really hope you can figure this out,” your director said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if I can help in any way, okay?” You nodded, and your director excused herself, leaving you standing at the edge of the stage by yourself.

You groaned once you were alone, taking a seat at the edge of the stage and letting your legs dangle over the edge. Welcoming the silence in the theatre as most of the cast had left for the day, you allowed yourself to lay back and close your eyes.

Why couldn’t you get this right?

Maybe I should just quit the play, you thought to yourself. It’s probably for the best.

When you heard the gentle patter of footsteps leading onto the stage, you spoke without opening your eyes. “Let me guess, you came to tell me how terrible I am too?” you uttered, not even caring who it was anymore.

The footsteps paused. “Um, actually, I’m just here to paint the sets…” a soft male voice spoke, causing you to open your eyes and sit up.

A familiar face stood a few metres away from you, paintbrushes and paints in hand. He had black hair that slightly covered his eyes, cat-like eyes and small lips that were pursed at the awkward interaction the two of you had just had.

“Sorry,” you apologised, getting to your feet. “It’s been a rough day,” you paused. “You’re Kevin, right?”

He looked surprised that you knew who he was. “Oh. Yes, actually.”

“I’m close with Juyeon,” you explained, realising how strange it might seem that you knew his name and recognised him. “I suppose I should probably have led with that.”

Kevin smiled. “No worries. I know you as well, you’re Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” you replied, bending down to collect your script and other belongings, pushing them into your tote bag as quickly as possible. “I’ll get out of your hair, then,” you smiled at him, implying it as your farewell.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re terrible,” Kevin confessed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and starting to mix paints. You glanced at him. “Are you in your head a little? Maybe. But you’re far from terrible,” he assured you, his brown eyes brimming with kindness.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you replied. “Thanks. Although, you seem more like an artist than an actor,” you added, teasing him just a little. You couldn’t help yourself, he was pretty cute.

Kevin laughed. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “If you want me to brag about being the lead in Aladdin in middle school, then I will.”

You placed your tote bag on your shoulder, holding your hands up in surrender. “I take it back,” you said immediately. “You have more experience than I do on stage.” The two of you shared grins.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Kevin assured you. “If I can do it then you certainly can.”

He seemed really sincere, and you appreciated it. “Thanks, Kevin,” you said, feeling much lighter and in a far better mood than before Kevin had come on stage. “I’ll see you around,” you bid your farewells before exiting the stage.

You’d have to ask Juyeon more about his friend Kevin.

The next time you and Kevin bumped into each other was after one of your rehearsals a few weeks later.

You had improved in your rehearsal times, with a lot of help from Younghoon – who practiced with you in between classes – and Sunwoo – who you ran lines with anytime the two of you were together. When you were done rehearsing, your director had expressed how happy she was that you were starting to warm up to the stage and really get into the character the way she was hoping you would. Younghoon earned himself two week’s worth of free coffee from you, and your cast finally stopped glaring at you whenever you came to rehearsals.

“Oh, hey,” you greeted Kevin, who started coming onstage to work on the sets with other people who were involved in the production process. “Good to see you again,” you told him.

“You too,” Kevin beamed, his hair falling over his eyes just slightly. You had the urge to brush it out of the way so you could see him better, but you resisted the urge and scolded yourself for being so forward. “You guys are looking pretty good out there,” he complimented, waving at Younghoon as he left the theatre. His older friend gave him a knowing look, making big eyes at him and puckering his lips to tease Kevin about his crush on you.

“Thank you,” you smiled back at him, entirely clueless to Kevin cursing Younghoon with his eyes right in front of you. “The sets are really coming along too,” you commend him, gesturing around you. “It’s certainly adding some more colour to our rehearsals.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kevin replied. “Set painting isn’t exactly my vocation or anything, but it’s a fun way to help out with my skillset.”

“Skillset?” you echoed, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ah,” Kevin cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m a fine arts major. So set painting is a little less refined than what I usually do. Not that I’m bragging,” he added quickly.

“Not at all,” you agreed, your eyes widening in realisation. “Fine arts, that’s a really cool major. You must be pretty talented to get into fine arts here, it’s such a competitive major,” your eyes widened in sudden realisation. “I’d love to see something of yours that doesn’t involve painting sets,” you motioned to the stage around you.

Kevin almost blushed. “Really?” he asked, his heart beat hammering in his chest at the idea of you seeing his art.

“Yeah,” you nodded your head eagerly. Partly because you were really curious about his art, but mostly because Kevin was pretty damn cute. “For sure! I mean, if you come to opening night of the play, I’d love to go see your art some time.”

“How’s this Saturday?” Kevin asked, his words almost slurring together at the speed he was talking. “The art department’s putting on an exhibition and a few of my drawings are going to be in it.”

“That sounds great,” you agreed. “Do you think I could bring some friends?”

Kevin nodded, his deep brown eyes brightening at the idea. “For sure! I already invited Juyeon but you can bring Sunwoo along as well.”

“Then I’ll be there,” you promised.

“Oh my god, are you touching the art?” you heard Kevin exclaim semi-loudly. You froze from your place, pointing at the water fountain from which you were filling up a cup of water to drink.

“What?” you asked dumbly, your eyes widening as Kevin smirked, hiding his laughter.

It was the Saturday of Kevin’s exhibition and you were doing your best to blend in with all the artistically-minded people in the room; admiring the paintings, motioning at the sculptures and pondering over the meanings behind the light exhibitions.

“I thought this was just a regular water fountain,” you tried to defend yourself.

“It is, I’m just messing with you,” Kevin shrugged, causing you to exhale in relief and slap Kevin’s arm.

“That was awful of you,” you scolded, unable to hide the large grin making its way onto your face. “You suck.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kevin retorted easily. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied. “So, when am I going to see your pieces?” you asked, motioning around the room. It was filled to the brim and people were bustling around the room to get a good look at every piece.

