#the actual greatest psychic

[reigenismyhusband]

hi (vibrating uncontrollably w happiness) mp100 is my fav manga i legit remember where i was when it ended (i cried) and reimob is literally one of the only ships in media ever i have ever liked. you're my friend now (politely)

may i get a reiace lore dump or acemob or just anything about your self-ship lore if you'd like to :333

OMG HIII this ask made me SO happy oh my god!!!!! mob psycho is SO good i love it so much and im so glad u are also a reimob connoisseur its so so good. its basically the dynamic i base reiace on shhh its a secret (its not a secret sorry mob)

LONGISH ramble under the cut about selfship lore thats kinda disjointed thoughts and feelings and tw for mentions of age gaps, grooming, sibling incest etc

RAHH okay so i have two main "timelines" if you will for ace: one where he just, completely replaces mob and is a kageyama. for the most part, this one follows the events of the show, except with ace lol. (sorry mob i love you i swear) ace is more liberal about using his powers than mob is, and hes not quite as powerful, but hes still powerful and trusts reigen so so much. i love to play around with how they got together, but i loove ace that looks up to reigen so much and has a huge crush on him and wants to be together so bad, and eventually reigen gives innn. ace's name is aoi kageyama, and hes transmasc. hes thankful that his given name is gender-neutral, and tries to be stealth as possible (as much as a 14 y/o can). hes stealth at school, and generally people dont know, but there are rumors of course and he gets bullied for this + his powers a lot. he doesnt like fighting back with his powers so he just kinda takes it. his parents in this are very supportive, but aren't around as much, and theyre not very financially well off. this leads to lots of time with just him and ritsu alone, and they have a pretty codependent relationship as hes kinda raised him even though theyre pretty close in age. especially because even though they dont say it, ace can sense that his parents prefer ritsu; hes smarter, hes more althetic, etc.

this is why he initially sought out spirits and such; a small, frail, 10 y/o ace shows up at reigens doorstep and asks him if hed hire him, hes really good at fighting ghosts he promises! reigen takes pity on him and takes him on as his apprentice, paying him a bit more than mob gets in the show lol. ace comes to be really handy for exorcisms, and early on reigen starts calling him "ace" because hes "the ace up his sleeve" when it comes to tricky jobs!! (this is where i get my ship tags from hehe) ace really likes this name and prefers it over his given name, although he doesnt hate it per se.

as time goes on, ace hangs around the office more and more, helping reigen in his various jobs. with his parents gone so much, they start to hang out more after work too; going to dinner together, spending time together, even sleeping over or going to overnight jobs to farther away onsens and inns. they grow close, much closer, and eventually they get together!! i like reigen getting touchier and touchier until they actually do stuff and whoops cant hide your feelings about this anymore!!

(this version of things doesnt always include mob, but im including him in this bc ive been loving thinking about reimobace lately <33) in the other one, ace's name is aoi hayashi. his parents died when he was young, leaving him and his sister to live by themselves. they inherited a house and money, and are doing okay, but with just eachother their relationship gets even more intimate than it was before. his older sister is a NEET and a hikikomori, doing nothing but staying in their house and mostly in her room. shes also an esper, though not a very powerful one. she drops out of school, but ace continues, where he is bullied a lot. one day when hes around 11, he gets trapped in an alleyway by some older bullies, and his powers almost go out of control - but who would be walking by than a 28 y/o mob? mob is able to control ace's powers, deal with the bullies, and take him back to spirits and such to treat his injuries. mob and reigen are together (and have been since mob was ~15 or so) and run spirits and such together, although reigen continues to be the face of the company. (honestly i havent thought about where serizawa and tome would fit into this…so pretend theyre not here for now lmao) mob helps out with the real spirits, of course, and him and reigen are sweeties together <33 mob tells ace that hes a powerful esper too, and if he wants, he can train under him to control his powers and do some good in the world. ace is thrilled, he hasnt had any nice older figures in his life like ever, and loves the attention and care he gets from mob and reigen. and since its just him and his sister (and she barely leaves her room to know where he is at any given time anyway) he spends a lot of time with mob and reigen after work; after a certain point, its almost like he lives at their place rather than his own.

they all get together at some point; the specifics vary depending on how fucked up i wanna make it lol. right now im thinking of them grooming him to be with them, esp considering hes already been groomed and has experience, they take advantage of that (since reigen groomed mob) and its totally normal and theyre sweet. i think mob would be pretty possessive of ace; he doesnt want him to get hurt in the way hes gotten hurt before, and he also hates how ace gets bullied so often. i like to think ace gets kidnapped a lot by people trying to get to mob (since hes the worlds most powerful psychic after all) and they have to come rescue him a lot <33 reigen loves both of his younger boyfriends and i Really like the idea of ace being able to give reigen his powers like mob does in the show and then two very powerful espers have their way with him <3333333 my fav ever.

BUT YEAJ SORRY THIS IS SO LONG IM JUST VERY EXCITED feel free to send me asks anytime or dm me to ask for my discord id love to chat ab mob psycho or anything really!!!!!!!! TYSM

[thrilling-oneway]

in some ways i think kohane going from having a soft and shy singing voice to having Akina's normal voice is a good way to show her development, but i also don't like that she's just akina now. what happened to Kohane.

[kayit-z]

Reigen Arataka: Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century

I actually have more but not colored

[fushisagi]

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[doctorsiren]

Moth Psycho 100 AU

Something that I latched onto for mp100 is the moth imagery for Mogami. More than once is a moth shown as symbolism, but it’s also associated with Mogami more than once, whereas with the other bugs he’s shown associated as, it’s just once i’m pretty sure (even if not, moths show up as symbolism the most so uhhh yeah)

So @cupofchemicalchatter and I cooked up an AU idea :)

Mogami Arc happens as normal except for the very end. Instead of Matsuo catching Mogami’s spirit and trapping him, Mogami is able to go and watch Mob from afar like he said he would: “You made your choice, kid. I’ll keep watching from afar to see if you made the right one.”

At the end of the Mogami Arc, Reigen says: “Anyway, history has shown that no good ever comes from drowning in wealth, fame, or power. Think about it: Mogami let his own powers swallow him up too.” Remember this, as this is important for the AU I’m about to explain. 

And this will go into the next arc, the Separation Arc. The part where Reigen is in the alleyway under the streetlight with those moths above him always felt deeper to a level that it probably wasn’t supposed to be and by that I mean I was connecting it to Mogami’s moth thing.