“Right now if you’re up for it,” Kevin suggested, waving as Juyeon and Sunwoo made their way over to the pair of you. You had excused yourself to get some water when Kevin spotted you and came over. “Hey guys. Sunwoo, good to see you again.”

“You too,” Sunwoo replied courteously, which was unlike him. Sunwoo knew Kevin vaguely through Juyeon, who was the same age as Kevin and had a lot of classes with him, and Eric, who Kevin often hung out with because they both spoke English. “Any of these yours?”

“A few,” Kevin said modestly.

Sunwoo nodded, looking around. “Are they good or are they more… conceptual?” he asked, his own way of asking whether or not Kevin’s art was a piece of crap or not.

You rolled your eyes. “Your eloquence astounds me, Sunwoo,” you said sarcastically.

“Well I might as well get to the point,” Sunwoo chided, glancing back at Kevin. “So?”

Kevin, who was observing you and Sunwoo with the same amused smile that Juyeon was, motioned the three of you over as he led you in the direction of his drawings. “I’m not so sure if they’re good, or conceptual, but I suppose you could judge that for yourself,” he told Sunwoo, coming to a halt in front of a display of drawings.

The drawings were lively and bright; colours in the form of pastels and charcoal bringing richness and warmth to the image. Most of his drawings depicted a faceless person. There were multiple drawings where the person was being portrayed from the back, and ones that were head-on didn’t have any facial features.

“These are amazing,” you breathed out, enchanted by the creativity of the drawings, as well as the immense detail that went into them.

“I like them,” Sunwoo decided, causing Juyeon to nod in agreement.

“They’re really good,” Juyeon complimented his friend, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to put something on display this year.” Juyeon knew all about the artistic slump Kevin was in last year, so he didn’t have any art on display.

Kevin thanked Juyeon quietly, still studying your expression. “Can I ask why they’re faceless?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied the drawings further.

“Ah, that,” Kevin began, an uncharacteristic shyness appearing in his tone. “Well, I’ve been inspired by somebody for a few months now,” he explained. “I suppose I made my drawings faceless because I don’t want people to know who my muse is. I’m not ready to face how I feel when I draw them yet, and I think it’s too personal to put in an exhibition.”

You nodded your head, understanding where he was coming from. “That’s really great. I hope that one day I’ll get to see their face,” you said kindly, genuinely enjoying his art. Your eyes widened as you realised something. “Hey, do you know the other students in your major well?” you asked him.

Kevin raised an eyebrow at your sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I think so. We’re a small major and I have all of my 300-level classes with all the same people. Why do you ask?”

“Would you be able to recognise one of your peer’s work?” you inquired, the sketchbook in your dorm room burning a hole in your mind. He might be able to solve my curiosity.

“Maybe,” Kevin drawled slowly. “Why?” he found your sudden change of pace surprising. “What’s up?”

“Well, I found someone’s sketchbook in one of my classes and I was wondering who it belonged to,” you began, hesitating before bringing up the sketchbook you found in your Psychology class. “But they didn’t put their name on it so I can’t return it to the owner. It was really detailed and skilled work, so I thought they might be a fine arts major.”

Kevin’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

His worst nightmare had come true: you had found his sketchbook. His sketchbook that was filled with his heart-felt drawings of you. And here you were, asking him if he knew who it belonged to. Somehow, it was equal parts thrilling and mortifying.

Sunwoo, having heard about your secret admirer decided to check out a different part of the exhibition, but Juyeon – who was hearing this for the first time – stayed out of curiosity. “You found someone’s sketchbook?” he repeated. “What was in it?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh. Well, here’s the thing… There’s some drawings of me in it,” you admitted, feeling shy about divulging everything about the sketchbook to Kevin. “I just… I guess I want to meet the person that made me feel so vibrant and beautiful when looking at the drawings.”

“You have an admirer,” Juyeon realised, beaming at you; eyes squinting into little crescents. “That’s adorable. Does it say anything inside?”

“Yeah it does, actually,” you told him, giving him a smile before meeting Kevin’s eyes again. “All of the drawings are signed with the handle Moon scribbles,” you recalled. “No name or phone number, though.”

Juyeon’s brows furrowed together. “Kev, isn’t Moon scribbles-“

“A really interesting name?” Kevin cut Juyeon off, sending him the clear message that he wasn’t ready to tell you about the fact that you were his muse and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Getting the message, Juyeon eagerly agreed, thanking Kevin for finishing his train of thought. “Um, I don’t think I’ve heard of it before. But if you show me the drawings, maybe I could recognise the style?” Kevin suggested, coming up with a solution for you to find the owner of the sketchbook.

“That would be really great, actually,” you acknowledged. “I could bring it by the next time we hang out,” you suggested, excited to figure out who you should thank for their hard work.

“Next time?” Kevin echoed, excitement filling his stomach. “Are you really so eager to solve your mystery?” he teased you.

“Well, you’re not such a bad addition,” you added with a wink.

Kevin’s heart soared.

You met up with Kevin in the library a few days later to show him your sketchbook. It was good timing because you definitely needed to study for your Psychology class after zoning out in your last few lectures, so the library was the perfect setting to meet.

“Hey,” you greeted Kevin, taking the seat next to him on one of the sofas in the more secluded area of the library.

“Hi,” Kevin mumbled in return, his voice sounding quieter and more hoarse than usual. At first, you thought it might be the fact that he had to whisper that made him sound more quiet. Then, you spotted the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he was wearing glasses, which he didn’t normally do.

“You okay?” you asked him, seeing him stretch out and yawn in his seat.

“Me?” Kevin murmured, meeting your gaze with tired, glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Not to sound like an asshole who’s telling you that you look terrible, which I’m not, but you look really tired,” you had to tell Kevin. “Are you sure you’re up for this? You look like you could use some sleep.”

“Sleep,” Kevin said the word like it’s funny. “Sleep and I… we aren’t friends.”