What am I talking about? Okay well, just imagine the Separation Arc happening as usual UNTIL that moment. The moment where Reigen is in the alleyway:

Mogami had been keeping an eye on both Mob and Reigen, figuring that a way to break Mob was to use someone he cared about, that person being his mentor. So in that moment, Mogami had been possessing / using that moth as his vessel to watch Reigen. The moment that the moth drops dead and Reigen looks up is the moment that Mogami transferred his possession from the moth to Reigen, causing his sudden change. Now he is determined to “become somebody”. Of course, just like in canon and like Mogami did, he starts out by helping people out with their problems. He stated in the Mogami arc: “Mogami? Yeah, I modeled part of my work off him when I started this job.” Mogami stated that “at first, I used my abilities for good, giving advice and solving various problems.” Mogami was the “Psychic Star of the 20th Century”, with Reigen being the “Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century”. Mogami basically told Mob the classic villain thing of “we’re not so different, you and I”, but Mogami now sees that with Reigen as well. Despite the man not having powers, he would prove useful.

Reigen began “developing” psychic abilities. He thought at first that it might have been something residual still left over from when Mob gave him his powers while fighting the Scars, but he soon began to believe that he had dormant abilities that became awoken once he set out on “becoming somebody”. However, it’s actually just the possession from Mogami. He begins to realize that he doesn’t need Mob anymore. He can do exorcisms on his own now! So, he starts pushing everyone away…the people who would be able to actually help him out of this.

Reigen starts to hear a voice in his head. It’s Mogami speaking to him like he did with Mob, but he disguises it as Reigen’s own voice, allowing the conman to think that it’s his own thoughts. Reigen begins to separate himself from this “new” version of himself (which is just Mogami), but not in a way of “oh, these are bad thoughts” but in the way of “this version of me is my only true friend.” Since he’s being possessed, he’s not really thinking rationally. 

His reflection becomes a way that Mogami can communicate visually, while disguised as Reigen, of course. He speaks to Reigen, convincing him further that he doesn’t need anybody. Only himself.

His shadow also becomes a visual way for “Reigen” to communicate (because I thought that would be cool, kind of like Morgana in Ducktales 2017, or in The Princess and the Frog). 

The turning point for where things actually go south is the Supernatural Detective TV spot. When Jodo suggests that Reigen be the one to do the exorcism, instead of letting Jodo trick him, Reigen insists that Jodo go ahead with how the program was planned. In this world, the event is reversed. Jodo actually does the fake exorcism, since it was scripted, but then Reigen steps in and explains there was no evil spirit to exorcise, hence making Jodo the fool rather than Reigen. The host praises Reigen and the child reveals that he was acting the whole time. 

And then begins his true metamorphosis. 

Usually, butterflies are used to represent change, however moths go through that same transformation, but to most, they are held typically in a lesser regard than their daytime counterparts. Not really important, but I just thought it was interesting.

Reigen starts to spiral, becoming more and more of a corrupted conman. He isn’t assassinating people for money like Mogami had done, but he is lying more and more and more. The more he becomes corrupted with power, the more his psychic abilities grow (think Ritsu with Dimple and the student council stuff)/ The idea actually started out by me suggesting that as he gets more corrupted, he starts to cough out moths (sorta like an odd moth-based hanahaki, but having literally nothing to do with unrequited love and he won’t die from the moths. He just coughs them out because we thought that went kinda hard), but of course, he keeps telling himself (as well as Mogami telling him) that he’s fine. 

His powers (Mogami’s powers) are getting stronger and he’s taking out bigger spirits, taking on bigger clients, and becoming a bigger star. He finds himself losing consciousness / disassociating at times, only to wake up and find that he is stronger. It has become a little of a Jekyll and Hyde situation, but while Mogami has control of Reigen’s body, he uses it to consume evil spirits to try and regain the power he lost from fighting Mob. How we’re visually showing the possession is through a scar (like how Dimple has the red cheek spots). He got the scar under his right eye when Mogami exploded that one-way mirror in the Mogami Arc, and since Reigen’s technically being possessed during the duration of the AU (once that moth dies), the scar is visible the whole time.

In the end (we haven’t figured out when but we just know), Mob has to confront Mogami inside Reigen’s head, like he did with Minori. Inside Reigen’s head, it becomes blatant that Reigen isn’t psychic, although Mob’s sorta known that for a while (as it is alluded to at the end of the Separation Arc). But, Mob himself doesn’t want to acknowledge that fact. Reigen always said he had powers! Why would he lie? So although Shigeo knows the truth, Mob doesn’t see it. He pretends that it’s not true. He believes in Reigen’s lies. The student has become the master, in it that Mob is now lying to himself because he can’t bring himself to believe that Reigen lied to him.

After everything, Mob is able to separate Mogami from Reigen (but of course, not without everyone getting their fair share of trauma). The scar goes away, as he is no longer possessed. He’s back to being powerless, and now he knows that it was Mogami the whole time. However, Mob says that line. He says how he’s known that his master is genuinely a good guy, because it wasn’t on his own that he did all that conning and evil spirit stuff. It was because of Mogami’s corruption and influence. I think Matsuo would still somehow come across Mogami’s spirit and capture him, just so that it can come in handy later when he’s used in the World Domination Arc bc I don’t wanna mess that up lmao

Anyways yeah that was my attempt at compiling some frantic and excited discord DMs about this AU into something somewhat cohesive! Now here’s art for the AU, because I wanted to share them, but I needed to explain what was going on first!

This was the first one I did for the AU, when I knew I needed to draw something up for the concept of him getting corrupted and coughing moths 😄

And then the shadow and mirror thing (I LOVE the one of “Reigen” in the reflection oughhhh)

If you remember that post where I said I woke up and found I had written “twink controlling a twink” the night prior, this is what it was in relation to 😭 why did I call Mogami a twink very very late at night? Who knows. The important thing is that doing so altered everything and now he is one in my mind, so I can’t do anything about it. Don't ask why this page seems really fruity, it was like 3 AM and over a week ago so I don't know (/silly)

These were from when I was rewatching the Mogami Arc to pick up details for the AU

Moths have the patterns on their wings to mimic eyes, so there’s that inherent aspect of deception and lying. It makes the moths seem like a bigger threat than they actually are. (also I have him wearing Mogami's blazer and shirt)

And then just the moths and such with Mogami’s spirit

And me pulling a quote from when Dimple was explaining who Mogami was.