You smiled sympathetically at your new friend. “Up all night studying?” you wondered.

“Insomnia,” Kevin corrected you.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. “So sleep is… a distant acquaintance?” you played off his previous joke.

“Something like that,” he allowed, moving his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. “I’m good, though. I look like this most days, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so,” you trail off, your concern still not being calmed by Kevin’s explanation. “We can do this anther time if it helps, though. I wouldn’t want you to be unwell because of me.”

Kevin grinned, adjusting the beanie on his head. “But I couldn’t possibly be unwell if I’m around you,” he said, pointing his finger in the air as if he had made an excellent realisation. “Now, show me the sketchbook.”

You pulled the sketchbook out of your tote bag and handed it over to him.

Seeing it right in front of him, Kevin could confirm that it was definitely his sketch book that you had found. Although the chances of another person on campus being entirely smitten by you to the point where you became their artistic muse was slim, it wasn’t zero.

“Can I,” he motioned to the sketchbook, asking for permission to open it. It was incredibly ironic, but Kevin was too embarrassed to come clean about the sketchbook being his.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, telling him to flip through the pages.

Kevin did so, pretending he was seeing all the drawings for the first time. He paused on every page, looking over the details in the sketches and the way they realistically depicted your features. Even though he was the one who drew them, Kevin could admit that the drawings were really great. They were great because he appreciated the subject and was inspired by you. That much was clear to anybody.

“Wow,” Kevin said when he was done looking at all the drawings, holding the sketchbook on his lap. “That’s… you,” he observed, as if he didn’t already know.

“So I’m not crazy?” you asked immediately, biting your lip. “That’s me?” you glanced down at the open page in front of Kevin, seeing the resemblance between you and the person in the drawing.

“Oh it’s definitely you,” Kevin confirmed. “Unless you have an identical twin somewhere out there, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s you.”

You let out a relieved sigh, leaning back onto the sofa. “Okay, good. I thought I was being really shallow and presumptuous at first but it’s good that you agree,” you told him, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest. “So, does it look familiar?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin replied vaguely, wondering how he was going to get himself out of this one. “Do you think I could keep this? Maybe look over it a few more times when I’m not about to pass out,” he added.

“Sure,” you allowed. You trusted Kevin enough that he wouldn’t lose the sketchbook, since all of your mutual friends spoke very highly of him. Besides, you were becoming more impressed by him every time the two of you met. “I hope something comes up. I looked moonscribbles up on Instagram but their account is private and they haven’t responded to my follow request yet.”

Kevin had completely forgotten about his private art Instagram account. Before he was inspired by you to draw, he was in a serious slump and had been spiralling downwards. In this time, he made his Instagram account private in an effort to not think about it too much. Kevin scolded himself for not realising that you would look him up on social media to find him.

“That’s too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Maybe they’ll respond soon?”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, sighing. “I just… I want to meet them.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you want to meet them so badly?” Kevin wondered. “Because they drew pretty pictures of you?”

“Kind of?” you replied unsurely. “That’s definitely part of it. I guess I wanted to meet somebody who thought I was vibrant and colourful and beautiful,” you shrugged, glancing down at your lap. “Because I don’t think that about myself at all. It’s why I suck at acting, and it’s why my cast mates hate me. I just thought that if somebody out there really thought I was special, maybe I would have a reason to believe it, too.”

Kevin felt butterflies rising in his stomach again, but not in a fluttery, nervous way. He was anxious about what was going to happen. “I’ll do my best to help out,” he said gently. “And Y/n?” you looked back up at Kevin. “I think you’re special,” he admitted. “A lot of people do. Juyeon, Sunwoo, Eric, Younghoon… You don’t need Moon scribbles to be special, you’re already special to us.”

A grateful, shy smile spread across your lips at his words. “Thanks, Kev. For your help, and for saying that. I really appreciate it,” you acknowledged afterwards, realising that Kevin was going out of his way to figure out your mystery while he was dead tired.

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, you cleared your throat and changed the subject, heart hammering. “I’m going to stay here and study for my Psychology class, so you don’t have to stay if you’d rather get some sleep.”

“Psychology?” Kevin echoed. “Are you taking it with Professor Shin?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “She talks so fast that my hand feels like it’s going to fall off after her lectures,” you complained.

Kevin laughed. “I can relate,” he commented. “I didn’t think you were in my class. I’m in section fifteen, what about you?”

“Section twenty-two,” you said, shrugging. “Although I’m glad to hear that it’s not just my class that she’s driving crazy.”

“Ditto,” Kevin agreed. “I actually have to get some studying done for that class too. You mind if I stay?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “It always helps to study with a friend,” you added, pulling out your notes and laptop from your tote bag.

After setting up all of your work, you quickly got to studying, cross-referencing terms from your notes to the textbook to make sure you didn’t write down anything wrong in your hurry. Kevin was silent and still beside you, which you took no notice of because you were so focused. In your distraction, he soon drifted off to sleep with his pencil still in hand, head lulling back to rest on the sofa as his eyes shut by their own accord.

Forty minutes later, you had finished both of the units on Social Psychology and furrowed your brows at an unfamiliar name. “Hey Kev, did you guys talk about-“ you paused after turning to face your new friend, seeing that he was peacefully sleeping, his head now leaning to the side to face you.

The sight of him sleeping peacefully warmed your heart, especially after he had talked about his insomnia earlier. Smiling, you pulled your headphones out of your tote bag so you could listen to the recorded lectures in favour of waking up Kevin to ask him for help. As carefully as you could, you slid the pencil out of his palm and placed it to the side so he could get some rest.

You spent the next half an hour studying in silence, until you noticed Eric, Sunwoo and Jacob walking up to you and Kevin. “Hey,” Sunwoo greeted you, earning a wave from you.

“Hi guys,” you whispered back. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Kevin dating?” Eric interrupted whatever Sunwoo was about to say, an excited glint in his eyes. “You guys are in the make-out section of the library!”

You made a face. “That’s why nobody’s here?” you realised, looking around and frowning. “No, Eric. We’re just studying together.”

Jacob grinned. “Looks like Kevin’s making really great progress on that front,” he teased. “I’m Jacob, by the way,” he added, since the two of you hadn’t properly been introduced yet.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied. “Nice to finally meet you! These rascals have told me all about you,” you motioned to Sunwoo and Eric, who beamed proudly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you as well,” Jacob replied. “And I’ve come to collect Kevin. If he doesn’t wake up soon, he’s going to miss his Ceramics class,” he explained.

“Aw,” you pouted, glancing over at Kevin. “He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, though. And he said he was struggling to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. “I hate waking him. Believe me, I’m his roommate so I see it all first-hand. But attendance is graded in this class, so…” he trailed off with a small shrug before leaning over and waking Kevin up.

Kevin awoke, eyes blinking drowsily as he took in the image of four people staring at him. “What did I do?” he asked, wondering what prompted all the attention.

You grinned, finding the sight rather cute. “Your wake-up service is here to tell you it’s ceramics time,” you explained.

“I fell asleep,” Kevin realised. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, feeling bad that you were studying in silence when you were supposed to be helping each other out.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you got some shut-eye,” you assured him. “Go get ready for your class.”

Kevin gathered all of his things into his bag and waved his goodbyes, trudging out of the library with Jacob. “So,” Jacob began, a wide grin gracing his features. “That’s Y/n?” he teased.

“Yes, that’s Y/n,” Kevin replied quietly.

“The famous Y/n?”

“Oh my god please tell me you didn’t say anything to Y/n.”

“What should I have said? Oh so you’re the Y/n that Kevin has been in love with all semester! The famous muse! Nice to meet you, I’m the guy that has to listen to him gush about you.”

“Don’t make me hide your guitar.”

moonscribbles accepted your follow request!

You sat up from where you were lying down on your bed, startled at the notification you had just received. Racing to open your Instagram app, you looked at moonscribbles’s account. None of the drawings on their account were of you, so you couldn’t decide if they were the right person. But they simply had to be. They went to your school, they studied art…

Braving it, you decided to send them a private message.

Hi! I think I found your sketchbook in Professor Shin’s lecture hall. How do you want me to return it to you?

You waited for a response, which came within a minute.

You can keep it.

You were pouting over your cereal in the dining hall when Juyeon joined you, his plate stacked high with all kinds of delicious breakfast foods. “Hey pouty,” he teased you, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge when he took the seat next to yours. His smile never failed to cheer you up, which is why your frown caused concern to grow in your best friend. “Why the long face?”

“I’m never going to meet moonscribbles,” you told him, your eyes uncharacteristically sad and shiny when they met Juyeon’s.

He startled at how upset you were. “What? Why would you say that?”

“They accepted my follow request on Instagram,” you explained. “And they told me I could keep the sketchbook. Then they went offline,” you recalled. “I guess I was wrong about them.”

“I’m sorry. Whoever they are, they clearly have no idea what they’re missing.” Juyeon frowned, sympathetic of your situation and confused about what Kevin thought he was doing.

“What who’s missing?” Jacob and Eric took the seats opposite you and Juyeon, their plates equally filled with breakfast foods.

“Moon scribbles,” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into it with anyone other than Juyeon and Sunwoo. While you were starting to get to know Jacob better, you didn’t feel comfortable enough around them to discuss the matter with them. And of course you loved Eric, and he knew your situation, but you hadn’t anticipated feeling so upset about Moon scribbles’s response.

“Kevin?” Jacob asked innocently, picking up his fork and elbowing Eric so he wouldn’t steal his food. “What did he do?”

Your eyes snapped over to Jacob. “What did you just say?” you asked. Juyeon’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open as Jacob revealed Kevin’s secret to you without even realising it.

“I was asking what Kevin did,” Jacob repeated. “You said Moon scribbles, didn’t you? Kevin’s artist handle?”

“That’s clever,” Eric chimed in, innocently eating his food. “Since his last name is Moon, and all.” Then his eyes widened and he realised the situation, his gaze snapping over at you to see how you were handling the reveal.

In that moment, you’d never felt like more of an idiot.

“Kevin is Moon scribbles,” you echoed, dropping your fork onto your tray.

“Oh,” Jacob paused, reading the room as he saw the way Juyeon was staring at him. “Did you… not know that?”

“No,” you told him, having lost your already minimal appetite. “He didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh boy,” Jacob said awkwardly. “I feel like I definitely just messed up.”

“No, no,” you denied, waving your hand in Jacob’s direction. “Not at all. I’m just glad that I know who it is,” you tried to convince him, as well as yourself. “Did you know?” you asked Juyeon. “That day at the exhibition… You were trying to tell me that you knew it was Kevin, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I knew,” Juyeon replied slowly, confirming your suspicions.

For a moment, a dull pain ached in your chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, hurt that your best friend had lied to you.

“Because I figured Kevin wanted to tell you in his own time,” he explained. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, I just thought he’d do the right thing and explain it to you himself. It felt like it wasn’t my news to tell.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “I understand,” you got to your feet, grabbing your tray after putting your bag on your shoulder.

Juyeon stood up with you. “Are you upset with me?” he asked. “Because I understand if you are.”

You did your best to smile, not caring if it looked real or not. “I’m not upset with you,” you assured him. “I’m upset, but not at you. I have to get to the last dress rehearsal before opening night, so,” you glanced over at Jacob and Eric, who both looked mortified. “Enjoy your breakfast,” you told them before putting your tray away and walking to the theatre as quickly as you could.

“Hey!” your director greeted you when you came in, beaming. “You’re like a half hour early,” she observed.

“Oh, I’ve just come to go over lines and talk to some friends,” you lied, smiling at her before stepping backstage. The set design volunteers were adding last-minute touched to their sets, and you knew that was where you’d find Kevin.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you arrived in front of him. “What’s up?”