YEAH I just really love drawing stuff for this AU bc of the fun moth symbolism.If none of any of this makes sense, I’m so sorry. I just needed to finally post about this AU bc it’s given me brainmoths (like brainworms, but y’know)

We kinda came up with the AU backwards and filled in random spots here and there after the fact of our original conjuration of it, so I had to try and piece it together HAHA 

[nudityandnerdery]

[Image Description: A series of sixteen tweets by John Rogers @jonrog1 that say:

1) A moment at the Teamsters/UPS rally this morning clarified our current struggle with the studio CEO's (among other bosses). Teamsters got a lot of wins, but one of the main sticking points is the pay for the 65% of local UPS workers who are part-time …

2) If you read the SAG-AFTRA demands, a truly STUNNING amount of their points involve protecting background actors, and trying to improve conditions for the 87% of their union who makes less than $26,000 a year.

3) As WGA members know, this is not a strike for the showrunners. We're trying to fix the fact the the current younger generation of writers can't even afford housing and their pathway to advancement has been cut off.

4) Like … folks, I'm fine. There are maybe two proposals in there that affect me. I'm walking in 90% weather and losing over 50% of my income for the year because I want the younger writers to get what I got at this stage of their careers.

5) Our unions and the CEO's and various negotiators have a fundamental cognitive disconnect. Because CEO's types only succeed by FUCKING THEIR PEERS.

6) Zaslav, Iger , those types of execs, etc have never gone without so a fellow exec or a junior exec could thrive. A fellow exec failing is the moment to use your own leverage to advance past them, if not destroy them.

7) Part of it is the money but part of this, I think, is a genuine inability to grasp even the concepts of any labor action. Because it is always other-directed.

8) So many people treat capitalism as part of nature red in tooth and claw, but it's not. It's a human construct. There are different rules you can play by -- but not if you want to win.

9) The greatest gift capitalism ever granted was the ability to validate selfish behavior as a virtue because that's "just what's necessary, I don't make the rules!" (Look ma, it's reification!)

10) This is where I usually point out that Adam Smith wrote that you have to overpay workers to keep your labor force up, and you need to take into account the psychic damage of capitalism to the workers, and that admiring the rich is the greatest source of moral corruption …

11) But I'll stave off that diversion to just land with … this is a discontinuity of attitudes which I think was once breached by the fact that management USED to come from people who loved building their company or their trade, even if they eventually did management shit.

12) Now, even that thin thread of SYMPATHY (Adam Smith joke, get it? People?) is gone. The CEO's are working off a different scorecard, practically and morally. We're not just playing by wildly divergent rules, our lives and careers are DEFINED by those wildly divergent rules.

13) To them, we are IN FACT being "unreasonable", as our behavior does not make sense in their moral framework. They don't think they're being evil, they think they're playing by the actual rules, and we're nuts.

14) There's not great conclusion to this, other than to note that the bit about making writers homeless was described as "cruel but necessary" because they genuinely don't understand the meaning of cruel, because they are always on the other side of the power dynamic.

15) And if they're ever NOT on the top of the power dynamic, they're not suffering, they're dead. They are un-people in their own eyes.

16) These men are not irrational, but they are deranged. This isn't about money, it's about identity. And in a fight about identity … they will set billions on fire.

Because they can always get more money. But they'll never shed the stink of losing to their lessers."

end of image description]

[mcflymemes]

THE SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS MOVIE (2004) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

my eyes!

pull up your pants, [name]. we're going home.

did you see my underwear? did you want to?

i love being purple.

his chops are too righteous.

you don't need a license to drive a sandwich.

it's some kind of wall of psychic energy.

you two dipsticks wouldn't last ten seconds over the county line.

we paid nine dollars for this?

who turned on the ac?

i suppose i can't execute you.

that's it! i'm through with messing around!

are men afraid of anything?

hey, you know, i actually feel a little better.

i don't even remember why i was sad.

wow, the pressure is already setting in.

your life is in our hands.

hey, look! free ice cream!

i'm making a complete what of myself?

wait, how did you know my name?

eww, i think i stepped in something.

you know, david hasselhoff was a great artist.

stalling? i'm not stalling anything.

are they laughing at us?

don't worry. this'll only hurt a lot.

after going on your life-changing journey, you now realize that you don't want what you thought you wanted. what you really wanted was inside you all along.

are you crazy?

i was just going to say that your fly is down.

this is the greatest day of my life!

i haven't felt this giddy since the day you agreed to be my wife.

lord knows i've tried.

all bubble blowing babies will be beaten senseless by every able-bodied patron in the bar.

i'm supposed to get a toy with this.

i am 100% man!

there. i think i made my point.

you said it yourself, this is man's country. and let's face it. we're just kids.

we don't belong out here.

we do not worship him!

oh... it's evil. it's diabolical. it's lemon-scented!

i got you right where i want you.

can i help you with something?

i've been hired to exterminate you.

you caught me and my friend here in a good mood today, so i'm gonna let you off with a warning.

they were fake?

of course they were fake!

uh, perhaps i've said too much.

that's a big boot.

hold on there, baldy.

oh, grow up. what, you think this is a game of kickball on the playground?

you never had a chance to defeat me!

i'm an evil genius. and you're just a kid.

i guess you're right.

you know, i've been through a lot in the past six days, five minutes, twenty seven and a half seconds.

if i've learned anything during that time, it's that you are who you are.

that's great. now get back against the wall.

i did what everyone said a kid couldn't do!

all right, we get the point!

okay, settle down. take it easy.

too bad [name] isn't here to enjoy [name] not being here.

i couldn't agree more.

there's something i need to say first. i just don't know how put it.

[gonzo-rella]

Headcanons: Being Married To Old Man Ray Stantz

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): old man!Ray Stantz x gn!also old!reader (romantic)

Warnings: Possibly inaccurate science words, because I'm a simpleton. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: Here's my first Ghostbusters thing! I've got a few other Ghostbusters fics in the works, mostly Ray-based reader-inserts because I'm in love with him, but I've also got a Phoebe-centric character study in the works that's based on part of her storyline in Frozen Empire. By the way, I loved Frozen Empire! I've already seen it three times, and it's such a joy. I'll try to catch it a couple more times at least before it leaves cinemas. Anyway, I haven't included any explicit spoilers for Frozen Empire in this, so you're safe to read this if you haven't seen it yet. I'd love to write more old man Ray Stantz fics, especially something involving Phoebe. I'm really excited to write for Ghostbusters, so feel free to send in requests! I've only seen the movies, but I plan on watching the Real Ghostbusters at some point soon. Also, even though I took my mum to see Frozen Empire the other day, I still don't have anyone to talk to about this movie, so please feel free to talk to me about it!)