“Moon scribbles doesn’t want their sketchbook back,” you told him, as if you didn’t know that he was Moon scribbles. “So you don’t have to keep looking for them,” you added.

“Oh, okay,” Kevin nodded as if he didn’t already know this. “Did you want the sketchbook back?”

“You can keep it,” you declined, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s rightfully yours anyway.”

Kevin paused his painting. “It is?” he asked, voice squeaking just slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, Moon scribbles,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Besides, it’s the only way you’ll get to see me ever again, anyway,” you added, frowning as you turned around to go. “Bye, Kevin.”

“Wait,” Kevin put his fine paintbrush down to stop you from leaving.

“What?” you asked him, facing him with a raised eyebrow. “You know what, I actually really want to hear this. What exactly is it that you’re going to say to save this situation?” you wondered.

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to go on this long,” he began.

“That’s a joke,” you accused. “You knew how much this meant to me! Just admit that you were never going to tell me that you’re Moon scribbles.”

“How could I tell you?” Kevin exclaimed, startling you with his sudden increase in volume. “How could I just come forward and tell you that it was me? What would you have thought of me?”

“I’d have thought more of you than I do now,” you retorted. “Look, I get it now. I read the situation all wrong. You don’t think I’m special or vibrant or any of those things. You just drew me because I was there, I suppose,” you decided, feeling your heart dropping in your chest at your own words.

“That is not true,” Kevin denied, shaking his head. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I suppose you might have though I was pretty if you drew me,” you allowed. “But clearly, I was putting too much onto this whole Moon scribbles thing, and it didn’t mean anything to you at all. Which is fine, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It just sucks that you couldn’t just tell me that to my face,” you confessed wholeheartedly. “But it’s fine. You can just go back to drawing your faceless muse now, I’m over it,” you lied.

“That’s not why I didn’t want to tell you that I’m Moon scribbles,” Kevin insisted. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I drew you just because you’re beautiful.”

“That worked out well,” you muttered.

Kevin sighed. “I don’t care about your looks, as ironic as that sounds. When I first saw you… You exuded an aura. I know that sounds cheesy and not everyone believes in vibes or energy, or whatever, but it’s true. You inspired me to draw and be creative,” he explained. “But I liked you when I met you. When I saw you in class and when I saw you around Sunwoo and Juyeon. You don’t get it. You are my faceless muse. You have been ever since our Cultural Anthropology class last semester.”

That stopped your train of thought. “You were in that class?” you repeated, confused.

“Yes I was. The first time I saw you… I swear, I haven’t drawn anything other than you since that day,” Kevin’s tone was uncharacteristically serious, and you felt inclined to believe him. “No matter how hard I tried. Flowers turned into your eyes, landscapes became your hair; I was a man possessed. I still am.”

“Then why not tell me all of this?” you wondered, frustrated with the situation.

“I thought that if you found out I was Moon scribbles, you’d just think I was shallow,” he paused. “Or worse.”

You rose an eyebrow. “Worse?”

Now it was Kevin’s turn to sound frustrated. “I mean, I’m not so great and special. I figured you’d be disappointed that it’s me.”

Your heart clenched for him. “How could I be disappointed that it’s you?” you asked him. “You’re great. It’s me who’s awful.”

“You aren’t awful,” he denied. “You’re so much greater than you can see. Don’t you get it? You inspired me to create after the most awful year I’ve ever had artistically. I drew you instead of studying, I drew you instead of leaving my dorm, hell, I drew you instead of sleeping. You didn’t misunderstand anything. I do think that you’re special, and vibrant.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Okay,” you spoke quietly, your mind spinning in circles. “I believe you.”

Kevin nodded. “Good.”

You nodded back at him, unsure of how to continue. “So… You have a sketchbook full of drawings of me,” you decided to tease him, just to bring some of the usual lightheartedness you felt around Kevin back.

Kevin visibly reddened at your words. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said it was just one,” he confessed.

You brightened at his words. “You have multiple sketchbooks full of drawings of me?” you exclaimed.

“I made drawings of you for the art exhibition,” he reminded you. “I haven’t been able to draw anything else for seven months. And I draw a lot, so the sketchbooks just started piling up. Plus my iPad,” catching the delighted glint in your eyes, Kevin cut himself off. “You know what, we don’t have to talk about my iPad.”

You smiled, flattered that Kevin had been so inspired by you. “Well, thank you. For filling sketchbooks and iPads and whatever other mediums with drawings of me. You made me feel seen for the first time in a really long time, and I appreciate it,” you acknowledged his efforts. “Is this why everyone acts so weird when we’re together?” you put the pieces together.

“What are you talking about?” Kevin asked, dreading your answer.

“Eric practically skips over to me whenever he sees me now, asking about you and all kinds of other things. Jacob is a lot more subtle, but he looks at me like a proud dad sometimes,” you explained.

Kevin rested his palm against his forehead. “Why are they so obvious?”

“The real question is: Why was Juyeon the least obvious,” you retorted.

“I think he just wanted us both to figure things out in our own time,” Kevin mused, earning a hum and a nod in agreement from you.

“Hey Y/n,” Younghoon poked his head around the corner. “We’re getting ready for rehearsals. Are you going to be done in time to change?” he asked, eyes flitting between you and Kevin.

“Yeah, I’m good to start getting ready. Thanks Younghoon,” you agreed, grateful that your friend wasn’t making a big deal out of what he might have overheard. Younghoon nodded, disappearing with a wink to get himself ready. “Well, that’s my cue,” you trailed off, motioning to the backstage area where you had to get changed for your last dress rehearsal.

Kevin nodded, slightly upset that your conversation didn’t come to a closure yet. “Okay,” he replied. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

You agreed with him, grabbing your bag from where you dropped it on the floor and making your way to the changing rooms. Before you opened the door, you turned back to face Kevin, who had been watching you leave. “I came to your exhibition, so you have to come to opening night,” you reminded him of the agreement the two of you made.

“I’ll be there,” Kevin assured you, taking it as a sign that the two of you could still – at the very least – be friends.

“Good,” you smiled. “And after opening night, we have a few days off so I would definitely be available, say, Wednesday?” you informed him, hoping he’d get the idea.

Kevin brightened up, his posture straightening suddenly. “Oh?” he stammered. “Would you maybe want to get dinner on Wednesday?” he offered. “Like, a date?”

You grinned, your eye dropping into a wink. “What an excellent idea,” you told him. “By the way, don’t bother asking the boys about what I like, they’re completely clueless. My favourite flowers are peonies.”

“Peonies,” Kevin repeated, accompanied by a nod. “Any preferred colour?” he asked, giddy with excitement at the outcome your confrontation had.

You shrugged. “Surprise me.”

note: okay i know you guys waited forever for this so thank you so much for your patience!! i hope you guys enjoyed it xx

[amive2567]

Snowy sneezes

Class 1a x GN! Reader

Quirk: Snowman ~ can produce snowmen with everything that includes water. They can't melt (only by other quirks, not through natural causes), and they do whatever the host wants. If the host doesn't give any tasks immediately, the snowman becomes a body of its own forever. Unfortunately, they can't speak :( The more water there is in the air, (or any other source of water), the bigger the snowman gets. 

Warning: Crack, Fluff, mention of sexual content (because Mineta), swearing (because Bakugou), a bit OOC Midoriya

Summary: Y/n is sick, and every time they sneeze, little snowmen appear in their dorm. They are listening to music and study. Because of that, they didn't even notice that the snowmen disappeared and caused trouble. 

Disclaimer: My hero academia and the characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

Words: about 2.489

Masterlist

Inspiration by Frozen Fever

Your head pouted, and you barely could keep your eyes open. You had a quirk about snow, so why did you get sick from a snowball fight. "L/N-san, could you please lift your head from the desk and focus on the lesson." admonished you Cementos. "I am sorry, Ishiyama-sensei." you apologized. He continued to teach, but you couldn't focus on a word he said. The lesson dragged on like forever. 

After the day ended, you went straight to your dorm room to replicate the knowledge you got taught today. 

After some time, the headache disappeared, and you could finally focus on your unfinished notes. Your nose started to tingle, and with a loud achoo, you sneezed.  A cold shiver went down your spine, but you didn't think much of it. You were so caught up in the work that you didn't notice how a small snowman waddled quietly around the room. Since listening to music helped you while studying, you didn't hear the rustling steps on your carpet.  The cute snowman watched your back and looked around your room. He investigated your plant in front of your bed. His tiny form tried to stroke the plant, but his short snowy arm couldn't reach the plant. The small snowman was determined to stroke the plant, so he tried to climb up at the plant pot. Since he didn't think about the consequences, the plant pot fell over and covered him with the potting soil. Anxiously he watched if you had seen his plight. You didn't seem to notice it. So he tried to clean himself with his tiny arms. 

Another sneeze shook your body, and another tiny snowman appeared. He looked around the room and found his buddy. The two jumped happily around, and the new snowman helped to clean up his pal. The two snowmen happily discovered your room, as quiet as they could. After they were done, your room looked like you had a fight in it.  They also tried to open the door, but they were too tiny. Exhausted, the two snowmen settled in front of the door. 

A sneezing fit hit you, and about five snowmen developed in your room. The two snowmen got right up and wobbled to the new snowmen. They hugged each other like they were old friends. Silently the two older snowmen convinced the younger ones to open the door together. They built a ladder out of snowmen by stacking themself on their shoulders. With a soft click, the door opened, and they left your messy room.

Your classmates were occupied with their interests and tasks. Some were reading, training, baking, showering, or learning. So they were either outside, in their rooms, or in the common room area. This meant that the hallway in front of your room was empty. The snowmen waddled quietly around the enormous building. 

Since they discovered their new skill, they opened another door. In the room was a blond boy, who laid on his back with a manga in his hand, called Snow white with the Red Hair. He was completely caught up in the book, so he didn't even notice that someone entered his room. The snowmen inspected his room. It has the theme of yellow and blue, and on his shelf were tons of All Might figures. One snowman got his snowy hand on a manga and tried to read it. He failed because snowmen can't read, but the pictures were interesting. He wanted to read it later, so he took it with him. 

The gang of snowmen went downstairs to explore the other parts of the dorms. Loud singing caught their attention. They followed the singing and landed in a steaming environment or, to call it something more simple, the bathroom. It was hot in there, and the snowmen were happy that they couldn't melt by natural causes. Since the bathroom was really a boring place to be, they climbed on the shelves and searched through the products. After the other snowmen had left the room, the last one of them was mesmerized by a big red bottle with the label: red hair dye. He took the bottle with him and followed the other snowmen fast. 

The next stop of the seven snowy figures was another room. They used their secret method again and opened the door. The room was cramped with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Another weird thing was that there was a shelf only for tons of glasses. No one was there. The snowmen wandered around the room like it was an old museum. The two snowmen that stole something hid in the corners of the room, so their misbehavior wasn't noticed. The smallest of the snowmen looked around and climbed up on the shelf with the glasses. Unfortunately, one of the spectacles fell on the ground and broke. No one seemed to witness it, so the tiny snowman grabbed them and hid them behind his back from the others to see. After they discovered every inch of the room, they made their way to the next one. 

The room wasn't much different from the first one, but it had a more pleasant atmosphere. It was bright and happy. Some snowmen were bored because of the All Might figures they had already seen, but one of them got interested by the rarest of all time. The bronze age All Might figure. Only fifty got produced, and the owner of the room had one. The snowman needed this figure, so when no one watched him, he took the opportunity and stole it. 