It’s evident that, even after all of these years, Ray is still madly in love with you.

The adoration with which he looks at you is clear as day.

Venkman has always loved to tease you both about how sickly sweet your relationship is.

He will make fake gagging when either of you are affectionate to one another when he’s around.

(He won’t admit it, but he actually finds your relationship to be kind of cute)

It’s not like either of you are overly lovey-dovey, especially now.

Ray’s naturally a very passionate and expressive guy, but he’s rarely mushy.

Still, you show one another how much you care.

I have this idea that your silent way of saying ‘I love you’ to each other is holding the other’s hand, stroking their knuckles with your thumb and smiling at them.

It just seems so cute to have this thing that you’ve been doing for your whole relationship.

Ray knows you like the back of his hand, and you know him just the same.

It’s almost scary how well you know one another.

I can imagine that there’s been a time that someone’s asked one of you a question, and the other has been able to answer it with ease.

I love the idea of Ray being with someone who’s not a scientific mind like himself.

So, if you’re not as knowledgeable about the supernatural as Ray, you’ll still have picked up on plenty of information against your will, and Ray will always be impressed with and proud of you when you manage to regurgitate or understand his ‘science-y word salad’ (as you have referred to it).

He will also find it very attractive when you talk supernatural or science to him, but he tries not to make it obvious.

His eyes still light up like he’s a kid on Christmas when he explains supernatural stuff to you or tells you about a new psychically charged item he’s bought, and you find it so endearing.

Also, I can imagine him practically forcing you to listen to Podcast’s podcast when he discovers it, and you both end up getting really into it.

As devoted as he still is to his work and his supernatural endeavours, spending time with you is his greatest priority.

He might miss being an active Ghostbuster, but the silver lining of it is that he gets more time with you than he ever used to.

Even if you both used to be Ghostbusters, it’s nice to spend time together that doesn’t involve being covered in ghost slime and shouting over nuclear accelerators.

If you’ve not got anything else to do, I think it’d be sweet if you kept him company in his store.

Phoebe and Trevor are your honorary grandkids and you and Ray are beyond proud of them, especially Phoebe, who you’re closest to of the two of them.

Phoebe will always remind the both of you of Egon, so whenever she does something particularly Egon-like, you will exchange a knowing glance, and when she’s gone you’ll end up reminiscing about your old friend.

If Phoebe or the other Spenglers ever want to hear about Egon, you’re both more than happy to talk to them about him.

Even in his golden years, Ray is still the same sweet, passionate, excitable man you married all those years ago.

Sure, the regular excitement that came with Ghostbusting is long behind you both, but you both cherish this quieter time together just as much.

[annievrse]

the lamest prank

satoru x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb a/n: a little something i came up with in like half an hour, enjoy :P

"...You're up to something, aren't you?" Satoru's voice cuts through the silence in your room, causing you to jump in surprise.

Glancing over your shoulder, palm to your chest, you glare at your best friend. "You scared the shit out of me."

Satoru shrugs, stepping further into your dorm, his eyes narrowing at the packet of Oreos and toothpaste tubes laid out in front of you on the floor.

"Why are you devising the lamest prank in the world?"

You roll your eyes and turn back to your project. "This was meant to be for 'Guru, and you, but I guess the cat's out of the bag."

Satoru threw his head back in laughter, his hand on his stomach. "You're so cute."

Your eyes widen as you spread the toothpaste onto one side of the cookie. "You don't sound particularly upset about being the victim of my prank."

"Oh, I'm not," He says casually as he moves around you to sit on your bed.

You squint at him. "Then why do you look so annoyed?"

Satoru says nothing, but his bright eyes behind his sunglasses tell you everything you need to know.

Sighing, you hold out your hand with a tube of toothpaste and an Oreo in your palm. "You're upset I didn't include you, aren't you?"

Taking the items from your grasp, Satoru smirks. "A little..."

"Well, you usually don't invite the person you want to prank to help you set it up, do you?"

"Guess not. But it's good my daily snooping resulted in something interesting today... It's better than yesterday... Haibara will not like what I saw."

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows. "You're such a nerd, 'Toru."

"Yeah, whatever," He rolls his eyes, white hair falling over his eyes. "Pass me that knife, loser."

After his fingers graze yours, you nod your head toward the uncapped tube in his hand. "You better load that one up good. Suguru used my shampoo yesterday, and then he stole my leftover sashimi in the fridge."

"Oh, that was me. That was so fresh, so delicious," Satoru moans. "Best I've ever had, actually."

Your jaw falls open, and you shake your head. "Fuck you, Gojo."

"Nuh-uh, you don't get to curse the only one who's gonna help you out of this situation later," He raises an eyebrow. "Wait, why were you pranking me? What did I do?"

You give him a deadpan look. "It's more like, what haven't you done?"

A gasp leaves Satoru's lips, and he leans down to place his finished cookie on the plate next to you. "You wound me, my love."

"And you are the most annoying pain in my ass ever, so we're even."

"You love me," Satoru coos, ruffling your hair. You swat his hand away, laughing.

"In your dreams."

"Wow, I didn't know you were psychic!" Satoru reels back dramatically and lays on your bed. "What else can you tell me about my future?"

When he's met with silence, Gojo sits up to see you holding an Oreo out for him.

"Snack?" The sickly sweet smile on your face is to be expected when you're dealing with his shit, so Satoru takes the cookie, unsuspecting.

"Oh, and you're giving me treats?" He clutches his chest. "You really are the greatest thing to ever exist, aren't you?"

But soon, his face screws up in disgust when he realises the cream between the cookie isn't vanilla but minty sludge instead.

"The ultimate betrayal!" He splutters, spitting the cookie into his hand, his hair swaying with each movement. "That's fucking disgusting."

A small, real smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. "Get out of my room, Satoru."

He tilts his head at the softness in your voice and stands. "As you wish," Gojo takes one step but crouches beside you. "Good luck with your little experiment."

You hum in response, rendered speechless when he leans closer to kiss your forehead. But when you don't wipe it off like usual, Satoru feels his heart skip a beat.

"Though, I'm telling Suguru to keep clear of the Oreos in the common area," He whispers. "And I used your shampoo too... he doesn't deserve to endure the pain I just did."

You gasp, dropping the objects in your hands onto the plate below.

At your reaction, Satoru laughs and stands. "Kidding."

"I hate you!" You throw a tube of toothpaste at him as he runs out of your room, slamming the door behind him.

But, later that afternoon, Suguru could be heard gagging in the common area, and you knew Gojo loved a lame prank.

[reigenismyhusband]

ace | 23 | he/him

welcome to my blog! i mostly post about selfshipping and mob psycho!

i am a proshipper and i love mobreimob! you may encounter dead dove/problematic ships/etc!

my main f/o is reigen arataka!! <33 i'm not comfortable sharing him if we're not friends! (although canon ships don't bother me at all!) i don't mind if you interact/follow but i probably won't follow back, no hard feelings!

my main s/i is ace! here's a post all about him! and here is my taglist! (if you're on mobile and this doesn't play nice, i will also tag this post with most of my tags for easy searching)

i also post/reblog nsfw/suggestive stuff at times, my tag for that is #ace of wands! feel free to filter it out. as such i also am not comfortable with minors following me, thanks.

more info about me/my other f/os/etc under the cut! thanks for stopping by x33

im trans, gay, and disabled, the specifics of all of these are for my friends only.

primary f/os:

reigen arataka (mob psycho 100) <- no sharing please!

shigeo kageyama/mob (mob psycho 100) <- specifically an older, au version of him; i elaborate more on this in ace's about post, but i don't mind sharing him bc of this!

shane (stardew valley) <- i love to share! the polycule for the grumpy man grows! i havent talked about him yet or made a dedicated s/i, but i love him a lot…probably one of my longest running f/os from even before i got into selfshipping proper!

feel free to send in asks/dm me anytime to talk about selfshipping :DD i need more proselfship friends!! thanks for stopping by!

[candyskiez]

Okay one more thing before I sleep: I've been thinking about Mob has an awful lot of personas that he was given without wanting them. Like White T Poison became a rumor and got completely out of control without Mob doing anything. Psycho Helmet was Mob during a breakdown and suddenly became this massive romanticized figure that was also incredibly controlling and dangerous. Thinks about how Mob being perceived as someone else is a massive conflict, and how people assume what he wants and feels without really asking him. Thinks about how people will give what Mob does Motives and Reasons that don't exist, thinking he's being creepy or a dick when he didn't mean to do anything and is kind of just...aimless. Thinks about how personas are a massive thing in mp100 and how these personas weren't things Mob wanted, they were just something he suddenly was given and everyone decided that's who he was without him actually doing anything at all. So many other characters have these personas they were suddenly given as well. Tsumobi is the Perfect School Idol, even to Mob for a while, complete with giving her a face that isn't hers and a personality that isn't hers that she has to live up to. Ritsu is the perfect student, and he has to fill those shoes or hes a liar. Thinks about how so many characters tried to make these personas themselves before they got out of control. Reigen wanted that greatest psychic persona, but it spiralled into something that started destroying his life. The lie took on a life of its own and he couldn't control it anymore. Dimple wanted to be a god, but psycho helmet couldn't be controlled and he couldn't erase who he was. And Mob wanted to be a new person, wanted to leave everything he was behind, but in creating that persona he created that split between himself that would spiral out of control.

Thinks about how Mobs big three relationships (Ritsu, Teru and Reigen) also forced these ideas of Mob onto him. Ritsu made him into this terrifying monster that needed to always be placated/his sweet brother who had something awful inside of him, Teru made him into a perfect figure that could do no wrong, and Reigen made him into his student who had him as his entire world and just Mob. They all had these ideas around Mob that they held him to without even realizing it. And all of them had to let go of those expectations for him to help him. Ritsu had to trust that he was wrong about his brother and that his brother acting the way he does now isn't out of character, his assumption that he hated him was out of character. Teru had to confront his flaws and admit them. And Reigen had to give him back that agency. You don't need me anymore. He's not expecting anything from him anymore. He opens the door for him if he wants to leave. No more personas between the two of them. No more just pretending to be half of themselves. They see each other fully. No more lying.

I'm very sleepy so this is weirdly written but. Yk. Also this is platonic btw. Thank u for coming to my tedtalk

[ghuleh-recs]

*inhales deeply* Haaappyyy Birthdaaayyyy @miasmaghoul!!!!!!!! Ohhhh MAN we are all in for a treat today. As per usual, I have compiled a list of some of my favorite Miasma fics in honor of their special day—a greatest hits if you will. Not only are they an absurdly good writer, they are an incredibly thoughtful, kind, supportive and generous friend. All mushiness aside, if Miasma's writing isn't making my brain melt out of my ears (because smut), it's making me actually cry real tears. (No one who has read Suspended Reality will ever really emotionally recover.)

It was extremely difficult to narrow these down to a reasonable list so please feel free to add your own Miasma must-reads if I missed a good one. Please consider leaving a comment when you read any of these. You know. As a little treat. A little birthday treat. I just think Miasma deserves a treat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Endless thanks to @askingforthesun @forlorn-crows @belle--ofthebrawl and @iamthecomet for their input (Miasma can you guess who rec'd what? hehehe).

recs under the cut.

By Your Righteous Hand - Swiss x Rain - 3.1k, E

He’s across the room in a handful of strides, palming himself through his pants as he watches Rain’s fingers tease those strings. Swiss can see the strength in them, the deftness, the skill, and his body heats with memories of how they look around his cock. How they feel when Rain curls them inside him, how his thighs quiver with it every time. How they feel between his lips. Swiss should be embarrassed by the fact that he’s already panting, but shame is overrated. “I forget how weak this makes you,” Rain says, low and teasing. And it’s true – Swiss is not a weak ghoul, but for this? Well. “Kneel for me.”

Electric Light, Vibrant Sound - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 2.9k, E

All of Sunshine’s senses seem sharper, somehow. The lights are brighter, the colors more distinct. The rainbow-colored confetti littering the stage seems to glow beneath her feet. Her nose tickles, filled with sweat, sulfur from the pyro and the confusing combined scent of her fellow ghouls. She sways as she walks, blowing kisses and waving with both hands. It’s a sudden distinct whiff of lavender and orange blossom that drags her back down to Earth, the ghoulette stumbling and catching herself on Rain’s sleeve. The new scents flood her sinuses and swirl into her lungs, spirals of springtime slicing through the haze in her mind. Sunshine shakes her head, one hand resting on her stomach as her eyes dart around the stage. She knows these smells, but in the fog of adrenaline and whatever else is filling her skull she can’t place it. Not until she sees them.