They went into two other rooms before they finally got to the common-room kitchen. There stood a tall brown-haired boy with a tart pan. He studied a recipe and was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice how a snowman stole his eggs. After the boy wanted to reach for them, they were gone, and he questioned himself if he forgot to lay the eggs on the kitchen counter. He opened the fridge and saw no eggs. But he was sure that he bought them with Koda yesterday. They couldn't be gone, only if someone used them. And he was sure who it was. With angry steps, he walked to the room of a certain angry pomeranian. 

In the meantime, the snowmen discovered that everyone had stolen something. They laid their stolen objects in the middle of their circle. The items they had stolen were a romance manga, red hair dye, a pair of glasses, a rare All Might figure, eggs, lipstick, and a book. All of the snowmen had a panicked expression on their snowy faces. The humans aren't dumb they would soon find out, so they have to hide their items somewhere. Fearfully they collected the things and quickly set about hiding with the stuff in a nearby room. 

It was a dark room, and it got lit by a small source of light. Unearthly sounds could be heard from the computer screen in front of a short, purple boy. The older snowmen tried to cover the eyes of the younger ones. So they couldn't see the horrific show that played on the screen. It was dangerous to be in such a gross environment with young snowmen, but it was better than getting caught. 

"I didn't steal your lame eggs. Now leave me alone fat lips." cursed Bakugou as Sato confronted him. "But I am sure you know where my manga is, don't you?" Bakugou questioned harshly with a raised eyebrow. "Why would I want a manga from you?" Sato asked him. The blond one scoffed and pushed Sato out of the way. "I bet shitty Deku got it," he grumbled and stamped in the direction of his room. Without knocking, he kicked the door open. "Oi, shitty nerd. Give it back," he yelled. But what he didn't notice that the room was messy as hell. "Ah, Bakugou, I wanted to talk to you," Midoriya spoke slowly. His expression was horrifying. Even when Bakugou wouldn't admit it, he was scared of the shorter green-haired boy. "Now, where do you have it?" Bakugou asked, unimpressed. "What should I have? I wouldn't even give it to you. You stole my All Might bronze age figure." Midoriya yelled. He activated his quirk, and before he could Detroit Smash Bakugou into nirvana, Kirishima intervened. "Wait, that's not really manly of you, bro. My hair dye also went missing. I think someone is stealing from us." Sato followed the red-haired. "I think he's right," he said. "Let's meet up with the other ones and think about it before we hurt each other." mediated Kirishima. Still, with rage in his eyes, Midoriya let got of his powerful quirk and noded. "Alright, but I am not done with you, Kacchan." proposed Midoriya. "Whatever you say, shitty nerd." scoffed Bakugou.

As they got everyone except two persons in the common room area, the yelling began. "My lipstick went missing. How can I be able to rock my hero costume." Mina cried and hugged Uraraka desperately. The short brunette patted her back, comforting. "A book of mine also went missing," noted Momo. "Did someone saw my pair of glasses? I need to find Marry the third. Without her, my collection is incomplete." Iida yelled and made his typical hand gesture. At his comment, more than half of class 1a had to suppress a burst of laughter.  "My hair product also went missing," said Kirishima. "My limited All Might figure in his bronze age is missing," said Midoriya grumpily. "You look a bit scary, Midoriya. Is everything ok?" Todoroki asked. "Yeah, of course. I didn't need my All Might figure anyway." he sarcastically answered. "It's just a figure," Todoroki mentioned, and every chatter died down. "Dude, does he have a death wish?" asked Kaminari quietly. "Maybe," answered Sero noiselessly. "A figure... A figure..." Midoriya yelled and wanted to charge for a punch, but a frustrated screech interrupted the argument. 

You finished the last sentence of your work. So you turned around and stretched yourself with closed eyes, but as soon as you opened them, you were met with a tremendous mess. "The sneezes and the...oh shit," you yelled out in frustration. You were so occupied with work that you didn't even notice that you let go of a bunch of snowmen. Your steps stormed to the common-room to start the search for the tiny, snowy trouble makers. The yells in the common-room got louder and louder as you got nearer. "Guys," you yelled over the screeches of Midoriya. "I let go of my quirk, and some snowmen are probably starting some trouble. We need to find them." you got straight to the point. Everyone looked at you with expressionless faces. "Why is even every one of you here?" you asked now, confused. "Your tiny snow fuckers stole our stuff," Bakugou grumbled. "What was actually stolen from you, Kacchan ?" Kaminari asked.  "A manga," answered Bukugou grouchily. "Uh, which genre?" questioned Kaminary. "Shut it, dunce face," Bakugou yelled. "Just asking." waved Kaminari away. 

"Do you know where they possibly went, or how we can get rid of them?" asked Momo calmly. "I don't know where they could be," you answered, a bit disappointed. "If we find them and want to get rid of them, we need to destroy them with fire quirks. They don't melt of natural causes," you explained. "Alright, I think we build two teams. One team goes with Bakugou and the other one with Todoroki," suggested Momo. "Why do I need to be in one team. I can do this on my own." Bakugou protested. "Do you want your manga back asap?" Momo asked after that the ash-blond boy was quiet but still grumpy. "I am not going with Kacchan." Midoriya angrily said. "I don't want to go with you either," shouted Bakugou. "Just like an old married couple." laughed Kaminari. "Shut it, dunce face." yelled the blond boy. 

After you build up the teams, you started to search for the cold troublemakers. The team of yours consisted of Todoroki, Aoyama, Tsuyu, Iida, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, a grumpy Midoriya, Tokoyami, Shoji, Ojiro, and you, of course. The other ones had fewer patient people in their team. Bakugou got Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Jiro, Sato, Koda and Hagakure in his team. Your team searched on the second and third floor for the stolen things and your snowmen. 