A Touch Too Much - Copia x Dewdrop - 9k, E

“Do you know what is wrong with him?” He doesn’t even try to keep the tilt of concern from his voice. Aether knows him better than most of the ghouls, it would be pointless to try and hide it from him. “Nothing’s wrong,” Aether replies. They stare at each other for a few beats and he does not elaborate, which Copia finds supremely unhelpful. He frowns, crossing his arms and stepping back while Aether rubs at the back of his neck. The ghoul huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Strictly speaking, at least.” “If nothing is wrong, then what-” “He’s in heat, Papa.” Aether cuts him off in a rushed exhale. Copia freezes mid toe-tap. Oh. -- or -- Dew goes into heat on stage and Copia has to deal with the fallout. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Believing is Seeing - Aeon & Aether & Dewdrop - 1.2k, G

"Bullshit," Dew scoffs, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. "You don't really expect me to believe this crap, do you?" Beside him, Aether rolls his eyes. "Ye of little faith," he chuckles, nudging Dew's knee with his own. "I'm telling you, Dew, he's never wrong." "Whatever," he says with a dismissive wave. "He's probably about as accurate as that fortune cookie I got last week." Across the table, their supposed psychic chuckles. He scoots closer and leans on his elbows, cupping his own face in both hands, and something about the look in his eye makes Dew straighten up in his chair. "What're you so scared of?" He nods at the table, a slew of tarot cards laid out before the three of them. "That I might be right?"

Permafrost - Mountain x Rain - 11k, E

“Will you-” he whispers, feeling his skin prickle in the wake of Mountain’s barely-there touch, “will you help me now?” It’s pathetic and he knows it, but he’s beyond caring. Something dark flashes over Mountain’s face then, and Rain feels an anxious flutter in his chest. “I believe I said I was having fun watching,” he rumbles, and Rain’s stomach plummets through the floor when he remembers what game they’re playing. “Oh no,” he whines, biting hard at his bottom lip. “Oh yes,” Mountain growls, moving himself closer to Rain as the smaller ghoul digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But if you listen closely, maybe I’ll reconsider.” The words are liquid in Rain’s ear, flowing into the folds of his brain in a silvery spiral, and he feels himself melting into the mattress all over again. Powerless to resist.

A Little Less Conversation - Aether x Dewdrop - 2.8k, E

After a long day, Dewdrop finds himself at the mercy of a very loud motel. Thankfully Aether is a good distraction.

Brushfire - Cumulus x Dewdrop - 4.6k, E

She should probably retreat to a stall. Sink two fingers into her cunt and make it quick. What if someone walked in an found her humping the sinks? That surely wouldn't look very good. Cumulus bites into her red-stained lower lip and groans at the thought, knuckles blanching as her grip strengthens. She ruts against the counter, drags the hard bud of her clit over the edge of it, feeling her panties start to soak through. There will probably be a damp spot on her dress when she pulls back at the rate she's going. Her knees really start to shake, her breath coming in strained gasps, the heat in her belly already threatening to spread. One trembling hand flies to her chest, squeezes a prominent nipple and - "Well, isn't this a sight."

WET DREAM RAIN - Rain x Swiss - 1.4k, E

His fingers drift in aimless swirls over Rain's thigh, the water ghoul still snoring softly into his pillow. It's midday judging by the way the spring sunlight pours from between the heavy navy drapes. The air is thick with lavender and rose, sweet scents carried from the nearby gardens mingling with the heady aroma stuck in Swiss's nose. Rain is pressed against his bare chest, their sleep shirt caught up around their ribs. Swiss's other arm is around his waist, fingertips teasing the trail of soft hair poking out of Rain's boxers. His soaking wet boxers.

Bonds of Trust - Omega x Secondo - 3.4k, M

He crosses the room in a handful of strides, hands extended, and Omega visibly sags with a ragged sigh. He offers up what Secondo knew he was holding behind his back - a simple leather strap with a buckle on one end and a shiny silver ring in the center. "I need your help, Papa," Omega murmurs, and that's all Secondo needs to hear. "Then I will give it to you."

All Water Holy - Dewdrop x Rain - 6.5k, E

“Rain, I’m not- I’m not kidding,” he manages, but the laughter removes the seriousness and urgency from his voice and Rain can’t stop himself. “Not kidding about what?” he asks, mock innocent. He would have thought it would be taking more out of him to keep Dew pinned beneath him, but he seems increasingly weak the longer it goes on, wearing himself out. “Fuck you,” Dew spits, pained and forced to smile through it anyway, “seriously, I’m gonna piss myself.” Or, As always, Rain gets what he wants, and Dewdrop suffers (affectionate).

Once More, With Feeling - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 4.3k, E

Every now and then, Cirrus wakes with a very specific ache. It’s a distinctly empty feeling. Like something had been taken from her in the night, stolen away while she slept a restless sleep rife with images of shimmering skin and ruby lips. She’ll wake panting and wide-eyed, delicate claws digging into the mattress with her thighs clamped so tightly together they threatened to seize up. Every inch of her covered in goosebumps, every brush of the sheets against her skin sending electricity skittering through her tense muscles. On days like these, everything is too much. On days like these, too much is exactly what she needs. And she knows just where to get it.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Like I mentioned earlier, you've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So, I've had this strange and, maybe, cool idea that I would like to share with you!

Reader, who made their way up to the Galar Championsip, they are known for their strange connection to Pokémon, and for never talking, or showing their face. People know very little about them, and rarely see them, but on one day, the finally day, the truth unfolds!

When they step onto the field, surrounded by cameras, they throw off their cloak only to show that all this time, the Pokémon Trainer was not in fact human, but also a Pokémon! Bisharp, to be exact.

The shock, the news! The unexpected twist!

Hope that you'll like it! Take your time, I can wait, writing is a very tiring progress✨

"Leon! How do you feel about the mystery challenger you endorsed being moments away from battling you?"

"Have they ever spoken a word to you, Leon?"

"Who do you think they could be? Someone outside this region? An old rival looking for revenge?"

"I haven't got a clue who they are just yet, but if I know one thing...it's that this battle is going to be amazing! I can just feel it!" The Galarian Champion grinned with pride, standing amidst a swarm of reporters who wanted to question him before he prepared for the final match.

At last, the day arrived.

One that many anticipated.

Because today Leon will be facing a particularly unique challenger:

You, somebody who mysteriously showed up in Galar one day and kept their identity hidden beneath a covert cloak. Nobody knew what you actually looked like, and it was even harder to know what you sounded like....as you've never spoken to anyone.

Not even to Leon, although you made your wishes to enter the gym challenge very clear when you approached him, handing him a card with a simple request:

Endorse Me --B

"B" was the only name he knew you by, and nothing else. But he understood that you probably didn't like talking too much, similar to Allister. So he obliged, permitting you to wear the cloak as you were rather insistent on doing so.

Who would have though you'd conquer the Championship by storm and were now minutes away from battling him for the title?

You've truly wowed the crowd as you defeated the gym leaders with flying colors. And all you ever did was point at them and let your Pokémon finish the job--all without uttering a single command.

You even took down Raihan's Gigantamaxed-Duraludon in just a single turn!

It's like you shared a psychic connection with them, although you've ducked out of the way of reporters and fanatics who were just obsessed with you, refusing to be swarmed.

Still, your aura of mystery, strong bonds, and intelligent Pokémon quickly became the talk of the town. And it made Leon all the more thrilled to battle you, hoping he'll get to learn more about you that way.

So when the news crew started getting word that you arrived in Wyndon for the final match, he took that as his cue to get ready.

He was so excited, he almost got lost on his way to the locker room.

.........

Stepping out onto the field, you were immediately greeted by cameras hovering on all sides, mounted by Aegislash.

Every angle was determined to capture you in your star moment...as you were about to battle Galar's current champion.

But even with all of this attention on you, you didn't wave or acknowledge the cameras one bit. Your focus was only on the purple-haired man who was waiting for you in the center.

For a second or two, Leon was thrown-off by the uproarious cheers coming from the crowd after you appeared. Usually he was being rooted for the most, although it's clear that people were psyched to see you battle him.

You've been one of Galar's greatest mysteries since your arrival, and still nobody knew who you were or how you became so strong.

Stopping in front of him, you looked into his eyes, only giving a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Well this is it, B. The moment everyone's been waiting for." He grinned. "Are you ready for.......oh, guess they are.." His face fell flat as you simply turned and headed back to your position on the field.

Now he was just dying to find out who you truly are.

Who really stood under that cloak?

For now, though, all that mattered was this battle that would determine if he'd successfully defend his title as Champion...or if you were somehow going to come out on top.

Standing back at his position, Leon patted both side of his face, taking a few deep breaths. Then he tossed his heavy cape to the wind, which was hastily collected by a staff member before he struck his signature pose for all to see.

The crowd's cheers have grown tenfold, chanting his name as they mimicked the iconic gesture.

You grunted in interest, impressed how that simple action got everyone so riled up and excited. And it made you wonder...

Looking to your cloak, you gripped it with metal fingers that were barely visible to the cameras. For a moment or two you stood there debating, wondering if....

No.

You're done dodging people and hiding from the public eye.

You've kept up this mystery long enough.

It's about time everyone here knew who you really were.

"What's this? Is our mystery challenger about to reveal their identity??" An announcer cried out. "It's the moment we've all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen!!!"

With another grunt, you finally threw off your cloak, letting it fall to the ground beside you, eyes closed as you anticipated everybody's judgement.

Most of the crowd descended into silence; even Leon, Hop, and the other gym leaders couldn't believe what they were seeing right before their very eyes.

After all this time, they thought they were battling a strong human Pokémon Trainer.

But no.

Instead it was a Pokémon itself.

"What a twist! I can't believe it! It seems that our mysterious competitor is none other than the Pokémon Bisharp! Somehow it has risen through the ranks of the championship without the assistance of a trainer! It's incredible! This has NEVER happened in the history of Pokémon battling!!"

Soon the crowd went WILD.

Many wondered how it was even legal for a Pokémon to enter a human competition; a few others--especially those watching from home--were convinced you were just a person in a Bisharp costume.

But the cameras surrounding you didn't lie.

You were a real Bisharp, and you were determined to become the first ever Pokémon to win a championship.

"Shar.." With a smirk, you raised your hands up to the cameras, giving them a small wave. You were relieved that your secret was finally out; it gave you a massive confidence boost after seeing how all the humans reacted.

As you then sharpened your bladed arms and readied your first pokeball, you gazed at Leon from across the way. His jaw was dropped in shock, unable to believe who he was battling.

It was quite amusing to you.

Of course, many knew Bisharps were strategic commanders of Pawniards....but nobody would have guessed they'd be intelligent enough to lead a competitive team of different Pokémon outside their lineage.

Well, you're the shining example that it was possible.

After sending out your Pokémon, you huffed, wondering when your opponent was going to snap out of it and start taking this battle seriously.

But he quickly realized you were waiting, and seemed flustered.

"Sorry. I just...wow....I can't believe you were.....ah, what does it matter?" Shaking his head, he grinned as he finally sent out his first Pokémon, ready to defend his title. "We're gonna have a champion time regardless. So give me everything you got, Bisharp!"

[mocksart]

mob psycho 100 au where the narrator posseses stanley and feeds off his dream energy

The narrator is a spirit who built the parable in a parallel world in order to trap unsuspecting victims and steal their energy as they sleep. He feeds off of the energy they generate while interacting with his creation. Stanley was/is one of his victims.

They have a long history by the time we meet them in the story that exists in my head.

What’s important is that the two of them have come to agreement of sorts. Stanley becomes a host for the spirit, and the Narrator becomes a sort of consultant to Stanley. Over time, they’ve grown quite close, and are actually on pretty decent terms at this point.

However, there’s something wrong with the parable. Things are becoming unstable, starting to fail in ways the Narrator doesn’t know how to fix.

So, they seek out some experts. Maybe the “Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century” can help them?

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

On the left is the Aboleth, a 20-40 foot (6-12 m) scheming tentacle creature with mind-control slime, telepathy, and a hatred of the gods. They're known for psychic powers, manipulating your emotions or learning your greatest desires.

On the right is the surprise contender, the Bone Devil! 9 ft (2.7 m) tall and probably has enough handholds between the spikes to avoid being stabbed! The stinger is poisonous, and they can see in the dark. They're driven by hate, lust, and envy, so unsurprisingly they're the law enforcement of hell. But they actually fanatically follow the law, will immediately turn on their fellows if one doesn't follow the law, and are at least open about it when they're evil.