The third floor was clear now you searched on the second floor. "Waa, how did snowmen came into my room?" a high-pitched yell caught the attention of your team. You neared the room and opened the door. Mineta was standing in front of a bunch of tiny snowmen. Everyone in the room turned, slowly their hats to the door. "Yeah, gotcha," you shouted happily. The snowmen suddenly let go of the stuff they hoarded and ran in different directions. "We need to catch them. Todoroki, Tsuyu, Iida, Momo, and I are catching them, and the rest of you secure the missing stuff," you ordered. During this time, Momo produced earpieces for communication. The people named ran with you to catch the snowmen.

Since the snowmen were fast and not as dumb as you wished they were, you had to separate. The snowman in front of you ran fast, and you yelled after him. As the snowman had to take the elevator, you could easily catch him. "I got one. Does someone else has one?" you asked in your earpiece. "I've got one too." answered Iida "Me too," said Tsuyu. "I have already burned two," said Todoroki in his calm demeanor.  "I am currently trying to catch one," yelled Momo hectically. "Thanks, guys, that means only one is missing," you said. A loud explosion roared through the dorm-building. "Now, I think only one is left." you corrected yourself. "I got the penultimate snowman," said Momo proudly. "Great." you cheered. As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, the snowman in your arms tried to wiggle himself free. "We need to met up in the common room, so we can get rid of the captured snowmen," you said to the others. 

After you got rid of the captured snowmen. Bakugou stormed into the common room area. "We found only one, are all gone?" he asked grumpily. "Only one is missing," you answered as you watched the penultimate snowman melt. "I got the last one he was hiding in the fridge," said Sato and brought you the last one. 

"Thanks, guys, for helping. I am so sorry that my quirk got out of hand and caused such trouble," you apologized to your classmates. "No problem, that could happen to every one of us. You don't need to apologize." Midoriya said reassuringly. A small smile spread across your face, and you were relieved that everyone agreed and wasn't angry with you. Except for Bakugou, but that was to be foreseen. 

[vvitchering]

I saw a fic where they described Geralt as a pretty boy, like genuinely pretty for a man. Would be cool if Geralt was pretty for a witcher and other witchers notice and hits on Geralt when they winter in kaer morhen. And Eskel gets pissed off and just goes "Mine"

Eskel prides himself on his even temper and calm demeanor. He’s been praised for those traits for years, told they’ll make him a great witcher some day, and he’s dutifully maintained the image of a good proper by-the-book witcher trainee ever since. Things just do not rile up him easily. Not the heckling of his classmates, not a failed attempt at a new sword technique, not even being stuck on dish washing duty for a month gets under his skin in any noticeable way. 

And then puberty had to go and hit Geralt like a goddamn ten ton fiend. 

Geralt, in contrast to Eskel, has always been a bit of a wild card. He was a small skinny child and painfully shy and nervous his first few months at the keep. With Eskel’s help and reassurance, he blossomed slowly into a cocky but ultimately likable teenager. He’s gifted with a sword, the best out of everyone in their class, though Eskel is still best at signs. His morals are strong and he has an annoying habit of always wanting to help. He’s a bit soft for a future witcher but he’s smart and observant and has a real talent for strategy that will certainly serve him well on the path.

He also seems to become devastatingly handsome almost overnight. He fills in his lanky body with lean muscle. He sheds the last of the childhood plumpness in his face which reveals high regal cheekbones, a long straight nose, and a defined jawline. The trials change him further, bleaching his hair to a stark shining white that hangs straight and smooth and sharpening his canines to elegant deadly points. 

He’s the talk of the keep almost immediately. 

“Is that Geralt? Holy shit!”

“He’ll never want for a bed partner with those looks, lucky bastard.”

“Have you seen him up close yet? He’s pretty! Longest eyelashes in the cohort, for sure.”

Eskel listens to the other trainees gossip and gush and steadfastly refuses to participate. Geralt is his closest friend, he really has no desire to talk about him behind his back, even if the talk is flattering. Even if he agrees. 

Geralt is pretty. His legs are long and well shaped and he insists on wearing pants that must be too small for him with the way they hug his ass. They can’t share clothes anymore, which pains Eskel slightly in a way he doesn’t quite understand. Where Geralt has grown up, Eskel has grown out. Now, Eskel’s shirts hang from Geralt’s thinner sleeker frame and Eskel can’t even get one of Geralt’s past his shoulders. 

They’re no longer mistaken for one another, which is another source of confusing pain Eskel will have to work through when he’s not busy panicking over how godsdamn attractive Geralt is. 

And all of that, he could still deal with. It’s when the comments turn decidedly more lecherous that Eskel feels, for maybe the first time, the urge to do something stupid. 

They’re eating breakfast one morning. Geralt is telling a story and waving his arms about like an idiot to illustrate some point he’s trying to make. More than half the table of trainees is paying rapt attention, food forgotten, despite the story not being very interesting. People tend to pay much closer attention to Geralt, now. 

“Eat your food, it’s getting cold.” Eskel grumbles to Aubry who’s sitting across from him and hasn’t taken his eyes off Geralt since he began his story. 

Aubry grins. 

“Dunno, Eskel. I think there’s something we’d all like to sink our teeth into a bit more than this sausage, if you catch my meaning” he says, and elbows Frank, the trainee to his right, who chuckles in agreement and gives Geralt a very obvious up and down look. 

Geralt, the moron, is oblivious to it all. Eskel grits his teeth. One part of him feels the old instinct to step in and protect Geralt, though Geralt hasn’t needed his protection in years, and Aubry and Frank truly haven’t done anything harmful. They’re a castle full of adolescent men with no outlets other than fighting and training. 

And fucking. 

The other part of Eskel shamefully agrees with Aubry’s statement. He’d never risk his friendship with Geralt for a casual roll in the sheets. As much as he finds he cannot stop thinking about doing just that. But the fact that he’s stuck here, having to listen to others have similar thoughts? Intolerable. 

Geralt is his friend! His!

His. 

Oh no. 

;)

Part 2