[lilacxquartz]

OVERWORKED

a jujutsu kaisen & mob psycho 100 crossover

summary: satoru gojo visits seasoning city to look into the reports of strange cursed activity and gets an audience with the world's greatest psychic, reigen arataka.

a/n: i don’t usually post general works or character & character fics on tumblr, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

tags: crossover, general, no pairings, crack, attempt at humour, one shot, silly, prompt fic • w.c: 1.1k

Seasoning City was never a place that Satoru thought he would find himself in, but there he was; keen to investigate some sort of rumoured unusual cursed activity reported within the area.

Sometimes he’d go and investigate these claims by himself, although mostly it was just to get the higher ups off of his back and especially so that his students (that the responsibility would otherwise be handed to) wouldn’t unknowingly waltz into potential danger.

Besides, Seasoning City has been a jujutsu curiosity for a while now, with all sorts of strange ongoing issues within the vicinity and an investigation was due.

Upon arriving at the site in question, Satoru strolled into an abandoned high rise office building and scoped the whole area out. He could pick up on the trace activity or something, but he wasn’t quite sure what exactly. With curious eyes, he scanned the area and inspected as much as he could before he heard the door crash open, practically swinging off the hinges.

Turning back, he was interrupted in the process by a man with an ill-fitting suit and fiery orange hair. A younger boy dressed in regular school uniform seemed to tag along beside him and although the third presence slipped away just in time to avoid being seen, he could have sworn that he spotted some sort of stink cloud shaped (and coloured) shikigami wafting nearby.

“Worry not, it is I, the great psychic—Reigen Arataka!” the man announced before striking a victorious pose.

Getting absolutely zero read on this guy’s technique and doubting that he even had one to begin with, Satoru couldn’t help but wearily sigh at the company he found himself in.

“A psychic? Oh boy,” Satoru mumbled to himself before adopting a louder volume, “you can stand aside, I’ll take it from here.”

“Pardon me,” Reigen interrupted while rolling his eyes, taking wide footsteps as he confidently strolled over to the white haired man, “you’re the one who should be excused, for I will be the one to solve this haunting.”

“You don’t look like someone who knows jujutsu,” Satoru mused, taking notes of his lack of… everything. The man had zero cursed energy and no technique, therefore he likely didn’t even know what he was looking for.

“Ju-what now?” Reigen blinked while somehow still maintaining that smug expression on his face.

The mop haired boy beside him attempted to answer although his voice was rather quiet, “It’s a type of—“

Promptly interrupting the teen however, Reigen continued to talk, “Watch closely Mob. I’ll show you what a real master looks like.”

Satoru couldn’t help but twitch his eye below his blindfold, astounded by the strange so-called psychic’s audacity. With an almost exasperated gaze, he watched as the man moved around erratically and punched the air, kicking nothing with determined, miscalculated strikes.

In the meanwhile, the actual malevolent cursed spirit showed up right behind him. It appeared to take on the spirit of a tired salaryman, echoing a mantra of jarring words that were just barely coherent through its shrill cry.

“Overtime~! Time is money~! Work work work~!”

While Reigen continued to remain oblivious and make a spectacle of himself, Mob stepped forward and moved his hands to channel his energy, making the whole floor rumble as he focused on the task at hand.

Such display of power didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru, who watched the boy work with what he was very certain was in fact cursed and energy before funnelling it towards the cursed spirit, making quick work of it and weakening it significantly.

Impressed, Satoru then finished off the spirit with his own hands and exchanged a glance with the boy before sighing wearily, noticing that the fraud was still going at it and swatting away at nothingness.

“Hey, you can stop now,” he told Reigen in a resigned manner.

“Yes, we took care of it,” Mob added on.

Stopping mid swing, Reigen took a deep breath before responding, “…It’s gone?”

Nodding, Satoru folded his arms and couldn’t help but softly laugh at the whole situation. A psychic? He knew that there were frauds who had a vague understanding of the world around him, but this guy was something else.

“That’s right,” Satoru confirmed before considering a point, “you know, this kid has quite a lot of talent actu—“

Immediately cutting him off, Reigen burst forward with a victorious cheer, “—aha! You see? The spirit didn’t stand a chance against my special technique: kneading air!”

“Come again?” Satoru blinked. ‘Special technique?’ Did he mean cursed technique or did he truly think that what he did was some sort of attack? The man’s unwavering confidence almost tortured Satoru’s own mind.

“By pushing the air around with my movements, I was able to direct my student’s psychic energy into defeating the spirit,” Reigen began to explain, “and of course my star pupil managed to finish it off.”

“Actually he finished the spirit off,” Mob replied, pointing his figure towards the other man.

“Yeah?” Reigen flicked a glance towards his direction. “Not bad, blindfold. I can sense a lot of potential in you. A little bit amateurish, but not bad. Not bad at all.”

Satoru couldn’t help but just stare at Reigen, feeling more and more worn out by the second. Before he could even say anything in response, Reigen quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small business card and scribbled something on it with a pen that he had otherwise materialised out of nowhere.

Handing it over to Satoru, he dramatically extended his arm. “Here you go, bud. An autograph from the greatest psychic alive. Don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

Taking the card, he glanced at the hastily scribbled out signature. He tried to form a response as he mulled the whole situation over, but was quite literally left speechless.

After a moment, he turned over to Mob who didn’t offer a single word of explanation—just standing by the strange man’s side with a blank look on his face—as if everything was perfectly fine and normal.

“Is he always like this…?” Satoru finally asked with an almost wary tone.

Mob nodded, “Yes, he’s my boss.”

Satoru nervously laughed at that response. Boss? This kid who had an almost masterful grasp on cursed energy was the supposed employee of this conman?

That was concerning to say the least.

And as he watched the two exit the building, Satoru couldn’t bury that nagging worry that there might have been more unassuming people like Mob out there being mentored by the likes of Reigen.

Walking away himself, he glanced behind him one more time, watching the pair walk in the opposite direction.

Satoru couldn’t help but shake his head, feeling amused but also intrigued at the whole situation he just witnessed.

Maybe he would keep a personal eye on this city but especially on Mob.

Just in case.

main masterlist • ao3

prompt idea by @augustwritingchallenge • day 20: crossover/fusion for au-gust 2024